Fly by the seat of my pans

Some people revel in the consistency and precision that baking requires. I am much more of a "pinch of this, dollop of that" kind of cook. Level measurements be damned. Which means I'm often too lazy (or too daunted) to attempt to bake something.

But last night I was in the mood for something sweet and crunchy to go with my tea, and I had all the right ingredients on hand, so I thought 'what the heck' -- this recipe seems simple enough. It even calls for a "pinch" of salt. How delightfully imprecise!

ORANGE ALMOND BISCOTTI

Ingredients:


2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/4 cups white sugar
1 pinch salt
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 cup sliced almonds
1 tablespoon orange zest
3 eggs, beaten
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
1/4 teaspoon almond extract


Directions:


1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). Grease and flour a baking sheet, or use parchment paper (much easier).


2. In a large bowl, stir together flour, sugar, baking powder, salt, almonds, and orange zest. Make a well in the center and add the eggs oil, and almond extract. Stir or mix by hand until the mixture forms a ball.


3. Separate dough into 2 pieces and roll each one into a log about 6-8 inches long. Place logs on prepared baking sheet and flatten so they are about 3/4 inch thick. Bake in preheated oven for 20 to 25 minutes.


4. Cool slightly, and remove from baking sheets. Slice diagonally into 1/2 inch slices with a serrated knife. (Bonus: at this point you get to sample the end pieces, since they won't sit level on the sheet, anyway...)

5. Set cookies on their sides back onto the cookie sheet and bake for 10 to 15 more minutes, turning over after halfway through.

Finished cookies should be hard and crunchy, and consumed with a hot beverage while you put your feet up and read trashy magazines on the sofa.

Just around the corner now...

Photo: The Sartorialist

Ode to Autumn

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;

Conspiring with him how to load and bless

With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;

To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,

And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;

To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells

With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,

And still more, later flowers for the bees,

Until they think warm days will never cease;

For Summer has o'erbrimm'd their clammy cells.

 

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?

Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find

Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,

Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;

Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,

Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook

Spares the next swath and all its twinèd flowers:

And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep

Steady thy laden head across a brook;

Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,

Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.

 

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?

Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—

While barrèd clouds bloom the soft-dying day

And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;

Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn

Among the river-sallows, borne aloft

Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;

And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;

Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft

The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft;

And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

 

- John Keats

A land without billboards

Bon voyage to me! I'm off on a long-awaited holiday with some very dear friends. I can't wait to get in the car and drive up hills and down dales and just take a deep breath and think of nothing else besides where my next cup of coffee will come from, how many cows we pass and whether we'll try ALL the flavours at Ben & Jerry's factory.

Vermont, here we come!

12/10ths

Don't let your eyes deceive you. This is not a charcuterie plate. It is THE charcuterie plate. My tastebuds were the lucky recipients of this gastronomic bonanza a few days ago, for a birthday dinner (sadly, not mine) and I can still taste it. Even the accompanying pickle and mustard selection was a delight. But the crowning glory -- which you can see in the top-right corner of the board -- was the lardo.

What is lardo? I feel a bit sorry for you if you have to ask. Lardo is made from the thick layer of fat directly below the skin of a pig; the fat is carefully removed and cured in salt and spices. The result is something I can only describe as carnivorous butter -- it literally melts on your tongue, releasing the sweet, smoky flavours and seasonings. It changed my life (once I got over the fact that I was eating pure fat, that is).

The rest of the dinner was equally amazing, and recounting every detail would take far too long. Suffice it to say, I was in heaven. And in heaven, they serve asparagus.

Oh, but not just any old asparagus. Fat, juicy spears of white asparagus, simmered in a water bath flavoured with butter and a bit of sugar to counteract the natural bitterness of the asparagus. Then it tossed with lots (!) of juicy morel mushrooms and wild leeks (known as ramps). Honestly, I could've eaten nothing but this and been satisfied.

That is, until it came time for dessert:

Ah, lemon curd. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways: almost sour enough to make my lips pucker, yet not so sour that the flavours were lost. Topped with frozen raspberry bits and a sorbet made of buckthorn berries. Keep your molten chocolate clichés and your derivative crème brûlées. This is the way to my heart.

So after 2.5 hours of feasting, including many complimentary dishes that were kindly delivered to our table, we were stuffed. I mean, REALLY stuffed. Which is where the title of this blog comes from: for years now, my best friend and I have used this fractional system of measurement to describe our stuffed-ness after any meal. Generally, if we finish and still feel like there's room left (which is the responsible way to eat, I suppose), we are usually around 7/10ths or 8/10ths. Full to the brim? 10/10ths. 

This meal, my friends, put me joyously over the top to an unprecedented 12/10ths. I have never been so full, or so happy, after a meal. 

If you'll excuse me, I think I still need to digest....

Cheers to long weekends

I'm very excited to have the first long weekend of the summer just one day away!

Four whole days (most of which are predicted to be sunny and hot) to drink fair trade coffee, see blockbuster movies, catch up with favourite friends, eat too much good food, celebrate loved ones (happy birthday mom!) and wiggle my freshly-pedicured toes in the grass.

Life is good on a long weekend.

The art of relaxation

Go. Go. Go. Go. Go. Go. Go. Go some more.

That's pretty much been my life for the past month. I supposed it's a blessing in this economy to have a job that keeps me busy. But burnout is always lurking around the corner, and sometimes you need a little push to help you remember to stop and smell the roses (and fresh, non-cubicle air). Or, in my case, how to chill out. 

Like this, preferably.

Signs of the times

When it comes to holiday photos, I am notorious for making sure I'm conspicuously absent. It's not that I don't enjoy seeing myself in exotic situations (ok, I really don't), but there are so many other more interesting things to capture. Beautiful sunsets. Imaginative architecture. Colourful locals. 

But most of all, I love taking photos of signs. Because signs, when done right, really give you a feel for what a place is really all about. Like this one, from my recent Hawaiian getaway:

How great is that? I mean, this is miles beyond a little yellow ticket stuck under a windshield wiper. This required EFFORT. And tape.

Then there's this one from a trip to London a few years back:

 

Who could argue with that logic? It's funny because it's true.

Speaking of logic, educational signs are often boring...but sometimes, you come across one that hints at the personality behind the copywriter (for whom I'll always have a soft spot), like this:

But this has got to be my all-time favourite. I passed it one day as I was wandering through the town of Byron Bay in Australia -- and it stopped me in my tracks (nearly doubled over with laughter). Its brilliance lies in the perfect marriage of brutal honesty and tongue-in-cheek self-awareness:

I coudn't have said it better myself.