Thanksgiving came and went in a flash. It’s always so odd how we think and plan and make lists and have dreams about rolling out pie dough…and then it’s all old news. I hope your day was relaxing and wonderful. Wasn’t the long weekend incredible? I took a photography class on Saturday, and we meandered around the Mission shooting murals, rusty cars, and cafes. I don’t often get the chance (or take the chance) to really slow down and notice the stray dandelions growing in the sidewalk cracks or the way a bike is leaned precariously against a red garage door. I noticed these things on Saturday. I came home knowing all about histograms, setting a custom white balance, and organizing photos in Lightroom. But more than that, I had an opportunity to spend the whole day slowing down and exploring alleys, graffiti, and community gardens. I went home feeling nourished.
We all focus so much on nourishing or feeding our bodies during Thanksgiving–but it’s important to think about what nourishes and keeps the rest of you going, too. What excites you, inspires you, makes you want to wake up in the early hours of the morning and hit “go?” Lately for me, it’s my photography, stunning books like A Year of Mornings, the way the afternoon light shines into my bedroom and how my dog Maddie knows exactly where to find it, knit hats, blogs like this and this and this, drops of eggnog in my coffee, routine, linen napkins.
So although Thanksgiving’s over and we’re replacing it with a new holiday…
maintaining that sense of slowness, curiosity, nourishment, and wonder is something I’m going to keep with me this season. And with that, I leave you a lovely recipe for gingery Hermit Bars. While I can’t guarantee they’ll light your inspirational fire and keep it stoked throughout the Christmas season, they will make you smile for at least one afternoon. That’s big around here lately.
The dough for these bars is extremely easy, and because of the molasses and the spices, it smells and tastes a bit like gingerbread–except more moist and buttery. They originated in New England and are best after being hidden away for a day or two (thus the name) so that the flavors have a chance to really develop. I’ll admit, I always have at least one pretty much right out of the oven and I think they’re just lovely that way, too. Pour yourself a cup of spiced orange tea or cider, cut a Hermit Bar, and draw up a list of what nourishes you lately. Then, keep it in your pocket through the hustle and bustle that awaits us all.
Adapted from: Martha Stewart Living
Brown Sugar Icing
Preheat oven to 350 F. Butter a 10-by-15 inch baking pan, and line the bottom with parchment paper. Butter the parchment, and set pan aside. Combine flour, baking powder, baking soda, ginger, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, and salt in a medium bowl; set aside.
In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, cream butter on medium speed until smooth. Add sugar; beat until light and fluffy. Bean in egg, yolk, and molasses.
Add flour mixture; beat on low until just combined. Add 1/2 of the candied ginger and all of the raisins and beat to combine. Spread dough evenly into the prepared pan, and bake until firm to touch, 18-22 minutes, rotating pan halfway through. Remove from oven and cool in pan before icing.
Make the icing: Combine brown sugar, milk, and butter in a medium saucepan. Stir over medium heat until the butter has dissolved. Remove from heat, and whisk in vanilla and confectioner’s sugar. If the icing’s too thick to drizzle, add a bit more milk. If too then, more confectioners sugar. Let cool slightly before using (but remember, you’re drizzling it, so don’t allow to harden).
Drizzle with icing, and then sprinkle remaining ginger on top of bars. Let stand until icing has set, then cut into squares and serve.
On Monday our little family of three is headed to the airport at 6 am to board our first with-baby cross-country trip. We'll be visiting Sam's family in New Jersey for a few days, then renting a car and driving over to meet up with my family at my mom's lake house in the Adirondacks. Sam's younger sister and her kids have yet to meet Oliver; my grandpa has yet to meet him, and Oliver has yet to take a dunk in a lake, see a firefly, or spend quality time with energetic dogs -- of which there will be three. A lot of firsts. This week my family has been madly texting, volunteering to make certain meals or sweets on assigned days while we're at the cabin and it got me thinking about really simple, effortless summer desserts -- in particular, ones that you can make while staying in a house with an unfamiliar kitchen and unfamiliar equipment and still do a pretty bang-up job. I think fruit crisp is just that thing.
Somehow, in what seems to have been a blink of an eye, we have a six month old baby. In some ways I can't remember a time we didn't have an Oliver, and in other ways it's all a blur broken up by a few holidays (a Thanksgiving thanks to grocery store takeout, and our very first Christmas in Seattle), a few family visits, a one-day road trip to Portland, a birthday dinner out, a birthday cake, weekend drives to nowhere in particular, swimming at the pool with Oliver, weekly get-togethers with our parent's group, doctor's visits, hundreds of walks around the neighborhood, hundreds of cups of coffee, dozens (or more?) of scoops of ice cream. Most of the worrying about keeping a baby alive has made way for other concerns, and Oliver's need for constant stimulation or soothing walks and car rides has been traded for stretches of time playing with a new toy or checking out his surroundings. In truth, it's thanks to that tiny bit of baby independence that this humble, summery cake came to be in the first place. So we've all got an Oliver to thank for that. Or, really, we have a Yossi Arefi to thank, as it's from her beautiful new cookbook that I've bookmarked heavily and am eager to continue exploring.
We walked to the library last week and I had a strange realization standing in line watching Sam check out his usual massive stack of books: Will I ever have the time to read stacks of books again? I used to be much more of a reader than I am today -- a fact I'm not at all proud of. But when evening rolls around and the more formal workday ends, I find emails and other odds and ends creep in. Walking home from the library, I began obsessing over free time for reading, asking Sam if we'd ever be those two old people who study bird manuals and can recognize birds on walks. I want to have the time to read bird manuals someday. For now though, we're young and we're working a lot. We did sneak away on that one-night camping trip I told you about, and cooked some interesting, haphazard meals which I hope to share with you soon. For now though, for summer: a strawberry dessert recipe.
Much like friends, types of Sunday mornings, or books -- there are many different kinds of desserts. Sometimes you may be in the mood for a light French cake piled high with summer fruit. Other days, a thick slice of fragrant pound cake will do. And then there are those days when you crave a rich chocolate mousse that you share after a night of good conversation and a little too much wine. But let's be honest. When it comes right down to it, the most basic and unassuming dessert of all is sometimes the only one that will do. A good and simple affair. Vanilla ice cream. So I want to talk about that today--about a dessert that withstands the test of time, that will always be there for you. A dessert that is far from trendy, that doesn't play favorites or trick you into thinking it's something that it's not. It's a good foundation. A solid beginning.
[ Pie. if you've been around here much in the last few months, you know that I make pie. A lot of pie. And I'm particularly excited to share this pie with you today because it helped me break out of a rut. A pie rut. A baking rut. A Marge inspiration rut.