Yesterday I looked up and realized we’re into the last half of July. Already. And I had one of those inevitable panics where I feel like we haven’t been hiking enough, we haven’t done any camping or road-tripping or picnicking. Sam and I used to devote Sunday mornings to visiting one of our favorite bakeries and reading the paper — and then moseying into Ballard to shop at the farmers market. But now that I bake all day on Sundays for Marge, that tradition has slipped by the wayside. And I feel the same thing happening with the season this year. While I honestly wouldn’t want to be anywhere other than Seattle, our summer can feel pretty short (it really doesn’t get going until the beginning of July). And on those gray, dark February days, I want to make sure I’ve gotten in some good hiking, camping and picnicking. This whole grain skillet crisp is a good place to start: while we didn’t take it out picnicking, I did take it out into the backyard and had a very generous slice right out of the skillet. Slowly. At 9:30 p.m. when it was still light out. So really, when you consider those moments, July could be worse.
I’m not sure if I’ve formally shared with you all yet, but I’ll be working with Attune Foods for a handful of months developing original recipes using their incredible line of whole grain cereals and graham crackers. I feel very lucky as they’re all products that I truly believe in and use often in the house. This recipe is made with their classic Uncle Sam cereal which I love because it’s not at all too sweet (less than 1g of sugar!) but packs a whallop of protein and fiber. The ingredient list contains a total of four ingredients — you don’t see that much these days. When we’re not sprinkling Marge Granola on yogurt, Uncle Sam has become a staple around here.
As for the crisp: it’s a quick, juicy mess of summer all nestled in a cast-iron skillet. If you’ve tried some of the whole grain, seasonal recipes on this site you’re going to like it. It relies solely on whole wheat flour and almond meal — with a splash of buttermilk and a handful of sliced almonds. The topping straddles the line between a crisp and a cobbler (it’s a touch biscuity) and I’ve used it atop a layer of blueberries and blackberries, too. The result? It was a close competitor to the version below. In that way, I say use any berries you like if you can’t get your hands on summer cherries, and let me know if you try other fruits as well — I’d love to hear about it. Until then, a recipe and a promise to be back here soon — with a summer picnic under my belt. I wish all the same for you. Late July: let’s do this.
For the filling:
Preheat the oven to 375 F. Generously butter a 10-inch cast-iron skillet or other oven-safe pan.
Make the crisp topping
In the bowl of a food processor, combine the whole wheat flour, brown sugar, almond meal, cinnamon, baking powder, baking soda, and kosher salt and pulse a few times to combine. Add the butter. Pulse 20-30 seconds, or until the mixture resembles coarse cornmeal. Slowly add the buttermilk and continue pulsing until the liquid is incorporated. At this point, the dough should come in clumps.
Turn the topping out into a medium bowl and fold in the Uncle Sam cereal and almonds; mix with a wooden spoon (or your hands) until both are incorporated.
Prepare the filling
Toss together the cherries, sugar, lemon juice, vanilla extract and cornstarch in a medium mixing bowl. Transfer to the prepared cast iron skillet or other baking-safe pan.
Spoon the topping over the cherries by the heaping tablespoon, so they’re almost fully covered (it’s okay if some around the edges are peeking through). Place in the oven and bake for about 30 minutes, rotating the pan halfway through to ensure even baking. The top should be golden brown and the cherry juices bubbling through.
Remove from the oven, and cool for at least 20 minutes before serving. Serve warm or room temperature. Wrapped in plastic wrap, the crisp will keep at room temperature for 1 additional day.
It turns out that returning from a sunny honeymoon to a rather rainy, dark stretch of Seattle fall hasn't been the easiest transition. Sam and I have been struggling a little to find our groove with work projects and even simple routines like cooking meals for one another and getting out of the easy daily ruts that can happen to us all. When we were traveling, we made some new vows to each other -- ways we can keep the fall and winter from feeling a bit gloomy, as tends to happen at a certain point living in the Pacific Northwest (for me, at least): from weekly wine tastings at our neighborhood wine shop to going on more lake walks. And I suppose that's one of the most energizing and invigorating parts about travel, isn't it? The opposite of the daily rut: the constant newness and discovery around every corner. One of my favorite small moments in Italy took place at a cafe in Naples when I accidentally ordered the wrong pastry and, instead, was brought this funny looking cousin of a croissant. We had a wonderfully sunny little table with strong cappuccino, and, disappointed by my lack of ordering prowess, I tried the ugly pastry only to discover my new favorite treat of all time (and the only one I can't pronounce): the sfogliatelle. I couldn't stop talking about this pastry, its thick flaky layers wrapped around a light, citrus-flecked sweet ricotta filling. It was like nothing I'd ever tried -- the perfect marriage of interesting textures and flavors. I became a woman obsessed. I began to see them displayed on every street corner; I researched their origin back at the hotel room, and started to look up recipes for how to recreate them at home. And the reason for the fascination was obviously that they were delicious. But even more: I'm so immersed in the food writing world that I rarely get a chance to discover a dish or a restaurant on my own without hearing tell of it first. And while a long way away from that Italian cafe, I had a similar feeling this week as I scanned the pages of Alice Medrich's new book, Flavor Flours, and baked up a loaf of her beautiful fall pumpkin loaf: Discovery, newness, delight!
I had every intention of starting a new tradition this year and hosting a cookie swap with some of our local friends, but somehow the season really got the best of me and it just hasn't happened. But! That hasn't stopped me from getting a head start on holiday baking; I posted a photo on Instagram the other day of some of my very favorite holiday cookbooks, and asked if there was a way we could all just take the whole week off to bake instead of work. Judging from the responses, it seems I'm not the only one who thinks this would be a really great idea. But back here in reality, cookie baking is relegated to later evenings or, I hope, this weekend we'll find some time to eek in a few batches (the recipe for Sam's mom's Nutmeg Logs is up next, and I'm set on making gingerbread men to take with us down to the Bay Area). Right now on our countertop, we've got a batch of these crumbly, chocolatey, whole grain shortbread that have proven to be a big hit. The ingredient list is small and simple, the technique foolproof, and I think they're a real standout in a sea of holiday cookies.
Hello from the other side! I realize we haven't been back here for a few weeks, and I'm sorry for dropping into a little black hole. My cookbook deadline was Monday, so I've been a writing and editing machine, stepping away from the computer to occasionally clean the house like a crazy person or throw together a most random lunch or dinner. But somehow it all came together although there was something strangely anti-climactic about sending it off: In the days when you'd print out your manuscript and have to walk to the post office and seal it up carefully to send to the publisher, I imagine it would feel much more ceremonial and important --you could stroll out of the building and do a cartwheel. Or high-five a fellow customer on your way out. Instead, I was sitting in our dining room on an incredibly rainy, dark Monday afternoon unable to hit "send." My sister Zoe told me to just close my eyes and do it. Sam gave me the thumbs up. So around 3 p.m. that's what I did. With the click of a button, just like that: it was finished.
Strolling New York City streets during the height of fall when all the leaves are changing and golden light glints off the brownstone windows. This is what I envisioned when I bought tickets to attend my cousin's September wedding earlier this month: Sam and I would extend the trip for a good day or two so we could experience a little bit of fall in the city. We'd finally eat at Prune and have scones and coffee at Buvette, as we always do. Sam wanted to take me to Russ and Daughters, and we'd try to sneak in a new bakery or ice cream shop for good measure. Well, as some of you likely know, my thinking on the weather was premature. New York City fall had yet to descend and, instead, we ambled around the city in a mix of humidity and rain. When we returned home I found myself excited about the crisp evening air, and the fact that the tree across the street had turned a rusty shade of amber. It was time to do a little baking.
We've been waking up early these days with baby Oliver. I've always been a morning person, so this isn't particularly challenging for me -- although the middle of the night feedings have proven to be really tough. There has been a lot of finessing of sleep schedules and figuring out how Sam and I can both get enough to function well the following day. And just when we think we have it down ("gosh, aren't we lucky we have a baby that sleeps?"), everything changes. When I was in the final weeks of pregnancy and would talk about how I couldn't wait for the baby to be here, all of my friends with kids would advise me to sleep as much as possible -- and now I get it. I should've napped more. I should've listened. In getting up at odd times throughout the night with Oliver, I've had the chance to occasionally see some really brilliant sunrises (although not this past week which has been a particularly dark one in Seattle); I've made up some wacky baby tunes that I'm happy no one else can hear; and I generally have a good hour in which I can put him in the sling and walk briskly around the house trying to soothe him back to sleep while also putting away a dish or two or making a quick cup of coffee. In that hour, I can usually get something productive done and this past weekend that something was pear gingerbread.