humble foods for soothing a tired traveler

there has been homecoming, home leaving, home-getting-back-to and home-with-which-we-will-begin-to-visit-less-frequently. with the summer's whirlwind of social this-and-that, trips, house guests and the like our little pack over here hasn't had its usual high summer equation that combines panes of sunlight, shady patios, sighing aspen leaves, late breakfasts, quietude, painting and book reading to render that deeply nourishing summer sloth that we all look forward to and need.  it sometimes looks like this:

of course we've certainly had more than enough adventures and for that we are grateful and certainly more worldly and wise.

but sometimes we ache for simplicity, solitude and a lack of vagabondage.  and these kinds of times, when we awake late in the morning and spend time slowly pressing coffee and turning records on and off the turntable, the best kind of food is the very plain and the very soft.

these crispy little ingots were inspired by this (as i have previously said) but also from here where their funny little edges and accompanying explanation were the clincher in trying them out. (it's possible that i'm always a sucker for a bright and fierce young woman, living alone and trying to make her way through life through the filter of the kitchen. that seems an almost guaranteed methodology for revelation.)

 

the best part about these, for me at least, is the forgiving nature of this kind of potato cake. you start with a base of mashed potatoes, roll it about in egg and crumbs and fry it. very little can go wrong as the frying is not what cooks the potatoes (as this happy medium of just-right-temperature oil can sometimes evade a kitchen lady despite having her thermometer and somewhat sensitive stove dials). you can get fancy- or not. you could, say, fold in leftover bits of grilled salmon, preserved lemon and tarragon. or browned onions, flecks of cheddar cheese and a good coarse grinding of black pepper. you could more subtly spruce things up with a knifepoint of raw garlic and the finest veil of chopped herbs. ad nauseum. we went the route of digging up the strata of the vegetable bin to those growing things that were in direst need of metamorphosis. and it was a tasty, humble venture. especially with good, velvety scrambled eggs.

infinitely adaptable potato croquettes

(adapted from Nigel Slater's potato cakes with taleggio and chard (from Tender, Volume 1) and from Rachel Eats' potato croquettes)

1 pound potatoes

1/2 stick (4 T butter)

pinch salt

half bunch kale (stems removed)

1/3 - 1/2 cup taleggio, fontina or gouda finely diced

small milk bowl full of bread crumbs (to which you have added a grinding of pepper and a little salt)

small milk bowl into which you have broken 1 egg and whisked it slightly, maybe thinning it with water if it seems too thick)

oil for frying 

*bring a small pot of salted  water to boil

*while waiting scrub and quarter the potatoes

*when  boiling, plunge the kale into the water until bright green and tender, about five minutes. run under cool water to stop cooking, squeezing out water, chop finely and set aside

*boil the potatoes until quite tender

*pass them through a food mill or mash by hand with the butter and season with salt (pepper wouldn't hurt)

* into the potato mash stir the kale and the cheese. 

*form into little cakes using two large spoons, rest to cool on a parchment lined cookie sheet for about a half an hour (this is an important part, don't rush them!)

*bring a few inches of oil to temperature in a heavy bottomed stockpot or skillet. the optimal temperature for this is 350 but the general visual clue is a 'shimmer' on top of the oil. you can also put the tip of a wooden chopstick into the oil and if a myriad of bubbles form instantly around it that's the go-ahead.

*while the oil is heating dunk the cooled potato cakes into the egg and then into the seasoned bread crumbs

*fry the cakes until golden on each side, turning frequently. depending on the size of the cakes it should take about 3 - 5 minutes.

*drain briefly on kitchen paper or a paper bag

*eat at once!

*perhaps with an egg

food vs. loneliness

i have commandeered this little house. or, alternately, the little has has commandeered me.  regardless of whose hands clutched who the truth is that The Love of My Life is off doing his purest life's work- holing up in unchartable wildernesses as he does every year about this time leaving me to wrangle the small and the furry into the wilds of our own and to decide how best to spend my solitary time. for the most part i do this by spending time in the kitchen making stuff, or working with my paints or conjuring science experiments

being alone is a good thing, and something i look forward to very much. it is important to disengage from our time knitted with someone or something(s) to reconnect with your own routine, rhythm and innate desires. for me those things are usually food or food-related, making or making-related and body or body-related.

the difficulty is that most of the joy i derive out of concocting in the kitchen has to do with bringing spoonfuls over to those preoccupied with something different to let them taste, or to put down something beautiful and plain in front of them that makes their face light up.

and so, when i embarked on making chocolate yogurt cake (which seems like a funny irony, those two words being together) i enjoyed most all parts...

 

but when i got to the last part, the part i reserve for others (mostly because i don't enjoy it myself), i realized that being alone can be well, lonely, sometimes...

and so i tried something that was more purely my-kind-of-snack (bread related, you know). and this cheered me a little bit...who would have thought, pizza on the grill? incredible!

 

dog snacks

these guys

enjoy staying with their 'grandparents,' who, luckily, live very nearby. likely the best part about staying with the grands is the spoiling they get in the form of milkbones. a glut of milkbones. at the drop of the hat. and this novelty is probably contrasted all the more because no such nonsense exists in our house. not because we do not love to dote on them (they get spoiled in mileage over here) but because there is something decidedly unromantic (the mass production of dog treats), exorbitant (paying upwards of ten dollars for animal by products and the flattering of the Corn Industry), and downright confusing (what, exactly, goes into these things?) and so, because there is ample time and the ingredients are simple and because those guys are so deserving a little guidance from this lovely blog the long talked about task of "making dog biscuits at home!" has finally come to fruition...

      

           

         

       

they do not, of course, look particularly appetizing to a person, but the dogs seem more than pleased to come sliding and clattering over the slate floor to receive them. the novelty! cookies at home! they say.

homemade dog biscuits

(adapted from 17 apart's master recipe)

preheat the oven to 350 and paper a baking sheet

in the bowl of a food processor grate:

1 apple

2 medium beets

3 carrots

and set aside.

wipe out the processor and process until smooth

1 banana

1/4 cup of peanut or almond butter

add the grated mixture as well as

3 cups of flour (i used half buckwheat half wheat)

1 cup of cornmeal

1/4 cup neutral oil (i used coconut)

and pulse until the dough forms a ball and begins to roll around the inside of the food processor.

if the dough is too sticky sprinkle in more flour or cornmeal by the tablespoonful, if it is too dense and floury add warm water.

roll the dough out (i did this between two sheets of parchment as the beets made the dough fairly sticky) and cut into desired shapes.

bake 30 minutes and turn the oven off. turn the biscuits over and let sit in the cooling oven another 30-45 minutes. biscuits are done when they are dry to the touch. don't rush this part as the dryness of the biscuits allows them to keep without furring over with mold.

et voila!

thoughts

concotions

while alone in the more quiet parts of the day, this morning for example, i find that i have no appetite for eggs fried in butter, soda bread toasted with jam, grains stewed with sweet almond milk and berries, that sort of thing. rather, trying to test the wind and light by sitting very still on the porch the hunger that stirs in me is for something vegetal, light and fleeting.

with the recent acquisition of a most excellent juicer this little house has been happy to get the necessary vitamins and minerals of vegetables and fruit without having to imbibe any solids in the middle of a scorching desert afternoon. (which is not to say that we don't eat a glut of growing things most frequently, however, it is more to keep the flow of those up when no one has an ounce of appetite....)

above is something i drink in secret, when no one can walk by, wrinkle their nose and roll their eyes and say "oh dear...you do eat such very strange things...ugh.":

celery + green grapes + peaches + apples zoomed through the juicer, cut with a most recent batch fiercely tart raspberry kombucha a crown of milled chia seeds and thickened with a few spoonfuls of newly made raw-milk yogurt.

sweet and minerally and creamy all at once.
not the kind of thing to grace the glossy face of some new-fangled-farm-forward-food publication but more than enough for a Monday morning.

treks

a jaunt up into the Wasatch wilds with mum the other day. thoughtful of our busy itinineraries these last few weeks the wildflowers have bided their time and waiting to burst into delirious bloom until now. (well...to be frank, the mountains and they're literal late blooming tendencies demand anyone who wishes to see wildflowers wait until late July at which point they are cut short only by the first killing frost or snowstorm. such a fleeting life up there.)

lovely views (if somewhat cut short by an abundance of flies) and much sun blinding and pounding over all.

more color than usual on the bridge of the nose and the cheeks which resulted in the thoughts below...

ayurveda, wabi-sabi, naturalist writers and peaches. summer ho!

as usual the mountainous summer inspires quiet in routine. this quiet, gauzy and easily stirred by changes in light and evening heat lightning seems to impose a deliberateness in how one chooses to surround themselves, both in stimuli (hopefully diminished) and in food medicine.

 ayurveda would say this is part of the natural rhythm of the world: to be entering the time of year when we are most sensitive to heat, to abrasion, to erratic behavior and light. in short Pitta time of year. and so, as with individuals who are out of balance with their pitta point of the dosha triangle as a matter of constitution, the earth and all living in it benefit from gentler routines at the moment- exerting themselves only in the cool of the morning, eating an early evening meal (no later than 7 o'clock) and bedding down fairly early. too, we should ingest cooling food (lighter or more soothing depending on who and how we are).

i like this philosophy as it is a deep-seated bone wisdom kind of thing. how frequently, if we were to put our ear against the resonance of our most grounded self, would we choose to pursue barbecued brisket with hot sauce in the middle of a July day? or a stew heavy with sweet potato, cream and warming spices? likely we would wrinkle our nose at the suggestion. instead we seek out clean, clear, ringing food. snapping pea pods and sweet corn in the finest cloak of coconut oil. fish baked in parchment with citrus; soft herbs stirred into cool cucumbers and rice; dark fruit stewed in its own juices and spooned on drift of yogurt, unadorned but brilliant. this old wisdom is so good.

what has been the largest change as i undertake to implement a little ayurveda at a time is the concept of eating a large meal in the middle of the day and a smaller one later on. sleeping is less like slogging into a swamp or blinking on and off through an electrical storm. anxieties are quelled towards the evening, set intently instead upon digestion. this kind of thing.

a lovely salad with some bracing color, implements that are sturdy and simple (lots of attention newly paid to the world around me with the new poring over of this gem) and some new reading, this is a good way to sit with summer, instead of in it.

(new acquisitions)

Hal Borland is a previously-unknown delight that has been gifted to me by a dear friend. Like Aldo Leopold (and even my favorite writer of annuals) he has broken the year down into what are called the Twelve Moons. This is not an uncommon gesture, one made by many native peoples to describe the year by each month's moon and doling twelve different names for each. Borland assigns each day of the year a different and keen observation about its natural changes and it is a lovely way to begin the day, with coffee, or with the quiet end of the day meal...

and speaking of Nigel Slater...as usual, the above is adapted from his lovely Tender Vol. II.

I made it mostly because of his ode-like writing on peaches:

"When a peach is at its most sublime, it needs a plate to catch the juice, though I invariably forget. Or is that I can never quite believe I will need one? Either way, it is usually followed by that embarrassing little noise that comes from the corner of your mouth as you try to catch the escaping trickle of juice...I like the fact that the stone of a peach contains a little cyanide, though not as much as its sister, the bitter almond. The far-off hint of danger seems only to add to the peach's exotic and sensual qualities...."

and

"A peach in the kitchen...I rarely cook a peach. They are seen in my kitchen nestling next to the crisp skin of a roast chicken salad or perhaps cold gammon or hot roast guinea fowl; stuffed with mascarpone or ricotta or amaretti; or simply nudging a few slices of Parma ham and a fistful of spiky-leaved rocket. I will grill them, stuffed with cream cheese and glazed with molten sugar, bake them with almonds and honey and poach them with honey and a drop of rosewater. Occasionally (very occasionally), I will tuck them into the cream filling of meringue with passion fruit of raspberries or add them to a salad of wine-dark cherries."

and so, wanting a salad nudged by a peach as I'm quite sure I've never had the pleasure I embarked on the dish in question with lovely results...

Roast chicken with arugula, peaches and fresh mozzarella

(adapted from Tender Volume II's: 'A Salad of Chicken, Mint and Peaches')

1 chicken breast; bone in and skin on

marinated with....

about half a lemon's worth of lemon juice

as much as you feel like zesting of a lemon

a zigzag of olive oil

a pinch salt

a grind or two of black pepper

a handful of chopped up herbs (i used rosemary, oregano, dittany, thyme)

roast at 350 for 20-45 minutes depending on the size of the breast. check, as usual, for a burnished and crackling skin, clear juices running from the knife-prick and a creamy interior (no redness or pinkness unless you are very near the bone) let this guy sit about 10 minutes on the counter to tempt anyone around with its fragrance, dogs especially. then shred with a fork.

into a bowl shower some arugula and a few torn up rounds of nasturtium leaves and blossoms if you have any about. 

add to it half a round of fresh mozzarella torn into pleasing bits (not too big, not too small)

one peach shocked in a bit of boiling water, skin removed. cut this into fine wedges and then each wedge crosswise.

a cupful (approximately) of steamed israeli couscous (likely soft cooked barley would be an excellent substitute)

a palmful of shredded mint and basil leaves

and perhaps a quarter cup of finely chopped and fiercely bright red onion.

dress this with an squeeze of lemon (perhaps the other half from the chicken) and whisk with a pinch of black pepper and salt, pour in a trickle of olive oil at a time until a lovely unctuous emulsion forms, toss with the salad bowl and eat somewhere with a lovely view, a lovely lunch partner, or a lovely length of well-written anything to make you appreciate how clean and light eating with the season makes a person feel.

cheers!

and do read as much Nigel Slater as you can, you will never feel more lovingly towards the plant-world than after reading him...