An author's collection of thoughts and stories
I have a recipe for peanut butter bars that I’m fond of, with one adjustment that I’ve made to it: I double the amount of butter called for. Unfortunately, I failed to write the change down, and today when I decided that the day was dark and dreary enough to call for an indulgence, I completely forgot to put in the extra butter.
So dry and crumbly.
The kids don’t mind, but I sure miss that extra butter.
I grew up in Utah, so to me, scones were something that you fried in oil and ate with honey butter. It wasn’t until I was an adult that I learned that scones were something completely different to the rest of the world.
For those who are curious about this “Utah scone” idea, you take some sort of white bread dough (I personally like to use a dinner roll recipe), shape it flat after letting it rise, then fry it in oil until golden (flipping them over to cook both sides). The bigger the better. Like, if you can make them as big as a dinner plate, you’ve mastered the art of Utah scones. Eat with lots of honey butter — and I mean lots. We’re talking sinful levels of indulgence here.
Anyway
The other day it hit me that I can’t remember ever eating a *real* scone. So I pulled out my big book of baking recipes, and found one for chocolate chip orange scones. Basically, any recipe that calls for citrus zest is a winner in my mind, so I went for it.
Not my recipe, so I’m not going to post it. 😛
Just imagine a basic scone with orange zest, orange juice, and chocolate chips added. Then sprinkle with cinnamon sugar before baking. In fact, you can take this recipe, and substitute the last three ingredients for everything I just mentioned, plus 1/3 cup milk.
I just dropped the dough down on the cookie sheet without doing any sort of shaping, ’cause I’m lazy like that. Consequently, my kids are pretty convinced that these are cookies, and nothing is going to change their minds.
And wow, these are so good.
I burnt out on movies, so I switched over to watching Youtube whenever I needed to mindlessly veg for a bit.
So, the other day I was watching a food channel, and the person said something along the lines of, “Fried foods absorb oil, and that’s bad for you.”
Something inside of me snapped.
Like, “Fuck it. I’m buying a deep fryer.”
Gonna eat beignets for breakfast every single day.
Actually, I’m way too stingy to buy a deep fryer when I have a perfectly good pot and a stove, but the sentiment still stands. People have been frying foods in oil for literally ages, so I think it’s okay for me to eat something without you getting all up in my business. There’s too much of that going around.
Deal with it.
It’s my tradition to make an authentic Irish dinner every year for St. Patrick’s Day, but this year I was worried that we wouldn’t be able to find essential ingredients (like potatoes) with that whole, “the world has gone completely insane” thing.
To which my husband wittily replied, “Starvation is also very Irish.”
Ha ha ha.
But, through sheer heroism, my husband came through and managed to find everything on my list … except for barley.
I didn’t know people ate barley. I thought they were all gluten-free.
However, there wasn’t a single barley grain to be found anywhere.
So we’re substituting with farro. We’ll have to see how it turns out, but considering that it goes in the stew, I’m fairly certain it will be fine. Stew is forgiving. The kids will be too traumatized by the corned beef to notice anyway.
And St. Patty’s Day is still ON at our house! Oro!
No one’s invited. Social distancing, and all that. Can’t risk getting close enough to anyone to pinch them for not wearing green. LOL.
I love food.
When I say that, I mean that putting an hour or more into making dinner is typical for me, and words like “quick,” “convenient,” or “frozen,” don’t have a place in my kitchen. I strongly believe that food should be a celebration, not a punishment. Eating should make your heart sing with joy, not feel like a chore.
So it’s killing me that I’ve had morning sickness for over a month now. I don’t want toast and peanut butter, I want real food. Preferably without vomiting afterwards.
I’m starting to have the irrational fear that this will drag on forever and I’ll never be able to eat properly again. Are those blissful afternoons spent cruising around a kitchen filled with scrumptious smells over with forever?
Logically, no. But pregnancy isn’t meant to be experienced logically, and I really just want to eat something delicious for once. I’ve been living on bland for far too many weeks now. It’s wearing me down, and I’m more than ready for this phase to be over.
I could really go for a hearty Irish stew, with lots of potato and onion. Or chicken paprikash with spaetzle. Heck, I would even love some simple homemade bread with enough gluten to make the neighbors cry. I just want to be back in the kitchen.
Barefoot, of course. I wouldn’t want to suffocate my feet and interrupt my connection with the elements. I’m far too free spirited for shoes.
I just wish I could eat fo’ realz, instead of tiptoeing around random nausea triggers.
When I properly get my appetite back, the first thing I’m going to make is spaghetti.
MY spaghetti.
Start with ground beef in a large pot, then throw in lots of onion and garlic, and cook it together. Keep all the fat. Add diced tomatoes and tomato paste. Oregano, basil, a touch of curry, brown sugar, and any other spices that sound good at the time. Bring to a simmer.
Add mushrooms. After they are fully cooked, throw in a sinful amount of mozzarella cheese. Stir in when completely melted.
Go easy on the noodles and don’t make too much. The sauce is meant to be super thick.
So hearty. So delicious. So forbidden by every fad diet. I love it.
But alas, most foods still make me gag, so all I can do is dream.
I like to (semi)jokingly refer to myself as a fairy, given my penchant for wild mushrooms and secret acts of mischief kindness. I also have what I refer to as a curse when it comes to cast iron. Ergo, I am a fairy. QED. My logic is flawless.
Cast iron cooking is really yummy, so I’ve decided to make peace with my skillet. Yes, I know, I gave up on you and put you away in storage for a long time, but I couldn’t figure out why your seasoning kept flaking up. No, we aren’t going to talk about what happened to your predecessor.
I settled on this book, because I LOVE Southern cooking. I learned how to cook in the South.
The intro gives a basic rundown of cast iron care, and might have said some other stuff that I didn’t read, because nobody reads the intros. I found all of the recipes to be approachable as an amateur chef, though they definitely require more investment than mixing frozen foods with pre-made sauces.
I made the chicken pot pie.
I didn’t follow the recipe exactly. I brined my chicken before baking it, then used the meat drippings in the gravy. It turned out exquisite, but I definitely used a skill set that was not discussed anywhere in the book.
My complaint is that, although it’s supposed to be heirloom cooking, it calls for shortcuts like using frozen pie crusts. I would have liked to see recipes for pie crusts, biscuits, etc., considering that these are essential elements and have a huge impact on flavor. Seriously, pie crust only takes a few minutes, and Southern cooking is about feeding the soul. You don’t want a frozen soul, do you?
The desserts are even worse, using boxed mixes in lieu of any actual recipe at all.
3/5 starz
At this point, it’s still up in the air if I’ll manage to get along with my cast iron.
[Ed. note: the curse appears to be very real – somehow the contents of this (scheduled) post were transplanted onto a preexisting post, and retrieving it became quite the adventure.]
By Autumn Rain 