French cake a week – Gateau Alsacien or le schwowcbredel

Posted on January 22, 2013 by Magpies

In which Claire, who speaks no French, bakes her way through the cake section of a French cookbook from 1962.The other day we talked about Jean Renoir’s use of windows, and the way he creates scenes with an intimate yet public space, theatrical yet moving (in two senses of the word). I mentioned the film Boudu Saved from Drowning, which stars the remarkable Michel Simon. Well, as it happens, I’d never seen the whole movie all the way through – just a few scenes in film class. But it’s available on DVD, now, so we watched it last week!! It was so good! Thought-provoking, and beautifully acted and filmed. Full of wildness and grace and beautiful space. And the special features! O! The special features!! In recent American movies they’ll have a “making of” featurette, or a few interviews with the actors, and it’s always the same thing. “It was such an honor to work with [fill in name of major star}. She’s so…in the moment…she never does the same thing twice…it’s thrilling just to watch her work.” And then there will be a segment on the costumes, “It was just an honor to dress [fill in name of major star]. I mean she’s not even human! She’s like a mannequin. Just like a mannequin come to life. It’s just thrilling to watch her work in her clothes.” And then there’s a little segment about how much fun they had on the set. “The hi-jinks!! The practical jokes we played. What a good time we had making millions of dollars! Don’t you just wish you could be me! Don’t you want to get my face tatooed on your face?” But on Boudu Saved from Drowning, the special features are wonderful! There’s an interview with Michel Simon and Jean Renoir. It’s black and white, from 1967. They’re sitting in a cafe. Renoir is drinking a glass of wine, and Simon seems to be eating berries from a small, stemmed glass bowl. It’s so beautiful. Okay, maybe they are talking about how nice it was to work together, but I believe them! Their memories are so gentle and affectionate. (Maybe I do want to get Michel Simon’s face tatooed on my face!) And then there’s an interview with a filmmaker who has lots of fascinating things to say about the film, which makes you want to watch it all over again but pay attention this time!! And my favorite part is an interview with Eric Rohmer, the filmmaker, and Jean Douchet, the critic. This one is in black and white, too. The men are sitting side-by-side in a theater, facing the camera. They both seem nervous, they don’t know where to look. They fidget and cast sidelong glances at one another. Douchet has wild hair and a world-weary air, and he seems to have a cigarette glued to his fingers that he rarely smokes. Rohmer is delicate, with a slight beard and a shy, earnest air. And they hold forth on the film. They have so many ideas about the film, so many observations on the way it sounded and looked. They discuss sweeping themes and they remember each small, intimate gesture of the actors. They find significance in a bag of groceries hung in a window, in the summer heat, in salt spilled on a tablecloth. It’s beautiful to watch the way that they form grand, mythical theories about the film, and then shape their experience of the film to fit this mythology. They’re trying to seem cool and blasé, of course, this being the 60s, but they’re jumping and beaming with love for the film, so pleased with themselves for having discovered it as it unfolded before them, full of gifts that Renoir has hidden for them to discover. Wasn’t he clever to have made a simple film that’s about so much? Weren’t they clever to figure it out as they watched? This is the way to watch a film! This is a way to go through life! Noticing everything, maybe even things that aren’t there! Joyfully forming grand theories, talking about them with a friend, and building on them as the days go along. At one point they’re discussing sound in the film, and Rohmer says, with a shy glance at Douchet “…and we hear all the sounds of nature – the singing of the birds and such, which is wonderfully rich and well-worth analyzing.” This kills me!! Is he talking broadly about Renoir’s use of sound? Or is he talking about the singing of the birds – each bird with its own song, full of meaning that we can discover and share?

Gateau alcasien

I like the way my French cookbook talks about cookies as if they’re cakes. I’m so confused by the recipes that I never know how they’ll turn out even as I’m making them, and it’s a joy to see them shape into this kind of cookie, or that kind of molded fruit and cream, or that kind of actual cake that I’d call a cake. My cookbook is very dry, each recipe is about 5 lines long, and they don’t take a lot of time to describe each step, let alone to editorialize about the recipe at all. And yet this particular recipe is full of charming asides. The cookies are to be cut in “bizarre and childish shapes.” It doesn’t go into further detail, so it’s really up to you!! And it finishes thus, “Et voila le gateau Alsacien, which one munches while watching the colorful candles on the Christmas tree.” Lovely! And I love the word schwowcbredel – talk about bizarre and childish!! We have some animal cookie cutters, so I decided to use an elephant, in honor of Babar, a lion, in honor of Duvoisin’s Happy Lion, and a balloon, in honor of The Red Balloon. The cookies contain marmalade, cinnamon, and orange flower water, which I’ve never cooked with before. It’s nice – floral but light and unexpected. I wasn’t sure the boys would like it, but they gobbled these down.

Here’s Edith Pilaf singing La Lulie Jolie
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Red bean, sweet potato & hominy stew and Olive oil rosemary biscuits

Posted on January 21, 2013 by Magpies

Red bean & hominy stew

Well, it’s been a day of catching up after working all weekend. A day of laundry and grocery shopping and trying to get the boys to clean their room. It’s been a day of thinking about Martin Luther King Jr, of driving on the grey wintery streets, listening to fragments of Barack Obama’s inauguration speech on the radio, moved to tears. Obama’s first election was fueled by hope, it was buoyant with hope. And despite snide comments about hopey changey stuff, despite the sort of fatigue and discouragement that four hard years of dealing with Bush’s financial crisis have brought upon us, at this moment I feel more hopeful than ever. It’s not a hope as bright and far-reaching as that of the first election – but it’s a stronger, fiercer hope, based in reality and hard work. I don’t agree with all of Obama’s decisions, I don’t love every action that he’s taken, but I feel so grateful to him for starting conversations about health care, gay rights, women’s rights, gun control, climate change. Of course we should talk about these things! It’s remarkable to me that in 2013 these are issues we still need to address, let alone issues that take extraordinary courage to address. I think it’s difficult to understand just how brave Obama is for speaking publicly and openly about gun control and gay marriage. Despite petty political squabbling, despite ignorance, hatred and fear, we are taking small steps in a good direction, towards a world that must be inevitable if people are as kind and thoughtful as they have the potential to be. Martin Luther King spoke of non-violence with these words, “In a real sense, Mahatma Gandhi embodied in his life certain universal principles that are inherent in the moral structure of the universe, and these principles are as inescapable as the law of gravitation.” I hope that this is true, with the deepest weightiest and yet most buoyant hope imaginable. Obama ended his speech with these words, “Let each of us now embrace, with solemn duty and awesome joy, what is our lasting birthright. With common effort and common purpose, with passion and dedication, let us answer the call of history, and carry into an uncertain future that precious light of freedom.” And that birthright is not a possession or privilege unique to Americans, but a natural or moral right possessed by everyone, the world over – to work for freedom from the darkness of fear, ignorance, and cruelty.

I felt a little silly posting a recipe today, (and doing laundry, and cleaning, and all other trivial chores). But, maybe that’s part of what it’s all about – about the freedom to get on with these things. These chores are trivial to me, but are luxuries for some people. To buy healthy, nourishing food for your family, to cook it up in a way that you feel good about. To have a safe, warm home to serve it in. Everybody deserves these things! In that spirit I present to you a recipe for a warm, comforting stew full of flavor. I bought pomegranate molasses for the first time, and I’m having fun playing with the sweet/tart continuum. I decided to pair it with a tiny bit of mustard, balsamic, sage, red pepper flakes and smoked paprika, to make a spicy, sweet, tart, smoky sauce. And the biscuits are incredibly easy to make, and very tasty, too. They’re butter-free, and the taste of olive oil in a baked good is always surprising and pleasant.

Well, there are quite a few songs I could choose for today’s post, but I’m going to give you Mos Def’s Fear Not of Men. It’s based, of course, on Fela’s Fear Not For Man, the lyrics of which go thus…

Mos Def’s song isn’t explicitly about Martin Luther King’s Day, but the lyrics have always resonated on this day of all days. He says, “A lot of things have changed, and a lot of things have not.” And there’s no doubt that this is true, for better or for worse. But the song is about courage in the face of danger, courage to work towards something that’s bigger than all of us. And it’s about a universal rhythm that beats through all of us, surely leading us inevitably in the same direction.

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Fennel & walnut croquettes

Posted on January 20, 2013 by Magpies

Fennel and walnut croquettes

Olga Von Till was born in the 1890s. As a girl she lived in New Brunswick, New Jersey. She played piano for silent movies, providing a soundtrack for their voiceless antics. She was sent to Hungary to study with Bela Bartok, and became stranded there when World War I broke out. She made a living as a companion for wealthy, eccentric women. When she returned home she lived in New York City for a while, and she taught classical piano to Bill Evans, amongst many others. In the 80s she lived in a small town next to New Brunswick, and it was at that point that I met her – she was my piano teacher all through high school. She was an intimidating teacher, exacting and persistent. She heard the tone of each note, and she heard the silence between notes, which were as important as the notes themselves, and needed to be given their exact space, their exact weight. Ms. Von Till would hold your arm with her strong hands, feeling the muscles, and she’d put her hand under your hand, so that your fingers stretched to the piano keys from a seemingly impossible height, but with just the right force when they finally touched. She had a hard round belly that she’d prop a blank music-lined book on, and she’d write careful instructions for the week’s practice in strange and wonderful felt tip pens that I coveted, but never found in the real world. She had two pairs of glasses, one with round thick lenses and gold frames, and one with horn-rimmed frames and small blue flowers. Everything in her house was exactly as she wanted it, and she could tell you stories about choosing the fabric on the walls or the rugs on the floor. She had two steinway grands, and she talked about them as if they were living creatures – each had its own tone, its own voice. Her husband Sam played the violin, and he’d been a child prodigy, but his career had been disappointing. He heard music in his head, and would gesture passionately as he listened to it. I was a mediocre student, we all knew I would never amount to much as a pianist. But I loved to sit with Ms Von Till. After I left for college, I would visit her every time I came home. I’d bring her flowers every time, and I’d sit and listen to her stories. As she got older, she wouldn’t come down the stairs, and we’d sit upstairs in her study, side by side. She would tell stories of her remarkable life, sometimes the same stories over and over, but they were worth hearing again. She’d hold my arm, and feel the muscles, she’d support my hand with her strong hands. She could tell I hadn’t been playing piano. Sometimes we’d sit in silence, and then she’d look at me with a beaming smile through her thick round lenses. I didn’t talk much, she couldn’t have known much about me, but I felt that she loved me. I felt that she was a good friend, despite the more than seventy years between us. I still dream about her sometimes, about the world that she created with her music, her elegance, her strength, her stories, and her expectations.

Obviously I admired her very much! So this week’s Sunday interactive playlist will be about songs of admiration for other musicians. The tribute can be in the lyrics or in the tunes. I thought I had a lot of these stored up, but I’m struggling, so I need your help!

And these fennel croquettes – I wanted to have a combination of comforting and wintery and bright and fresh and summery. I used fresh thyme and fresh rosemary, and I made them light and crispy. But they also have bread crumbs and melty cheese to get you through the winter evening. We ate them with a simple tomato sauce, but you could eat them with any kind of sauce you like.

Here’s the interactive playlist as it stands so far. Feel free to add whatever you can think of!

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Curried crispy oven roasted potato slices

Posted on January 19, 2013 by Magpies

Curried crispy potatoes

“You see, I really have wanted to make it so that people get the idea that these folk, who are eating their potatoes by the light of their little lamp, have tilled the earth themselves with these hands they are putting in the dish, and so it speaks of manual labor and — that they have thus honestly earned their food. I wanted it to give the idea of a wholly different way of life from ours — civilized people.”

This is Vincent Van Gogh talking about his painting The Potato Eaters. The quote makes me crazy! On the one hand, it’s so earnest and well-meaning, he’s trying to understand the way others live, and he’s recognizing the value of their work. On the other hand, it’s so condescending and anthropological, (which I’ve just read as defined as “human zoology”!) it seems he’s saying that the potato eaters are as dull and insignificant as the potatoes they eat, as low and as covered in dirt. I’m impatient with this view of the artist as a rarefied, superior being, a view that I trace back to the late nineteenth century. (Somebody correct me if I’m wrong!) I can’t read Thomas Hardy, with his supersensitive characters disturbed by the base animal instincts of the common man (or woman)…

But with the self-combating proclivity of the supersensitive, an answer thereto arose in Clare’s own mind, and he almost feared it. It was based on her exceptional physical nature; and she might have used it promisingly. … Some might risk the odd paradox that with more animalism he would have been the nobler man. We do not say it. Yet Clare’s love was doubtless ethereal to a fault, imaginative to impracticability.,

…and DH Lawrence, who congratulates himself on understanding people, but really has no idea.
It makes me uncomfortable that certain people are set apart – set above – in this way; separated by class, or race, or artistic temperament, and that their emotions are seen as more legitimate and more valuable. Surely everybody has their own sensitivities – maybe they swoon at a beautiful sunset, or can tell the difference between two malbecs, or tremble with the new green leaves in spring. (Personally, I can’t wear scratchy wool clothes close to my skin!). Maybe they don’t have the talent to paint what they see, or the means to buy spices to flavor their food, but this doesn’t make their appreciation less important. I suppose this is like the great-grandfather of indie snobbery, which is a trait I’m guilty of myself. When I was younger I only liked alternative, eccentric music, and I remember teasing a friend because he liked “top 40” artists. “Why do you like something just because everyone else does?” I asked. And he replied, “Maybe everybody likes it because it’s good!” Harumph!! And now we have a sort of reverse snobbery, from why-does-anybody-care-what-she-says Palin and her ilk – if you’re educated or care the least bit about anything that might matter to a human being, you’re weak, you’re an intellectual elitist. It’s hard to keep up with this judgmental roller coaster, isn’t it?

And, honestly, potatoes aren’t dull or stodgy at all! Yes, they grow in dirt, but they’re magnificently variable and infinitely adaptable. You can make anything you want with them! you can make them as flavorful as you like, or you can relish their simplicity, and take time to appreciate their own subtle flavor. In this case I sliced them thin and roasted them with curry spices. Simple, but delicious.

Here’s Bob Marley with Judge Not.
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Pumpkin crumpets

Posted on January 18, 2013 by Magpies

pumpkin crumpets

So we got the boys a wii for Christmas. We didn’t break down, exactly – it was something we’d talked about getting for a while. We’d been holding it out as a promise and a threat, just as it said to do in our parenting book; making the purchase of a video game system contingent on wildly unrelated behaviors that defied all reason, just because we could. “Honestly, if you don’t eat your soup how do you expect to be able to play on a wii?” I’m not sure that’s even the right terminology. Do you play on a wii? Do you just play wii? Do you wii? Who knows! It’s not that I’m anti-video game, exactly, I just don’t like them. (I learned that logic from our parenting book, too! It’s called Parenting by the Irrational and Inconsistent Method: Raising a Confused but Biddable Child.) I’ve never wanted to play video games myself for more than five minutes. They seem like an epic waste of time, and they make my head hurt. But it was obvious that the boys didn’t share this view. And I was lying to myself if I thought they weren’t playing video games, anyway. They played on the computer, but they’d have to go one at a time, and oh! the tears and arguments that ensued because Isaac thought he didn’t get a fair turn. He has so much fun playing video games that half an hour passes as in an instant, the twinkling of an eye, and he squeals, in his indignant, ascending voice, “No! I only played for five minutes!” So now they play together. They have fun, they’re a team, they sit next to each other and giggle and help each other through the hard levels. And they’re playing lego Star Wars, for heaven’s sake, and lego Harry Potter, and Tintin, not World of Violent Wish Fulfillment Armageddon. So far, so good. But there’s still this nagging doubt, this feeling that they should just be playing with legos, not playing with virtual lego figures. I fear for their imaginations and their creativity, I fear that they’ll lose the ability to tell their own stories. Well! The other day I came home from work tired and discouraged. I looked through the window and saw them on the couch, seemingly deep in concentration. I assumed they were playing (on? at? with?) the wii. Not at all. They were bent over little blank books, drawing and writing. They’ve invented a world that they inhabit together. They have different names and powers and personalities, but they’re still brothers.

Malcolm is Charlie, and Isaac is Harry. They have a little brother named Johnny who grows at an alarming rate. They have a sister named Caty, and they have a dog who can fly. Of course they do! I should have known that nothing could dull the bright world of their imaginations, that no video game could dampen their creativity. It’s in them and it’s got to get out! They’ll talk for hours about the goings-on in Charlie and Harry’s world, with fervent glee. And they still play with legos – Malcolm made the most amazing little kitchen, with doors that open and secret cabinets that slide out. And pumpkin crumpets. Pumpkin crumpets!! Tiny little plastic pumpkin crumpets. What could be more fun to say? Or eat? So I decided to try to make some for really reals, in real life. I consulted my trusty Mrs. Beeton, and she said that crumpets are also called pikelets. Is that more fun to say? Pumpkin pikelets? It’s a close call. It turns out crumpets are fun to make, but a little messy. My problem was the rings. I had a pair that I’d gotten some time ago, but they didn’t work out too well. They were too small, and the crumpets stuck to them like a mother flipper. I made my own rings out of tin foil, because I’m crafty like that, and they worked slightly better. The crumpets are a little softer and denser and less chewy than crumpets from a shop. Perhaps this is the result of pumpkin puree? Perhaps it’s the result of my clumsy crumpet-making method? It was actually quite comforting and pleasant, though. I also tried not using rings at all, just putting the batter on the griddle. They were nice, too, but more like little yeasted pancakes. (You can see an example of one on the left in the picture) We ate a whole batch of crumpets in one night with some spinach, apple, avocado and ginger soup, which I’ll tell you about another time.

Here’s K’naan, with Dreamer.
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Millet, red lentil, and sweet potato dal and pumpkin ricotta flatbreads

Posted on January 17, 2013 by Magpies

Millet dal and pumpkin flatbread

Yesterday around mid-morning, I spent ten minutes sitting on the couch in my pajamas, with Clio half-on/half-off my lap. I petted her velvety ears and watched people rush by in the rain. They seemed so busy and productive, and I could just imagine how the world smelled like rain to them, and how they felt icy drops trickling into their collars, and how their cars had that feverish chilled-but-warming feeling. And here I was, so toasty and still and unproductive. I felt like I was in a Basho poem. I thought of the quote from the Hagekure (and Ghost Dog!)

There is something to be learned from a rainstorm. When meeting with a sudden shower, you try not to get wet and run quickly along the road. By doing such things as passing under the eaves of houses, you still get wet. When you are resolved from the beginning, you will not be perplexed, though you will still get the same soaking. This understanding extends to all things.

I found that I didn’t feel quite so unproductive, because my mind was busy, and then I felt foolish for thinking that. Then I thought about writing about thinking about writing about sitting there. And then Clio said, “Man, you’re cramping my style. I’ve got some napping to be getting on with.” The mail came, but I didn’t bring it in because it’s only bills and advertisements. Then I went up to clean the bathroom, and thought about writing about that, but luckily for you I won’t do that. When I was little, I used to narrate my actions in my head in the third person. Not all the time, because that would be crazy! But often. “And then Claire sat on a bench in the middle of the room. She always got through with looking at paintings before everyone else. She did everything quickly. And now she sat and watched the people looking at the paintings…” And on an on it goes! I feel like I’ve been doing that again lately, because of The Ordinary. Not in third person now, so it’s slightly less eccentric. But when I cook, I’ll think about writing about it, and aboutexplaining how it’s done. And sometimes I’ll wake up in the middle of the night, and try to occupy my brain with whatever I might say on here the next day (explains a lot about the quality of the work, doesn’t it?) and I’ll find myself writing in my head. And, yes, this might seem crazy, but I think this is a good thing!!! I firmly believe that the more you write, the more you write. The more you think about writing, the more you’ll write, and hopefully it will become a habit. (This doesn’t guarantee good writing, mind you! It just makes it easier to get started.) I think this understanding extends to all things. The more you draw, the more you’ll draw. If you want to make movies, you should watch movies, talk about movies, take photographs, write movies, make shorts. The more you cook, the more you’ll think about cooking, and the more you’ll want to try new things and experiment with new ingredients, until you’ll get sick of it all and go out to dinner. If you want to make music, the more you listen to songs, and practice making music, and think about music, the more life will present itself to you as a song. Because even if writing and making movies and drawing aren’t important, which, arguably they’re not at all, I’d still like to go through life looking for things to write about (or sing about or draw pictures of.) Just as the actors that work with Jaques Tati started to see little comic pieces in everyday exchanges in the world around them, you’ll start to find that even small things are worth noticing and remembering and examining, which in some way makes life worth living.

And now I feel foolish for writing about writing, so let’s talk about this dal instead. It’s made with red lentils, millet and sweet potatoes, and it’s cooked for some time, which makes it dense and soft and porridgey. Red lentils are nice because they cook quickly, but if you cook them longer, as (I believe) Indian dals are cooked, they take on a whole different life. I added spinach and peas to pep things up and provide a little texture. And I used beautiful black cardamom pods, which are so smoky and sweet (but watch out for them when you eat the dal, you wouldn’t want to bite down on one!) I decided that cumin was too obvious in this dish, so I left it out in favor of other sweet and smoky spices, like cardamom, nigella seeds and smoked paprika. The flat breads were quick and easy to make – they have a little pumpkin puree and a little ricotta, which gives them a nice flavor and texture, and they were just crunchy enough to provide a pleasant contrast to the soft dal.

Here’s Station Showdown from the Yojimbo soundtrack, cause it’s all about the millet. Golly, this soundtrack is brilliant!

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Shortbread cookies with secret chocolate chips (piped cookie recipe!)

Posted on January 16, 2013 by Magpies

This is a difficult time of year, here at The Ordinary’s institute for cheerfulness studies. We haven’t seen the sun in weeks, and we keep reading articles about why certain days in January are the most miserable days of the year. (♫ It’s … the most … miserable time … of the year! ♪) It can be hard to keep the spirits up. But this morning, we think we might have developed a break-through method in merriness training. Like all discoveries, it happened by chance, in the field. Let me set the scene for you. It was a wet morning, the streets were slick and dark, the sidewalks a maze of mud and puddles. It was one of those days when the water seems to come up from the ground, or from the damp and despondent air, because there’s none falling from the sky. Isaac decided to take his brand new bright blue umbrella to school. Isaac is a slow walker at the best of times, but an umbrella makes him so slow he might as well be going backwards. He twirls it, he holds it ahead of him like a shield, he holds it behind him like a sail, he stops to pick at the broken parts, studying them intently. The only time it’s held above his head is when he charges forward a few steps and leaps, seeing if the umbrella will bear him aloft. He claims to have flown a few steps, and I have to tell you that I believe him. Now, I understand the value of cheerfulness. Most of the time I try, I make an effort. I know that people with a lot less reason to be cheerful than me do a much better job, and they are my heroes. But I fail miserably sometimes. This morning, for instance. Why does the dog need to pull my arm off to reach every fetid bit of garbage? Why does Isaac have to stall in the middle of the street? Why do my feet get so cold and wet? Why does his dizzy winding path lead him directly to every puddle, so that I have to imagine him sitting all day with cold wet feet, and think about how he’s got a cold coming on? Well, we finally made it to school, and it began to rain in earnest. Freezing rain that clung as ice to every slick surface. I gave Isaac a kiss and took his umbrella. I held it over my head, quite low and close, so that it became my whole world – and what a world – it was like moving in the world of Isaac’s imagination, radiant and joyful, my own private dome of bright blue sky. Umbrellas! The secret is umbrellas! Imbued with the buoyant thoughts of those who have held them! A traveling bubble of shelter and inspiration! Catch hold, and see if you don’t fly for a few steps! Here is further evidence to substantiate our findings, drawn from the extensive research of our colleagues. See if this doesn’t cheer you up…

Or this…

Or this (starting at 2:47)

piped shortbread cookies

Or little cookies shaped like umbrellas! I only just noticed that they’re shaped like umbrellas, so it’s a coincidence. Or maybe they’re shaped like the snails that come out after the rain. I was playing with my new piping bag toy, and I thought I’d make cookies. I used my fairly standard shortbread cookie recipe, with slight alterations so that it might hold its shape. I piped little nests (and littler nests) and then hid chocolate chips inside, and piped a top on. Because I’m crazy!! These cookies would be just as good if you mixed the chips right in and dropped them from a spoon onto the sheet, and they’d take a lot less time to make, but they’d be a lot less fun, too! I used salted butter and added a bit of salt, so they have a nice, salty, sweet, crunchiness to them.

Here’s Rihanna’s Umbrella.
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Roasted butternut-choux nests with spinach, pecans and smoked gouda

Posted on January 15, 2013 by Magpies

Butternut choux nest with spinach, pecans and smoked gouda

Last night Malcolm and I walked down to the river. It had been cloudy all day, and the sky was still thick and pale and glowing. When we reached the middle of the bridge, Malcolm told me to look down the river upside-down, so I did. Dizzyingly beautiful! The clouds and the water stretched away from us in swirling rivulets, reflecting in each other and cutting a silvery moving hourglass shape into the sharp black pattern that the land made on both sides of the river, stretching together in the distance. While we walked home, Malcolm told me his plan to replace war with a giant nerf gun competition. If you’re hit by a nerf dart, you have to sit down and let the others keep playing. This way all of the conflicts of the world would be solved, and nobody would be hurt. He’s heard a lot about guns, lately. We all have. we’ve all been thinking about it a lot, or trying not to think about it. Prepare yourself to hear something very shocking, because, here at The Ordinary, we are ready to come out very strongly in favor of gun control! I know! It’s hard to believe that the proprietoress of a vegetarian food blog would take such a stand! This is one of those issues that makes me feel slightly crazy, because I don’t understand how it can be an issue at all. In the same way that I don’t understand why we sill fight wars, I don’t understand why guns are even an option. Honestly, I have two little boys, I’m aware of the fascination that guns hold for them. If you take their toy guns away, they’ll use sticks as guns, if you take the sticks away, they’ll use their fingers. So they have nerf guns and water guns, and I do see why these are fun – it adds a moving target to a game of tag. But nerf guns and water guns don’t hurt anybody, and that is, really, the only purpose of a real gun – to hurt or to kill. (I suppose you could use a gun to smash garlic, but how practical would that be?) And you can go ahead and blame movies and video games that glorify guns as well, because, guess what?! I’m not a huge fan of those, either. If we didn’t have guns we wouldn’t have to criticize video games for making them look appealing. I realize that I can’t add much to the conversation on gun control that hasn’t already been said, but I’d love to move it to the left, to reframe it, so that when we meet at the middle, the middle doesn’t seem like the frightening place that it is now. I’ve seen lots of so-called “gun nuts” spouting lots of, what’s the word? shall-we-say, vociferously-argued arguments. Well, I’d like to be an anti-gun nut. I’d like to say that merely wanting a gun should qualify you as too crazy to own one. I’d like to say that when the “rational” rationale for owning a gun is that you want to kill animals with it – that’s not rational at all, it’s horrible and depressing and should also qualify you as too crazy to own a gun. I’d like to say that no stubborn, paranoid misreading of our constitution or any other document makes a good argument for carrying guns. Surely the whole point of the constitution was to establish a government based on intelligent understanding and measured reasoning, with enough checks and balances that an armed revolution would never be necessary, as long as people behaved decently and rationally. If you want a gun just because somebody might take it away from you, you’re crazy, you can’t have one. If you want a gun because you don’t understand how government works, and that makes you nervous, you’re crazy and you can’t have one. If you want a gun because it makes you feel powerful, you’re crazy and you can’t have one. I want to turn the whole conversation upside down, starting from a place where people are generous and gentle and kind and expected to behave that way. Where the mistrust that makes people cling to their guns is directed at the gun companies who try to keep them in fear and ignorance for their own profit, so that not buying a gun is an act of rebellion and independence. I’d like to live in a world where we don’t need to talk about gun control, because nobody wants a gun, because they love all people and animals too much – because they understand the value of life. I’d like to believe that this is possible, that this is what most people want.

And I’d like to live in a world where the most fun toy is not a gun but a pastry tube set. Holy smoke, I got my first set yesterday, and I’m so excited! It’s so much fun, so seussically nonsensical, so full of possibilities. And yet practical as well, because you get to eat whatever you make! These little butternut choux nests are among my favorite meals that I’ve made in some time. I used a fairly basic choux recipe, and added some roasted garlic and roasted butternut squash puree and some fresh thyme, fresh rosemary, smoked paprika and nutmeg. Then I piped this dough into lovely nests, about 4 inches across, and before I baked them I piled in some baby spinach, toasted pecans and smoked gouda. They turned out puffed and crispy on the outside, nice with the crunchy pecans. And soft and flavorful and comforting inside. Even the boys liked them! If you don’t have a pastry tube, you can easily make these by dropping little mounds of dough and pushing the center down with your hands or a spoon. It won’t be as pretty, but it will still taste as good.

Here’s When the Gun Draws by Pharoahe Monch It’s sweary, but he’s angry.

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Spicy hot cocoa bread with cream glaze

Posted on January 14, 2013 by Magpies

hot cocoa cake

As you probably know by now if you’re following along at home, I’m a waitress. The interesting thing about being a waitress is that it’s not interesting at all. I come home from my work and want to talk about my day, but there’s not much to tell, really. I could relate a few gossipy stories about my co-workers, and I could tell endless stories about how perplexingly rude people can be, but nobody wants to hear that. So why am I talking about it now? Well, I just thought you’d want to hear about everybody I waited on yesterday, and exactly what they ordered. Settle in, it’ll be a long list! I’m kidding, of course, but the truth of the matter is that waiting tables can be quite poignant sometimes. As a server, you’re addressing a very basic human need, you’re watching people eat and interact with each other, and depending on your mood, people can seem wonderful, foolish, or even vaguely disheartening. Sometimes the smallest gesture can seem so beautiful and sweet. Yesterday I waited on a woman and her nearly grown son, just the two of them. I’d like to think I’ll go out with my sons someday. (And the boy paid, which, undoubtedly my boys will be doing, because I’m just a waitress, for chrissake, it’s not like I’m actually saving any money!! Waitressing – the cash will be gone in under a week, but the anxiety dreams last a lifetime!!) The mother left the table for a spell, and the boy sat at the table alone. He was quite a tall person, and he had a tiny tube of lip balm, which he applied with slight, sweet self-consciousness. And then sat and read the miniscule writing on the tube, waiting for his mother. It sounds silly, I know, but I found it moving. I wondered what this pair were doing, out and about, before they stopped for lunch. A lot of people are looking for attention when they go out to eat, which is why they complain, and tut and fuss, and send food back. One fellow who comes in nearly every week likes to talk to everybody sitting around him. If nobody will talk to him, he talks very loudly to his wife, holding forth on one subject or another, seemingly waiting for somebody to jump in and give him a bit of argument. Yesterday he spoke in his carrying voice on the subject of nuts. You can have a whole bag of nuts, he declared, and every once in a while, one of them is rancid. And you can never tell which one is rancid, but one rancid nut will put you off all nuts for a while. Isn’t it the truth, I thought. If there’s one thing waiting tables has taught me it’s that we’re all nuts. Everybody is crazy. The world is a big bag of nuts, and sometimes you get a rancid one, but mostly they’re sweet enough.

Cocoa cake – bird’s eye view

Speaking of sweet!! This bread is loosely modeled on yet another recipe from Mrs. Beeton’s tome of everyday cookery. Her recipe was for a malt bread. I love malt powder, and for some reason it reminded me of hot chocolate mix I used to love as a child, which had cocoa powder and malt powder and cinnamon. A lovely combination! The bread is not too sweet, (which is why I can get away with calling it bread and not cake!) and I think this helps you to notice the taste of the cocoa, rather than just a sort of sweet chocolatey flavor. It does have chocolate chips and a sugary cream glaze (which is supposed to be like the whipped cream in your hot chocolate, of course), though, so who am I kidding? It’s a cake.

Here’s Bob Dylan’s rambling, charming Highlands. I love this exchange…

Well, it must be a holiday, there’s nobody around
She studies me closely as I sit down
She got a pretty face, with long white shiny legs
I said, “Tell me what I want,” she say, “You probably want hard boiled eggs.”

I say, “That’s right, bring me some.”
She says, “We ain’t got any, you picked the wrong time to come.”
Then she says, “I know you’re an artist, draw a picture of me.”
I said, “I would if I could but I don’t do sketches from memory.”

I love Time out of Mind! As a bonus track you get Standing in the Doorway, cause I can’t stop listening to it.
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Railway buns

Posted on January 13, 2013 by Magpies

Railway buns

We’re declaring January “Mrs Beeton month,” here at The Ordinary. We’ve been poring over her Everyday Cookery (and, incidentally, pouring over it as well! Clio and I conspired to spill a whole glass of juice over the brittle pages!) We’re particularly immersed in the cakes, buns, biscuits and pastries sections – just the thing to get us through the dreary, damp, chilly, grey, drizzly, delightful winter days. There’s a comforting consistency to the recipes…page after page of nearly the exact same ingredients in nearly the exact same proportions. Flour, fat, leavening, a bit of sugar, milk, maybe an egg. Baked, steamed, dropped, girdled, glazed. And since it says “every day” cookery, we’ve been dutifully trying something new, every single day. When I saw a recipe for “railway buns,” I fell in love right away. Railway buns! What a beautiful thought. In a rare editorial comment, Mrs Beeton tells us that “These make good sandwiches for a journey.” Of course they do! Some little bit of warmth and comfort in your pocket as you set out for your adventures!!

So your Sunday collaborative playlist is on the subject of being on a journey. Not traveling songs, exactly, but songs about that moment that you realize that you’re far from home. Maybe you’re on a train or at a station or in a motel room, in between places, and it hits you like a ton of bricks just how many miles from your home you are. How strange and different everything feels. You miss home, and can’t remember why you came out here in the first place. Are you going back, or are you traveling on? Or do you sit on a bench and take a railway bun out of your pocket to take a minute and think the situation over.

I must admit that I mis-translated this recipe, but they turned out delicious anyway. I added about half the flour that I was supposed to. So that when Mrs. Beeton said I should roll out the dough and cut it into squares, I cried, “Mrs. Beeton, you’ve steered me wrong – I can’t roll out something this soft!!” Well, it turns out it was my mistake, but it worked out well. I dropped the batter onto a baking sheet, which is my preferred lazy way to go anyway. The buns were probably a little flatter than they were meant to be, but so so good. Everybody loved them. They’re quite similar to (American) biscuits, so I made them again with baking soda and baking powder instead of yeast, just as an experiment, and they turned out tasty. Softer and richer than your average biscuit, and just the thing fresh out of the oven for yet another chilly January day. And I think they, too, would make nice sandwiches for a journey.

Here’s our far from home playlist. As ever, I’ve made it collaborative so feel free to add any song you like. It’s shaping up to be a wonderful playlist for a drizzly Sunday, hunkered down with some railway biscuits in a nest of blankets!!
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Out of the Ordinary

extraordinary food from an ordinary kitchen

Red bean, sweet potato & hominy stew and Olive oil rosemary biscuits

Fennel & walnut croquettes

Curried crispy oven roasted potato slices

Pumpkin crumpets

Millet, red lentil, and sweet potato dal and pumpkin ricotta flatbreads

Roasted butternut-choux nests with spinach, pecans and smoked gouda

Spicy hot cocoa bread with cream glaze

Railway buns

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