yogurt and herb bread

I am so happy to have this moment to sit down to write. My fingers are so full of energy. My voice, however, is needing a little break. I am thankful to be quiet for a little while, and to let my fingers help me think out loud.
I will be candid with you. I have been spending these days answering question after question. In a small town like this one, after your face is on the front of the local paper, the sidewalk is full of questions. The little market where I go to find my harder-to-find ingredients is full of questions. The liquor store where I stop to get Joey some beer as an appreciation for practically single parenting lately- more questions.
Really, I am happy for the questions. I want to talk to people, and mostly I want to ask them questions of my own. I want to know what they think about what is going on around here.

I tend to hear the same questions many times in a day. They are the questions that one might expect: Why are you inspired to run for town office? What are your hopes for the town? (a playground! a few decent restaurants that I can afford!) Are you totally insane? (anyone who has experience with small town government knows where this question is coming from)

There is one question I never hear, but it has been on my mind lately. People ask me what I do for a living, and I tell them I am a writer, and that I write about food. I tell them that I write online, that I'm working on some magazine pieces, that I'm working on a bigger, well, let's just call it a project, right now. They say, ohhh. And then they change the subject and ask me what I think about finding funds for the library or moving the crosswalks.

They never ask what writing about food has to do with getting involved in local politics.

And that's okay. It is okay that this is a question that only I ask myself, but I hope you will indulge me while I try to give myself an answer.

Let me first say that I have no political ambitions beyond this position. It has taken me this long to call myself a writer, and this is where I want to continue. But a few years ago, when I decided that food was the place for me, and that this was where I wanted more than anything to settle, I came that decision through two channels. The first was that I finally accepted that I was miserable working in any other field. All of my jobs felt like clothes that not only looked bad on me, they didn't fit. Whether it was a size 0 orange tube top, or a size 16 silk blouse, it was all wrong. When I was cooking and talking about cooking, if you will stay with the metaphor for a minute, it was perfect jeans, I mean perfect.
The second channel was a growing sense that I had that food was the real intersection of everything that had become important to me. Family, sustainability, personal responsibility, art, physical health and self-respect, finding joy in the moment; all of these issues come together on the dinner table.
When I left my job in December, I gave myself six months to really work on this, to take the time to cook and write and to see what could come of it. Since then, I have been cooking. And I have been writing. And I have been happy. So, when someone asked me to run for town government, I probably should have said no. After all, I have a few more months of writing to do before I have to decide whether or not to take a waitressing job.
I probably should have said no. Except there is this thing, this place where the two meet. And it nagged and pulled on me until I said yes.

One of the reasons I love to talk with people about cooking is because it is my favorite way to feel empowered, and to help others to feel empowered. Quite literally, instead of eating what gets put in front of you, you can learn how to make your own lunch, and you can make what you want. It's pretty phenomenal. All those issues that food pulls together; family, sustainability, and that whole list- when we start to get empowered and creative in the kitchen, how we deal with those issues becomes just a little bit more under our own control.
Here's another way to think about it. Earlier in the week we were talking about kids cooking and how to help that along. There are all sorts of reasons why the girls ask to cook, but there is one particular interaction which happens here and there:

girls: we hate what's for dinner!
me: then cook dinner yourself!

You get the idea. But so do they. Miraculously, they go and cook something, and when they've made it, they eat it, even if it contains ingredients that they refuse to touch when they've come from me.
I love that, even though it makes me a little mad.

And my decision to participate in local government? That's me learning how to cook something new. I've been complaining and imagining the meals I'd like to eat. I've been eating whatever comes in front of me. I'm thinking it's time to make it myself.

And I think that that is my answer. That's why this makes just the tiniest bit of sense. But I have to tell you that with all of this metaphorical cooking, I haven't been cooking so much new stuff the last week or two. I'm missing it, but all of this will be over in 10 days, and then it's just me and the cookbooks. This week, I've been sticking to the comforting foods I can make with my eyes closed, turnip and turnip greens soup, peppery carbonara. I've been trying to sneak bacon in wherever I can to make up for the times I forget to eat, and that also keeps Joey happy, which is very very important right now. (You, know, the wind beneath my wings and all that).
But there was something this week I wanted to share. A little bread that I made to go with that turnip and turnip greens soup (have you made this soup? It is maybe the best in the world, and I don't care how you feel about turnips), a bread that helped to ease my missing of the oven with minimal work. I chopped herbs from the backyard, and I said hello to the garden that is waiting for me to return. It's a good little bread. It works well with a soup that took you all day as well as one from a can. It should be slathered with butter and dipped into said soup. And so that you don't make crumbs all over your kitchen floor, the bread will insist, like a good husband who knows that you should stop pacing around the kitchen, that you sit for a few minutes to eat it.


Yogurt and Herb Bread
adapted from Mollie Katzen, The Enchanted Broccoli Forest

1 cup all-purpose flour
1 cup whole wheat or spelt flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
4 tablespoons butter, melted
2 large beaten eggs
1 cup firm yogurt
1/3 cup honey
1/2 cup mixed fresh herbs (I used chives, tarragon, and oregano), coarsely chopped

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Butter a loaf pan. Sift together the flours, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Make a well in the center of the bowl.
Beat together the melted butter, eggs, yogurt and honey on high speed with an electric mixer for 3-5 minutes, or until frothy. Add the herbs and mix well.
Pour the liquid/ herb mixture into the well in the dry ingredients. Mix with a spoon until thoroughly blended.
Pour into a well-buttered loaf pan, and bake 40-50 minutes until a knife, when inserted, comes out clean.

kid's cookbooks

People often think that I know my stuff when it comes to kids in the kitchen. Since I write about cooking and parenting, I guess it would make sense, but the truth is, I'm just trying to figure it out.
The girls are 5 and 7 now. They can read, especially the big one, and they can tell sugar from baking soda. They can totally make a cake on their own.

As long as I put my hands over my eyes.

I need to be in the room to put the thing in the oven, but otherwise, I'm no help at all. I wince as the tablespoon gets confused with the teaspoon and I judge the clumpiness of the batter. The only way I can help is to let go and let it all happen.

Easy, peasy.

The truth is, the worst thing that can happen is that the cake doesn't come out so well. They're happy about it anyway and it was a good way to spend an afternoon. I can tell you that it is a really good thing to let your kids make their own food in the kitchen. It's worth working on, and that's why I'm still here, taking deep breaths and and trying not to draw blood from my lip in the corner while Sadie is about to spill oil all over the table.

I am able to do this because they are reading the directions by themselves. There is a book, open to the chocolate cake page. Sadie's friend Aurora is reading the directions and interpreting the pictures. Sadie is measuring and stirring. And because the girls have learned that a cake is not a cake unless someone is taking pictures of it, Rosie chronicles every moment with the camera.

We have three cookbooks for children in our house, and I love them all for different reasons. These cookbooks speak directly to the kids; they often use pictures to explain the recipes, and the recipes themselves are simple yet good enough for us all.

This is the newest book in our little collection, and it is showing a whole lot of promise. Our friend Naya included it in the best care package in history, and Sadie was busy looking through it before Rosie could put all of the cupcake printed bandaids all over her skin. Mollie Katzen and the whole Moosewood family have not let us down yet, and so far Honest Pretzels is no exception. It contains snacks, meals and desserts, from spunky chili to the grilled cheese and broccoli sandwich to Peanut Butter doo-dads to dinner rolls. Kids need to be able to read for this one, and she really speaks respectfully to them, which I love. Not only are the recipes simple, they are foods that kids actually want to eat.

Way back when the girls were tiny, we had a visit from our friend Liz's mother, Anita. Anita is one of those home bakers who makes absolute magic in her oven. Everyone tries to get in her good graces so that they can score a box of goodies from her in December, and her chocolate chunk cookies are pretty much the best in the world. She came for dinner that night, on a visit out from Denver, and we talked about baking most of the time. A few weeks later, there was a package, with a little thank you and this book. The girls were maybe 2 and 4 we pretty quickly moved through the whole thing. The girls would sit on the couch together, picking out recipes as though they didn't have the whole book memorized. The Baking Book is filled with basics- birthday cake, scones, and shortbread cookies, but the recipes are all done through pictures. This layout is what makes this book great for younger children- they can really lead you through the recipe. The recipes have all worked for me, and the birthday cake is actually one of our go-to cakes.

Of the three, this is the book that we have used the least, although not for any lack in its quality. I think we're just not quite there yet. Fanny at Chez Panisse is written from the perspective of Alice Waters's daughter, and it goes through several of Alice's more simple and basic recipes. It is beautifully written and pleasing to look at, and I think that it is perfect for a child of eight or nine who is really discovering themselves in the kitchen.

Made-in-the-Pan Chocolate Cake
from Mollie Katzen, Honest Pretzels

1 1/4 cups unbleached white flour
1/3 cup unsweetened cocoa
1 cup sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
3/4 teaspoon baking soda
1 cup water
1/3 cup canola or vegetable oil
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 teaspoon cider vinegar or white vinegar

Ask an adult to turn on the oven to 325 degrees. Put the flour, cocoa, sugar, salt and baking soda into a square glass baking pan. Mix it slowly. taking turns with a fork and a soup spoon. until it is completely light brown. Peek through the bottom of the pan to make sure that you don't see any more white. When it is all mixed, make 4 dents with a spoon- 2 large and 2 small- in the mixture. Measure 1 cup water and pour it into one of the large dents. Measure 1/3 cup oil and pour it into the other larger dent. Measure one teaspoon vanilla extract and pour it into one of the smaller dents. Measure one teaspoon vinegar and pour it into one the other smaller dent. Begin stirring with a fork in little circles to get all of the dry parts wet. As it turns into batter, start mashing it down with a fork. After you mash it a few taimes, scrape the bottom and stir. Do this again many times- mash, scrape, stir. When the batter is smooth, scrape the sides one more time with a rubber spatula and spread it into place. Clean off the edges of the pan with a damp paper towel. Ask an adult to put the pan in the oven. Set the timer for 30 minutes. Ask an adult to take it out. Cool for 30 minutes before cutting and eating.

rice cooker tapioca

I know just a little bit about marriage. Just a little bit. I've got a whole lot more education ahead of me.
My mom was married to my dad for a few short years. It doesn't sound like it was the best of relationships. By the time I was three, we were living with other single moms who had figured out that the secret to raising children alone is community. I had lots of chanting and guitar playing women around me. But not so much marriage.

Luckily, my mother simply had yet to meet the love of her life. It didn't happen until she was 40 and I was 17. She found a very nice Canadian, settled down, and, older and wiser, she started the marriage thing again. Even though I was almost grown up, it was nice to have a dad too, and it still is.

Not so much later, I got married myself. I found my nice Canadian earlier on, only he was from Colorado instead. And so my marriage education began.

I think that one of the most important things I have learned so far is that it is a gift to Joey when I can let him know what I need. It is amazing how many fights seem to come out of needs that are left unsaid. Somehow, we think that our minds can be read, that they should know!
And sometimes they do know. But more often, they don't. How should he know that you just needed him to take over dinner that night? How should she know that you just needed a half hour of quiet, just to yourself right now? How should he know that really, the thing that you need on those days when things are not going your way is a really big bowl of tapioca pudding?

He couldn't know. Unless you tell him. And you give him the recipe right here and now. So for the rest of you, use this if you need it. That's great, and I'm thrilled. But really, Joey, love of my life, this is for you.

Rice Cooker Tapioca
adapted from Beth Hensperger and Julie Kaufman, The Ultimate Rice Cooker Cookbook

Gadget Note: This is my rice cooker. My aunt Cindy bought it for me for my birthday a few years ago, and I love it THIS MUCH (Rosie's arms stretched out wide). I make a whole lot more than rice in it, thanks to the cookbook where I got this recipe. You can make this in any kind of rice cooker, as long as it has a porridge setting, which is a lower, slower heat setting.

serves 6, or more like 2 if one of the people is me after a hard day

6 tablespoons small pearl tapioca (not instant)
4 cups milk
2 large eggs
1/3 cup maple syrup
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
pinch of salt

Put the tapioca into the rice cooker bowl. In a medium bowl, whisk together the milk, eggs maple syrup, salt, and vanilla. Pour the mixture over the tapioca and stir a few times. Close the rice cooker and set for the porridge cycle. If you think of it, open it a few times while it is cooking and stir. When the cycle is complete, reset it again for the porridge cycle. Check it after about half an hour, and if it is firmed up a bit, turn off the rice cooker. Otherwise just let the cycle complete. Transfer the pudding to smaller bowls and chill before serving. Or, if you are like me and like your pudding warm, go for it right away.

masa harina-beef casserole

I miss New Mexico today.
It hits me without warning, and usually the missing gets in my nose first. My memory creates a smell and it gets stuck there. The most common is roasting green chile, but of course there's also pinon. And there is the smell of the tamale.
There are a lot of reasons why I miss New Mexico, and even more reasons why I left. But there is no other place that makes me hurt when I miss it.
There was this little place up by school called Johnny's Cash Store. They sold jumex juices, and milk and eggs and cigarettes and twinkies. The whole place smelled old and dusty because it was old and dusty. But on the counter, there was a steam table filled with tamales that someone's mother had made. For a few dollars, you could have a red chile pork tamale and a green chile chicken tamale tucked in a little wax bag. That bag, along with a few napkins and a mango jumex, made a lunch that could turn anyone's day around. There was a little splintery picnic table outside, and I swear that picnic table was one of my favorite places to eat in Santa Fe.
Those tamales tasted like love.

It's vacation week around here, although I've taken off to New Mexico in my mind (and nose), I'm home with the girlies while Joey works at the school setting up his new classroom. We're all doing okay together- luckily we have the garden and my sister's handed down American Girl collection to keep us entertained. But yesterday, we all started out on the wrong side of the bed. There were early tantrums, and by the time I was trying to coax Rosie across the parking lot to get to the supermarket at 12:30 (Rose: Ow, Mom, you're hurting me! Me: I'm holding your hand! We're in a parking lot!), I thought I might just go ahead and lose it altogether.

Thank the lord for the playdate.

By 1:30, our friends had arrived. A playdate for me, and a sister for each of the girls, with a bonus two year old to eat cheerios at the table. We drank beer in the kitchen, I turned my mood around, and the girls, well, the girls, mostly just stood on the cars.

Every time I looked, they were each wearing different dresses. Then they would trade dresses, or pull out new ones, and get back up on the car.

They stayed until bedtime and then the girls fell into the mess that had accumulated in their room and fell asleep. It was a good day.

But of course, there was dinner. And although Johnny's Cash store is 2,000 miles away, I needed something that smelled right, even if it contained canned green chiles and no one's mom had made it. Oh, wait, hold on. Something really has changed since New Mexico.

Someone's mom did make this.


We ate every bite.

This recipe is from a cookbook that I have talked about before, Whole Grains Every Day, Every Way. This book is an amazing resource, and it will tell you everything you need to know about how to cook, clean, and store whole grains. If you feel a little overwhelmed in the bulk section of your store, this book will open up your world.

It also has phenomenal recipes. Every recipe I have made from this book has been a success; Lorna Sass is both deliciously creative and looking out for the home cook. A lot of the recipes are meat based, which is unusual in a whole grains cookbook. For some reason, whole grains and vegetarian seem to get paired more often, but this one is for the healthy meat eaters.

Masa Harina is a corn flour that is used in tamales, as well as in making corn tortillas. It is combined with lime, and has a very specific smell to it, that is the smell of of Johnny's Cash store tamale, or as I like to call it, love.
You can find Masa Harina in most grocery stores, and of course all Latin Markets. The brand I most often see is called Maseca. If you absolutely cannot find it, you can substitute cornmeal for the masa in this recipe.

Masa Harina-Beef Casserole
adapted from Lorna Sass, Whole Grains Every Day, Every Way

for the filling:
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 large onion, coarsely chopped
1 red bell pepper, seeded and diced
1 1/2 pounds ground beef
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 1/2 teaspoons dried oregano
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon salt
freshly ground black pepper
1 15-ounce can diced tomatoes with green chiles
optional: 1 additional small can diced green chiles

for the topping:
1 1/4 cups masa harina
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon chili powder
1 large egg
1/2 cup sour cream or yogurt
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1 cup jack or cheddar cheese
1 cup fresh or forzen corn kernels

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees and put a rack in the bottom third of the oven. Have ready a rectangular baking dish, about 11x7 or thereabouts. Lay it on a baking sheet and set aside.
Heat the oil in a large skillet. When it is hot, add the onion and pepper and cook over medium high heat, stirring occasionally, until the onion is soft, about 5 minutes.
Stir in the beef, garlic, oregano, cumin, salt and pepper. Cook over medium high heat, stirring and breaking it up into small bits. When the meat begins to brown, stir in the tomatoes and green chiles and bring to a boil. Lower the heat and simmer uncovered while you prepare the topping.
Pour 4 cups of water into a heavy saucepan. Whisk the masa harina into the water until it is smooth and thoroughly blended. Stir in the salt and chili powder. Bring the mixture to a boil. stirring almost constantly. Lower the heat and keep stirring until the mixture thickens to the consistency of batter, about 3 minutes. Remove from heat.
In a small bowl, beat the egg. Stir in the sour cream or yogurt and a cup of the hot masa mixture. Stir the egg mixture and the baking soda into the pot containing the remaining masa mixture.
Taste the meat and adjust for seasonings. Transfer the meat to the baking dish, leaving any liquid behind. Pour the masa batter over the meat. Sprinkle with the cheese, then the corn kernels.
Bake until the casserole is bubbly and the top is slightly browned, about 45 minutes. Let sit for 10 minutes before serving.

pie crust in the kitchen aid

I'm all business today.
I'm sure that there is a lot to talk about if we get started. But I promised you pie crust. Really I did. And although I'm learning that as a political candidate, rule number one is DON'T MAKE PROMISES!, in the world of food and rolling pins, promises are really okay.

I'm starting with the best pie crust, because really, I'm not so big on build-ups. If you don't have a kitchen aid, I'll do a few other crusts in the next week or two, but if you've got one, then you can just stop here.

Of course, there is a chance that this crust might not be for you. If you really like the feeling of mastery over cutting butter into flour, of knowing just when the crust won't crumble, then keep working with your pastry blender. If your pie crust making is peppered by spaced out daydreams of of being an french pastry chef in the days before whirring gadgets (okay, okay, that actually is me once in awhile), then this crust is not for you.
This crust is the one if you just want to make the damn pie already. It is absolutely predictable, and you barely have to use your brain at all. It is easy to roll out, and ends up light and flaky. It comes together in a few steps, with hardly any active time.

This morning I was dropping Rosie off at her friend Petra's house for the day. Petra's mom is a bit of a pie crust whiz, and I mentioned that I needed to get home to finally get this pie crust post going. "Just make sure you talk about how easy pie crust is," she said. "I don't think people really get that!" And how does Petra's mom make her pie crust? You guessed it. Whir, whir, whir.


Are you ready? Should we do this thing? Would you like to make the damn pie crust already?

Okay! Ingredients. I make pie crust with butter. Always. And for pie crust, I buy special butter. Not always, but when I can. It has a higher fat content, and comes across the ocean from Europe, where apparently the butter comes from fatter cows. It arrives in a satisfying block, and it's called Plugra. It looks like this.

If you don't use fancy butter, just make sure that you use unsalted butter.
Then there's the flour. I use King Arthur all purpose. It works for me. I don't recommend using whole wheat flour unless you are making something savory, like a quiche, and even then, if you really want some whole wheat in there, I'd suggest you use 1/3 to a 1/2 whole wheat flour.
Besides that there is salt. Fine sea salt, or whatever you've got as long as it's not too coarse.
Then you need an acid, and in this recipe it's apple cider vinegar. If you don't have that, you can use white distilled vinegar.


Plug in that kitchen aid. Put on the white beater attachment. Here we go.

Pie Crust in the Kitchen Aid
adapted from Shirley Corriher, Bakewise

You will need:

11 ounces (2 1/2 cups) all-purpose flour
8 ounces cold unsalted butter
1/3 cup water
2 teaspoons apple cider vinegar
1/2 teaspoon fine sea salt
1 tablespoon unseasoned bread crumbs


Cut the butter into 1/2 inch squares. Throw it into the mixer bowl with the flour. Put the bowl into the refrigerator. In a measuring cup, combine the water, vinegar, and salt. Put that in the refrigerator, too. Walk away for a few minutes.
Affix the bowl to the mixer. Using the lowest speed, mix for about 30 seconds, until the mixture looks crumbly, like this:


Then slowly add the cold water/ vinegar, and mix until the dough comes together in a ball, like this:

Divide the dough into two balls, and wrap in plastic. Press down into discs.


Refrigerate for at least an hour, but up to two days. You can also through the discs into a freezer bag and freeze at this point.

Take the dough out of the fridge, and place on a well floured surface. Roll out from the center, turning the dough as you go.


Butter your 9 inch pie dish. Sprinkle the bottom with the tablespoon of breadcrumbs. Roll the dough out so that it's something like a circle, big enough to spread over your dish. Fold your crust into quarters, like this:

Place the corner in the center of the pie dish, and then unfold the crust. Press out any air bubbles, and fold over the top of the crust if there is extra. Patch any holes with excessive pieces of hanging dough.


Prick the bottom of the crust with a fork. If you haven't yet prepared your filling, refrigerate the crust while you do. Roll out the second crust. Put the filling into the shell, and then either:

1. lay the crust over the filling in the same method as you transported the first crust. Press the edges together, shaping it with your fingers. Cut four holes in the top of the crust.

or

2. cut the second crust into 1-inch strips. Arrange one set of strips going in one direction, then another set in the other direction. Press the crust together at the edge, and shape with your fingers.


Pie crust is very forgiving- the imperfections turn lovely as it bakes. So just press the dough together, and everything will be okay. Your pie will be beautiful, because pies just are.

And that's it! This pie crust changed my life just a little bit, and if you are in need of a change, it might do the same for you. Whir. Whir. The next crust will be in the cuisinart, so get your blade ready. We'll all be pie crust makers soon enough, friends.

while I was away

Yesterday, I found these videos on my computer. It seems that this was what Joey and the girls were up to when I was on my trip.




I wasn't going to post them up here, but then I just watched them again.



Yes, I know, this is my family, and maybe I find them funnier than you do.
But I thought that you might need a laugh as much as I do tonight, and maybe, perhaps, just possibly, this might provide one for you.



Yup, they eat better when I'm around, but when Daddy's in charge, life looks like this.

eat the weeds

Before we begin, I just want to say that I absolutely have not forgotten our pie crust adventures! There are certainly a list of things that are going undone at the moment. but the pie crust will not end up along side the sweeping of the stairs and the organizing of the mudroom. Today, I will replenish our dwindled butter supply, and then there is no stopping me. Just so you know what you are in for, I am planning on three posts over the next week or two: pie crust in a mixer, pie crust in a food processor, and pie crust by hand. Like I said before, I'm hoping for some help on this one, and, if you are willing, you can start by letting me know particular frustrations or tricks that you have with pie crust. A few have already come in on the comments, and I'm hoping to address and integrate them in the posts, so that we can all help each other out.

You may have noticed, however, that I've been gearing up a little for this pie party. If you have been cooking with me for the last couple of weeks, you've been warming up your rolling pin. You've been practicing cutting in the butter, and you've been pressing dough into discs. Whether it was the spinach ricotta pie, the pop tarts, or today's little tart, we're already there!

Yes, you heard me right. Today, a tart!
I've been spending a lot of time in the garden this week. I've been spending time that I should be spending doing other things, but I can't help myself. I've been out there until I can't see a thing in the dark, and Joey has been very forgiving when I have had to sing the girls to sleep through their window because I want to stay outside.

We grow a lot less of our own food than people have in the past. And there is a long list of things that I think we have lost in that process, to be sure. But one of them is, and stay with me here, the opportunity to use the garden as a metaphor for, well, everything, and to learn from it.
The garden is just the garden, and that is good enough for me, but it is also hard not to apply the principles that rule there to other arenas.
Lay the groundwork correctly. Don't take yourself too seriously. Know that it will take years to learn. Get dirty. Take out the weeds entirely, as opposed to just the top. Roll up your sleeves and put your hands right into it. Share with your neighbors. The list just goes on and on.

Make use of everything that you can.

Do you have nettles or spiny sowthistle growing in your yard? This is spiny sowthistle, and it can be used similarly to the nettle, which might also be taking over your spring garden. The young spiny sowthistle (thanks Laurel!) looks like this:

Young nettles look similar, but like this. They mostly grown wetter climates, like New England and the Pacific Northwest. In these places, they grow everywhere. In dryer climates, like New Mexico, they actually grown them on purpose, and hungry foodies pay good money for them at the farmer's market. But spiny sowthistles are my weed of plenty.

Both of these delicious weeds are sharp as hell. They will even give you a rash on top of the initial prick. It is hard to imagine putting one in your mouth.

But trust me on this one. Put on your gloves- the thick kind, and pull them out. Keep your gloves on and snip off the root. Soak the tops of the plants. Right now is the best time to eat them, because the top is all there is. Take off the root, and use the rest.

After they've released most of their dirt, throw them in a pot of boiling water for about two minutes. Drain, and then they are safe to touch. Those spikes are nothing now- you have conquered the spiny weed! Give them another rinse now that you can actually touch them.

It is just deeply satisfying to eat a weed, I think.

Chop them up, and set them aside. Now it's time to make the tart.

I have actually written about this tart in a slightly different incarnation before. It is the first time that I've repeated a recipe, but this one is special, and especially good for right now when you might have little bits of herbs starting to poke up. The crust is an olive oil crust, and is maybe the easiest thing to roll out, ever. So get out your rolling pin, and have no fear.

Ricotta Leek Tart with fresh Weeds
adapted from David Lebovitz, who adapted it from Deborah Madison

1 recipe of Clotilde's olive oil crust (with a pinch of dried thyme as the herb)
8 ounces ricotta cheese
1 large egg
1 cup whole milk (you can sub 1/2 cup heavy cream or creme fraiche for added richness)
2 cups chopped leeks
1 tablespoon butter
6-8 ounces nettle tops or spiny sowthistle tops, cleaned, blanched, and chopped as above
3 tablespoons fresh herbs- whatever you've got- I used oregano, tarragon and chives
salt and freshly ground pepper

Prepare the crust, and put it into a rectangular or circular tart pan If you have extra, you can save it for decoration. Refrigerate for 30 minutes. Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Poke holes in the tart crust, and bake for 10 minutes. Leave the oven at 400 degrees.
Melt the butter in a medium skillet. Add the leeks, and cook, stirring often, for about 5 minutes. Add the nettles or spiny sowthistle and cook for an additional minute. Season with salt and pepper. Set aside and let cool a bit.
In a medium bowl, combine the ricotta, egg, herbs, and cooled leek mixture. Stir until fairly uniform. Spread into the pre-baked crust and bake for 25-30 minutes, or until slightly puffed and golden. Allow to cool for 15 minutes before serving.

car snack 2

Okay!
Today is a yes day. I've been on the phone and on the computer since 6:58 this morning when Joey left for school with the girls. I've sent out a message to my facebook group for the campaign, I've talked to important people who are getting things done, and I have almost fixed the rss problem so that you can start getting me on your feed again! I'm working on a few writing projects, and I am caught up. I am humming. I am still in my bathrobe and it is almost lunch, but I will soon take a shower as soon as my phone stops ringing, and then I will go get some compost! I am simultaneously advising people on their home ricotta making and participating in my local government! And today I will plant potatoes!
Somebody just remind me to eat. And to pee. In return, I'll slow down on the exclamation points.

Last week, I had just picked up the girls from school, and we were stopping by the library on the way home. The girls were hot and tired, and they really wanted to go to the library. As we got out of the car, we ran into a man who I had had a meeting with the week before on town issues. One of the side effects of running for local office is that you can't just walk down the street- you will inevitably run into someone who you need and want to talk to. I had been meaning to follow up with him, and we talked for a few minutes, while the girls quietly whined on the sidewalk. We were in front of the post office, and Rosie really wanted to cross the street to get to the library, so she did what she often does- she reached up, grabbed a piece of fabric, and pulled. This time that fabric was the neckline of my shirt, and well, let's just say that I'm following in the line of a few other Massachusetts politicians who have campaigned with less than all their clothes on. Maybe I do really need to start wearing button down's- they're just not so, well, pullable.
Is this why there are not so many mothers in government?

I don't know how, but I righted myself without even a blush. I said to myself, I'm going to do this. I can do this. I am a warrior! And even Rosie if is trying to unknowingly sabotage me by showing the world one of the things that she has always loved about her mamma, I'm really doing this so that she can see that that participation is the way to go here. Apathy has gotten me nowhere. Really, participation is the most activist thing we've got at this point. Yes!

In all this craziness I find myself repeating the things that are important. I say them in my own head, so that I don't forget. Write! Stay informed! Listen! When this all makes you mad, don't take it out on the girls! And for God's sake, Alana, feed those children at 3:00. I repeat, do not forget the car snack!

So a bit ago, I offered you car snack 1. It was good and it was whole grainy, and it had some good protein and fiber. It was a hit around here, and I hope it was hit around you too.
But this one, this one is a little different. It's sweet and desserty-er, although there is a bit of protein in there. It's a variation on a recipe for British flapjacks that Molly Wizenberg wrote about in Bon Appetit a bit ago. I made the recipe as is, and I could not get the damn thing out of the pan. I'm sure it was my fault. It usually is, but I don't know what happened. We chipped away at it with a butter knife, and it was incredibly good. But as a car snack? Uh, uh.
So, I messed with it a bit. I added almonds, and changed the moisture to dry ratio. Most importantly, I lined the pan with parchment. And then...
Holey moley. Whoa nelly. Gee Whiz. I just can't wait to get in the car so I can eat one.

Car Snack 2
loosely adapted from Bon Appetit, March 2010

1 stick butter
scant 1/2 cup packed brown sugar
1/4 cup Lyle's golden syrup
2 cups rolled oats
1/2 teaspoon coarse kosher salt
1 cup slivered almonds

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Line an 8x8 or 9x9 square baking pan with parchment, leaving a bit left over so that you can just pull it out. Combine butter, brown sugar, and golden syrup in a medium saucepan, and heat on medium until melted. Add the oats, salt and almonds to the mixture and coat thoroughly. Transfer into prepared pan and pat down with a spatula.
Bake until the edges darken, about 25 minutes. It will be soft when you take it out of the oven, but allow to cool completely before taking it out of the pan. When it is cool, cut into squares.

Makes 12-16, depending on size of squares

the word

Did you know that Shakespeare made up the word, "uncomfortable"?

It's quite a thing to be able to create a word that really conveys what it sets out to convey, a word that holds meaning in its rhythm and its construction.

Sadie's turning into a word-maker herself.

The other day, experiencing the joy and frenzy of spending her Amazon gift card that her grandma had sent for her birthday, Sadie created the word, "addtocart." It's a verb, like, "Oh yeah, I'm totally going to addtocart that brainquest workbook."

Works, doesn't it?

But that's not the best one. For Sadie's birthday, she requested a chocolate cake with whipped cream frosting. I made a mayonnaise chocolate cake (surprisingly ordinary!) and whipped a bit of raw cream for the filling. There were three layers, and the whipped cream didn't quite hold it all in place.

"Yikes," I said as I put it on the table so that Sadie could decorate it with a big 7. "That's a little precarious."

"What does precarious mean?" she asked.

"Like, it's going to topple right over, " Joey answered.

"Yes," she agreed, as she put the candies on the tilting cake. "Totally eprecarious."

I kid you not. I give you the best word in the world. One more time.

Eprecarious.

Eat it before it falls, baby. Eat it before it falls.

imperfect

Seven years ago today, I woke up in tears. It was my due date for the baby who we would come to know and love as Sadie, but I had been in and out of labor for three weeks, and I was convinced that I would be pregnant forever. Even though there is no actual case of a woman staying pregnant for the rest of her life, somehow so many women go through the experience of suspecting that they will be the first.
By the end of that day, I was a mother, and tired as I was from all that, well, birth, I didn't sleep at all. I looked at Sadie's face the entire night, absolutely amazed. Of course, I was in love, and in awe, and all of that. But there was something else. I had had all sorts of images of what my baby would look like. My own birth was well photographed (even published, but that is another story), and I have no shortage of pictures of myself in my first day of life. I assumed that my baby would look like me, that she would have a full head of dark hair, that her nose would turn up like mine had. It was just what I saw in my mind.
When Sadie was born, she was entirely bald. Her face was dominated by the most magnificent and royal nose. It was gigantic. She cast her gaze around the room like she owned it, and she looked like an eagle. I looked at that face, and it was not only so different from mine, it was different than anything I could have imagined, and at that moment, I thought, "I have no control over this." Birth is a messy thing, and as magical and life changing as the moment when a baby comes into the world is, it is also a good moment to get used to letting go of your ideas of how things will be.


In preparation for Sadie's seventh birthday, I decided to make pop tarts.

The day before her birthday was a little bit packed, but I carved aside a few minutes to blend together the dough. Like always when it comes to me and pastry, the whole thing seemed too dry, and although I added so much more water than the recipe specified, it still didn't quite hold together. I just pressed and pressed and hoped for the best. When it came time to roll it out, it started to look more promising.

Still though, I pressed holes back together. I patched here and there. I felt doubtful. I was instructed to measure carefully so that I would have nice, even rectangles. No matter how I try to have nice, even anything in my life, my kitchen is where straight lines go to die.
I'm trying to get better at this, but as things stand right now, I will never be a pastry chef. I will continue to be...rustic.


Sadie has been coming into herself in a pretty cool way lately. Seven looks good on her, I must say. I think that she has been really becoming aware of how much she can accomplish, and so, ironically, she doesn't have to try to control everything, either. It's so nice to see her relax a bit. She is just having more fun with her days, I think. Finally, every moment does not have to be perfect for her.

Who started this whole idea of making perfect looking food at home? Was it Martha? I'm thinking that it might have come earlier than that. Maybe it's my deficiency with the whole straight line element, but there is enough to stress over without cursing myself in the kitchen because my icing piped out funny, or, ahem, my crust didn't quite keep together. Enough!

On her birthday, we ate pop tarts, and the jam squeezed out of every little space. They were beautiful in a non-traditional sense. These were no fashion models, but they sure had a nice personality.

This recipe came from the April issue of Bon Appetit, and in the photograph that accompanies the recipe, the pastries are laid out in a perfect star, each equal rectangle devoid of any little leak of jam. The powdered sugar is shaken in such a way that I suspect it might actually have been placed, grain by grain by some sad intern dreaming of the day when they might be able to eat one of these lovely snacks. Stunning.

Maybe your pop tarts will look like that. That is so great, and I applaud your success! But if they don't, then I urge you to embrace the character of your own homemade deliciousness. If the crust falls apart, or the jam comes through, and you even think about feeling any anxiety or stress about the whole thing, repeat after me:

These are going to taste so good.

And oh boy, they will. The nice thing about personality, is that it is what counts.

"Pop-Tarts"
adapted from Bon Appetit, April 2010

2 cups plus 2 tablespoons all purpose flour plus additional for shaping and rolling
1 teaspoon coarse kosher salt
1 teaspoon sugar
2 sticks (1 cup) chilled, unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
10 tablespoons ice water, or more if needed (note: the original recipe calls for 4 tablespoons, but this just didn't even start to do it for me. Start low, but be aware that you might need as many as 10 or 12)
10-12 tablespoons fruit preserves (I used blueberry rhubarb that I made last week, but any will do, and low or no sugar will be best here)
powdered sugar, for dusting

Whisk the flour, salt, and sugar in a bowl. Add the butter, and using your fingertips, rub the butter in until it the whole mixture resembles coarse meal. Add ice water by the tablespoonfuls, tossing with your hands or a fork until the dough starts to stick together. When you pick up a handful and it stays together when you press it, it is ready.
Gather dough into two balls and shape each half into a disk. Wrap in plastic and chill at least an hour.
Line 2 large rimmed baking pans with parchment. If you have limited freezer space, and you cant put two pans in your freezer, you can probably get them all onto one pan, but if you can do the two, it is safer. Working with one disk at a time, roll out the dough on a floured surface to about 13x11 inches. Trim to a 12x10-inch rectangle, and cut into eight 5x3-inch rectangles.
Arrange 4 rectangles, spaced apart, on each sheet. Spoon about 1 tablespoon of jam down the center of each rectangle. Top with a a second rectangle, and gently press together at the edges. Then double seal it with a fork, pressing the edges all around the rectangle. Repeat with the other tarts. Poke each top with a toothpick a few times. Cover with plastic wrap, and freeze tarts on sheets for at least two hours and up to one week.
Position 1 rack in the top third of the oven, and one rack on the lower third. Preheat to 375 degrees. Bake frozen tarts uncovered until golden, reversing sheets after 15 minutes, 25-30 minutes total. Immediately transfer tarts to a rack. Sift powdered sugar lightly over the tarts, and serve warm.

spinach ricotta pie

For some reason, pie crust has been coming up a lot lately.
"I just can't do pie crust!"
I kid you not. I have heard this four times in the last week.

I wouldn't call myself a pie crust master (if only I were master of anything except this mess!), but I no longer get an anxious clench in my stomach when I pull out my rolling pin. And I'd say maybe 4 times out of 5, the crust is damn good. So, I'm getting there. Those other 1 out of 5 crusts are usually hard as a rock, but we won't talk about those, at least not today.

Some people who don't do the pie crust thing just avoid the whole topic altogether. They say they like frittatas better than quiches anyway, and they make crisps instead of pies. I have certainly gone this route, but, like I said, the rolling pin and I are getting to be better friends.

But then there is the other option. There is, ahem, the frozen pie crust.
As I've mentioned here before, this is the crust on which I was raised. My mother's brand of choice was, and still is, called Orenoke. To this day, I hand her a piece of pie made in my own crust, and the best I can get out of her is "yeah, it's pretty good."
I guess I can't really blame her. She just loves that Orenoke pie crust.


Honestly, I think if frozen pie crust is your thing, use it! I say that guilt and the kitchen don't mix. We do what we can, and if it works, then amen to that.
But for those of you who might like to try their hand at pie crust again, or for the first time, I'm thinking we should do a little work together here. Yeah? Maybe next week, after those peas are in the ground? It's supposed to rain a little bit here, and I'm thinking that will be a good time. I could use a date with that rolling pin.

I've got a couple of tricks, and I'm guessing you might too. Will you help out? Together, we might just master this thing.

So what do you think? Are you in? It might be good to get a handle on it before berry season comes around. When there are that many strawberries, it's good to have options.

Just to get started, I've got a pie for you today. This was one of my mother's favorites when I was growing up, and she brought it to every single potluck dinner that I can remember. Of course, the crust was always Orenoke. So, if you want to wait until our little pie crust session to get the rolling pin out, go ahead and use that frozen pie crust. My mother would say it's better that way, anyway.

Spinach Ricotta Pie
adapted from Mollie Katzen, Moosewood Cookbook

1 recipe all-butter pie crust, single crust, or a frozen pie crust, or what have you
1 pound ricotta cheese
3 beaten eggs
1/2 pound chopped spinach, fresh or frozen
1 small, diced onion
3 tablespoons flour
1/2 cup grated cheddar cheese
dash nutmeg
paprika, for the top
salt and pepper
1 tablespoon butter
1 cup sour cream

Prepare the pie crust and lay into a buttered 9-inch pie pan. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. In a small skillet or sautee pan, melt the butter. Add the onion. When the onion is translucent, add the spinach (if it is frozen, you can put it right in there). Cook for about 2 minutes over medium heat, stirring frequently. Add a pinch of salt and a dash of pepper. Remove from heat.
In a medium mixing bowl, combine the spinach mixture, ricotta, eggs, flour, cheese and nutmeg. Spread into unbaked pie shell.
Top with one cup sour cream, spread to the edges of the crust with a rubber spatula. Top with a generous sprinkling of paprika.

Bake for 40-50 minutes.