I recently got The September Issue from Netflix–the documentary about Vogue editor-in-chief, Anna Wintour. It was fascinating on many levels but the thing that struck me the most was how unhappy she seemed. We all know how immensely driven and talented she is, but when she spoke of what her other siblings do for a living and what they think of her work, her eyes would gloss over and she’d become distant. When she spoke of her own work at the magazine, Anna mentioned that it often made her angry and agitated–that she’d know when to throw in the towel when she started getting angrier and angrier throughout the day. I don’t know about you, but I may just settle for quiet, small-scale contentment rather than feeling that way day in and day out.
So then I was running yesterday, and I started to think about a quote from the film Alice and Wonderland. In short, Alice hesitates to help the Mad Hatter in his resistance against the Red Queen. The Mad Hatter is disappointed, noting “You used to be much more muchier…you’ve lost your muchness.” I smiled during this scene and continue to think about it. What does this even mean? What is this muchness? A state, a passion, a spark, a sense of wonder or confidence or fearlessness or comfort with the hear and now. I don’t know. Now perhaps the larger question at hand is what does all of this have to do with Vogue and with blackberry cornmeal muffins for breakfast?
I think Anna Wintour was realizing throughout the film that she’d perhaps started to lose her muchness. It was a sad thing to watch onscreen, and I’m sure you’ve all witnessed it with real folks in real life. It looks like a dimming, a deflation, or a constant hesitation. I’ve seen it in nursing homes, with marriages that have gone on far too long, or with students who have resigned to be the dumb kid or the one who will never actually get into college. Now these muffins won’t turn any of those situations around. They’re not quite that good. But they’ll help you maintain just a little chunk of your muchness, I assure you. They’ll give you something to look forward to in the morning whether you’re taking on the work commute, finishing up your taxes, or slugging through a never-ending to-do list. I can’t guarantee a state, a passion, a spark, a sense of wonder or confidence or fearlessness or comfort with the hear and now. But I do hope that you’re experiencing at least one of those things right now or that, at the very least, you’re taking stock of your muchness–of where you are currently and where you want to be. I know that I am.
The great thing about these muffins is that they’re quick. Like fifteen minutes quick. You literally mix the wet and dry ingredients together, throw the muffins in the oven, and have a warm tray of goodness sitting in front of you in no time. The recipe is a huge amalgamation of similar muffins I’ve made since living in Boulder, CO. many years ago. They’ve evolved since then and today I use a mix of whole wheat and white flour, low-fat yogurt, and agave instead of too much sugar. The berries get warm and gooey in the oven, so do plan on having at least one right out of the oven with a little butter. They freeze beautifully as well.
If you plan on using frozen blackberries, just be sure to toss with 1 tablespoon of flour before adding to the batter — this will help prevent them from sinking straight to the bottom of the muffin and staining the batter.
Preheat the oven to 375 F, and grease two muffin pans.
Whisk together the first six ingredients in a large bowl. Stir together the yogurt, oil, agave syrup, vanilla and eggs in a separate bowl. Fold wet ingredients into dry mixture with a rubber spatula or wooden spoon until combined. Gently fold in berries.
Fill muffin cups to the top and bake for 10 minutes. Rotate pans and bake 10-12 minutes longer or until muffins are slightly golden and a toothpick comes out clean when inserted into the center. Cool muffins in pans for 5 minutes before transferring to a cooling rack.
My good friend Keena was working in India for the last few months and just returned to Seattle, eager to experience as much Pacific Northwest summer as possible in September. I'm with her on this one: It just so happens that towards the end of this month, the farmers markets I've been doing will also come to an end, so things seem like they're both simultaneously gearing up (hike! picnic! beach!) and wrapping up at the same time as I also feel a sense of wanting to cram in as much as I can before the days start getting noticeably shorter. And truly: there's no better recipe to commemorate such efforts than these fresh corn grits with oil-poached summer tomatoes.
For many years, I've always made a summer to-do list. I usually set to work on it right at the beginning of June when the days feel long and ripe with possibility. The list often involves things like learning to bake sourdough bread or making homemade ricotta, doing an epic hike I'd read about in a local magazine, training for a marathon, or reading specific novels. It is always a pretty aspirational list, and I generally don't make much of a dent in it -- resulting in the guilty feeling come late August that I'd wasted too many lazy afternoons when I could've been baking sourdough or making ricotta or doing memorable, epic hikes. But this summer is going to be a bit different: there will be no list. We wait so long in Seattle for long stretches of sunny days, and now that it stays late until 9:30 (or later?), I want to see more of our friends and find stretches of time to do not much of anything except catch up, tan our legs and eat farmers market berries. That's my list.
I received The Sprouted Kitchen Bowl + Spoon cookbook in the mail not long before we moved to our new house, and I remember lying in bed and bookmarking pages I was excited to try but also feeling overwhelmed with where to start: the truth is that this summer has been a relatively low-inspiration / low energy time in the kitchen for me. I'd been chalking it up to pregnancy but when I think back and if I'm honest with myself, my cooking style tends to be very easy and produce-driven during these warmer months. I rarely break out complicated recipes, instead relying on fresh tomatoes and corn or zucchini and homemade pesto to guide me. But last night I cracked open Sara's book and pulled out a few peaches I've had sitting on the counter, fearing their season may be nearing its end. This morning as I was making coffee, I sliced up the peaches, toasted the pecans and churned away -- having a bite (or maybe two) before getting it into the freezer to firm up.
A triple berry summer crisp made with oats, quinoa flakes and hazelnuts. Summer in a skillet.
We just returned from my mom's cabin on Lake George in upstate New York where we often spend the 4th of July. As usual, each bedroom was packed with family members (this year the couch was even occupied for a night), and our days with reading, lounging on the dock, swimming a bit, maybe jogging down the road or playing tennis if you were feeling ambitious. We drank a notable amount of seltzer water; I managed to read three books and my mom threw us a family baby shower complete with balloons, chocolate cake and Mike's rhubarb bars. In previous years, my mom has planned most of the dinners and even some lunches, but for breakfast we'd all fend for ourselves. I'd often bake a pie or a batch of brownies in the afternoon and everyone would help out where they could, but she would largely do the shopping and brunt of the cooking. This year was different: having just moved from California to Vermont, my mom had a lot on her plate and sent out an email before the holiday weekend asking us all to chip in and help with the meals. Sam and I claimed Friday dinner: we grilled sausages and Sam made his famous deviled eggs. We cut up some unusually seedy watermelon that I found at the co-op in Burlington before we drove out to the lake, and I made a summery quinoa salad that I expected to be kind of epic. The trouble was that it wasn't. I overcooked the quinoa until it was kind of a congealed mush and everything just went downhill from there. But I knew that the idea was strong -- to pack a whole grain salad with all the things of summer (corn! tomatoes! basil!) -- so when we got home to Seattle I tried again. And this time it's a winner.