car snack 4 (or, the banana oat bar)

Last week, I visited the middle school classroom at the Montessori school where Joey teaches and the girls learn. The middle school is in its second year, and the small group of brave (isn't it just brave to wake up and move through the world at that age?) tweens and teens have been busy planning out the year ahead. One of the projects they started last year was a snack program where they purchase snacks and sell them to the rest of the students several times a week. The money they raise through the snack program helps to fund trips and other exciting activities, and the kids get to have the experience of running what is essentially a small business.


Julie Haagenson runs the middle school program, and in the end of the summer, she asked me if I would be willing to come in and do some cooking with the kids. She thought they might be interested in making some snacks instead of buying them, and she was hoping to give them some tools as they moved into the discussion.


 The whole program is small- maybe 8 kids if that, and when I walked in last week, they were sitting around a U-shaped table. They had invited me to come for four sessions over the course of the Fall, and this was to be our brainstorming session about what we might like to make together. I started with the snacks that they already offer, and we talked about some alternatives. Popcorn from a bag? Why don't we use an air popper? The result will be far less expensive and taste a whole lot better. Everyone loves the days when the kids offer goldfish as a snack--I asked if they were interested in learning how to make their own cheese crackers.


As savvy business people, those kids wanted to provide a product that all the other kids in the school would be interested in buying. And as they considered whether they should start making food from scratch, the question arose as to whether kids would want snacks that were "more healthy".  Right now, there are healthy snack days (cucumber slices, oranges) and there are the other days (goldfish, bagel and cream cheese).  If goldfish were replaced by homemade cheese crackers, would that be a healthier choice? Or would it be perceived as one?


"Whoa, hold on a minute there!" I couldn't help but jump in. "Who said anything about making healthy food?"

I was raised on health food. I have always been able to list the seven ancient grains, and I know the difference between white and red miso. I've turned many people on to sprinkling their popcorn with nutritional yeast. But I don't think the health label is helping anyone. Honestly, I think it's just confusing. Because whether something is healthy really depends on who you ask and what their definition of the term is. Are they concerned about their weight? Then they think whole milk is unhealthy. Sugar? Then maybe diet coke is healthy. Really, I have no idea what the term means.

So what if we choose a word that is in full acceptance of that it means different things to different people? How about if the goal is good food?


I continue to cling stubbornly to the idea that taste will lead us to the right place. All summer, I worked with kids in the kitchen at food camp, and they supported this idea with every meal. There were all sorts of ideas about what was healthy and what their parents wanted them to eat, but in the end, what inspired them and made them sparkle was the first bite. So many kids went home and cooked for their parents--they left the camp kitchen saying, "I can't wait for my dad to try this. He's not going to believe how good it is!"

I'm no nutritionist. I can't even begin to sort through the constantly changing information about food and health. I start to wade through some of the mess that we're in around food safety, and I feel like the system is broken, and I'm not sure how to navigate through it. But I keep coming back to this idea of good food, and of always going towards food that tastes good to us. It seems simple, I know, but it's the best I've got. And if there's a possibility of raising a new generation of people who actually pay attention to what they put in their mouths, and who even can have a sense of whether it feels good or bad in their bodies? This could be nothing short of a revolution.

And with that, we move to the car snack. Oh yes, old friend, we've returned.
The short story is that the car snack is the granola bar, the energy bar, the bag of goldfish, the fruit leather, or whatever else you pack for your kids to ease the panicked hunger of 3:00. Of course, it's for grownups too, and you can eat it in whatever vehicle you choose. I wrote about car snacks 1 and 2 a ways back, and car snack 3 joins them in the book. But all three involve a fair amount of butter and varying amounts of refined sugar, and I've gotten a bunch of requests for a healthier car snack.

And so I bring you...the banana oat bar. No white flour, no refined sugar (except the wee bit of chocolate), and no butter or oil either. It comes together quickly, holds together well for the car, and (need I say it?) tastes really really good.

Car Snack 4 (the banana oat bar)

Makes 20 bars (about 2 1/2 x 3 inches)

3/4 cup whole wheat flour
2 cups rolled oats
1 1/2 cups puffed rice cereal
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
1 teaspoon cinnamon
3 very ripe bananas, peeled and mashed
1/4 cup honey
1/4 cup plain yogurt
1/4 cup peanut or almond butter
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/2 cup bittersweet or semisweet chocolate chips

1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Line a 9x13 baking pan with parchment, leaving enough hanging over on the edges so you can pull out the finished product.
2. In a large mixing bowl, combine the flour, oats, rice cereal, salt, nutmeg, and cinnamon, stirring well to combine. In a second large bowl, combine the banana, honey, yogurt, nut butter, and vanilla. Stir until the mixture is fairly uniform.
3. Pour the dry ingredients into the wet ones and stir until they come together into one uniform mixture. Gently stir in the chocolate chips. Transfer to the prepared pan and flatten down with a spatula. Bake for 30 to 35 minutes, or until just starting to brown on top. Remove from the oven and let cool for at least 1 hour before removing from the pan and cutting into squares.

radish dip

Dip.
Yuck. I don't do it. I don't throw the contents of my fridge in to my food processor with a random dairy product and serve it with carrots. I avoid those anonymous bowls of creamed elements at parties because double dipping grosses me out. There's always random crumbs of things in there, and I peek in the bowl and slowly back away. I'm not a dip girl.

Except there's something else. Do you have foods in your life that you think that you don't like but that you actually do?

Of course I feel that way about dip. Especially when there is radishes involved.

You know how deeply I am committed to my love for the radish. And after the last six weeks of eating them every day, of gently yanking them out of the garden and of stacking them in luxurious mountains at the farmer's market, I am so not sick of radishes.

But other people seem to be getting there. And so at the market this weekend, instead of relying on the fact that people would eat their radishes naked and immediately (the radishes are naked! Really! Put those dirty thoughts away), we put a nice little bowl of radish dip on the table in the midst of the mountain of radishes, and we gave people bread with which to dip. There was a fat stack of printed radish dip recipes, and I had to swipe one myself before every last copy was taken with excitement and anticipation. Because the truth is... people love a good dip. The thrill of publicly sanctioned finger food, the ubiquitous desire for all substances swirled into cream cheese, sour cream, or (the always healthful and optimistic) yogurt--these perhaps American, perhaps just plain human attributes draw people to that bowl like a fancy mighty strength magnet to an All-Clad stock pot (yes, I'm still fixated on that stock pot) and they are pulled in, little piece of bread or tortilla chip clenched in hand, to dip in.
Go for it. You know you want to.

Radish Dip
adapted from The Farmer's Market Cookbook, the Indian Line Farm's radish table
(and yes, as my picture suggests, this is absolutely the best thing you could put on your bagel)

1 8-ounce package cream cheese, softened
2 tablespoons prepared horseradish, drained
1 tablespoon chopped fresh dill
1 tablespoon chopped fresh parsley
2-3 bunches red radishes, tops removed, quartered, or about 3 cups
1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon salt, plus more to taste

Mix all ingredients in the bowl of a food processor. Blend until creamy with some pieces of radish still present in the mix. Taste, and adjust for seasonings. Store in the refrigerator for up to 4 days.

graham crackers

I have been working on a graham cracker recipe.

It's almost there.

But I've never been one for perfection, so I'm going to tell you about it now.

Let me just say right off the bat that I love a good graham cracker. In fact, I love them so much that the boxed ones do it for me too. But munching on those sugar sprinkled cardboard-like rectangles, I've always imagined that there is a better way.

There usually is, right?
A lot of graham cracker recipes call for cutting frozen butter into the flour with a food processor. You know how I love my gadgets, but I've been wanting to find a way to do this one all with my very own hands. Mollie Katzen makes a graham cracker with melted butter, so I've been going in that direction.
I also want a lot of cinnamon. I want not too much sweetness. I want light, but a little wheaty.
Like I said, I'm almost there.

Yesterday, I found the flavor I was looking for. It was perfect. And when I took my first bite, burning the hell out of my tongue (who can wait?), I realized that I had found the most excellent hybrid of graham crackers and...
commercial pie crust.
Hallelujah.
I make all my own pie crusts. And finally, I can say that I make a pretty mean pie crust, but growing up, all of my mother's pies only went into one thing: Orenoke Frozen Crusts. As I've mentioned before, my mother is not a baker. But I think that in the case of pie crust, she honestly never felt the need. Why roll pastry when you've got Orenoke?
When my mother would make a double crust pie, she would separate the scalloped edge of the top crust and put the pieces on their own baking sheet. They would be ready far before the pie itself, and we would fill up on the hot crust pieces while we waited for the pie. Waiting for them to cool was counterproductive, so we burned our mouths the crusts on purpose. Sometimes suffering is really worth it.
Yesterday, hot graham cracker in my mouth, I was all of the sudden ten years old, dancing around a tiny kitchen with my mother to Vonda Shephard.

So why isn't this recipe perfect? Well, the dough is a little finicky. It crumbles a bit more than I'd like when I'm trying to cut it into little squares.
But the flavor? I don't want to change a thing. But I want this dough to be easy. I want you to be able to roll and cut frustration free!
So let's make a deal. If you are having a day when you are okay with a crumbly dough, give this recipe a try. Tell me what you think, and how the dough behaved for you. I'll keep working on it on my end, and I'll update when I find the solution.
Together, I think we can make the perfect graham cracker.


Graham Crackers

2 cups (9.75 ounces) all-purpose flour
1 cup (5.5 ounces) whole wheat pastry flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
2 teaspoons cinnamon
8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter
1/4 cup (2 ounces) packed dark brown sugar
1 tablespoon honey
3-5 tablespoons milk, as needed

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Lightly oil two baking sheets.
In a medium bowl, whisk together the flours, salt, baking powder and cinnamon.
Melt together the butter, brown sugar, and honey in a saucepan. Gently stir to incorporate and melt the sugar.
Pour the butter mixture into the flour mixture, and combine with a few, swift strokes. Then set the spoon aside and put your hands into the bowl. Add the milk, one tablespoon at a time, until the dough holds together when you squeeze it. Do not knead or overmix. Push the dough together in a ball and turn it out on a floured surface. Roll with a rolling pin to about 1/4 inch thick. Cut rectangles in your desired size, and prick with a fork. Any leftover dough after cutting can be rerolled and cut as well.
Bake for 10 minutes in upper part of the oven, or until just starting to color at the edges.
Cool on a rack.