Showing posts with label peaches. Show all posts
Showing posts with label peaches. Show all posts

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

In-Betweeny Baking



It used to ruffle me when people allowed their moods to change completely depending on the weather. Now it seems, however, that I am one of those people. When mere wisps of clouds momentarily obscure the summer sun, I feel all productive feelings drain out me; I am ready to resign the day and lock myself indoors for a day of baking and all things Austen.


So what to do in balmy June when the grey skies throb with the threat of rain and one doesn't particularly feel like making anything crispy and cold and featuring cilantro?

Today was such a day, and it also happened to be a use-up-what's-in-the-pantry day, as we are shamefully suspended at the co-op (not that shamefully, actually). I came across a little sack of Bob's Red Mill 10-Grain Hot Cereal, left months ago by a visiting friend. As I am still developing my thing for grains and learning how to use them best, I decided -- and here comes the not-very-exciting part -- to make the muffin recipe right from the back of the bag. I also got to use our leftover buttermilk which, apparently, never goes bad. The addition of summer fruit takes the winter-comfort-food edge off.


I realized halfway through the process, however, that I do not actually own muffin pans. Then I spotted the silicon cannele molds, remnants of J.'s short-lived obsession with recreating the little heaven-cakes we had in Paris. The shape is like a miniature bundt cake, skinny and fluted. I loved the idea of a slim, elegant muffin with no mushroom top. The state of muffins in this country is getting out of control, and I'd like to think I'm doing my part. Nobody needs the crumby monstrosities you see nowadays. There, I said it.


The only dilemma is, do you serve it rounded side up like a little cake, or pretty bottom-up as you would a cannele?

And don't forget that the fruit and moisture will sink to the bottom, so don't just go by the top when you are checking for doneness. I like mine a little soft on the bottom, though.


10-Grain Muffins

1 large egg
1/2 c. sugar
1/3 c. butter
1 c. unbleached white flour
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. baking soda
1 c Bob's Red Mill 10 Grain Hot Cereal*
1 1/4 c. buttermilk
[1 1/4 c. berries or diced fruit, optional]
*A medley of pretty much every grain you can think of. I assume substitutes would work here.

Mix 10 cereal and milk. Allow to stand for 10 minutes while preheating oven and assembling other ingredients: cream sugar, butter and egg together. Add dry ingredients and milk mixture. Stir only until mixed. [Fold in fruit.] Spoon into greased muffin pan. Bake at 400*F for 15 minutes. Makes 12 muffins.

Friday, August 28, 2009

A New Toy

J's mother gave us a mandoline! This largesse has coincided perfectly with the publishing of Mark Bittman's instantly classic 101 Salads. At an outing to FCI recently (and, I believe, my first ever luncheon), Sarah asked me if I would ever go to culinary school. The answer is no, but if I did it would probably be just so that I could take less than 45 minutes to chop an onion. I do not relish knifework.


First up was this yummy salad from Kitchn. Mine seems to fall into a totally different color scheme, but we used a tomato and a pepper from the garden! I prepped the onion and cukes (which -- J's idea -- we always score with a zester before slicing; it cuts down on toughness and looks really pretty!) in seconds and assembled the rest while the fish cooked on the grill. Lemon squeezey.

Then last night, I was a little pleased to end up with the night to myself because Emily's take on Bittman Salad #2 is a perfect lunch or dinner for one, but not really take-to-work-for-lunch material.


Next time I might make this on a hot day and pair it with a version of the cold avocado-melon soup we had once as a special at the Main Street Bistro in New Paltz. Light and fresh but still rather decadent, no?

The verdict: mandolines are wonderful, even if the only thing you ever use it for is onions. I don't care for big chunks of red onion in things, and I care still less for cutting them the old-fashioned way. But I will now put thin, lovely onion slivers in every salad I ever make. One thing though: use the finger guard.