I had a different kind of post planned for today. I’d wanted to talk to you about measuring your own success and how the markers of success can be tricky. I can imagine that post, and I think you would’ve liked it. Heck, maybe I’ll still write it. But this afternoon I worked the farmers market and witnessed a few things too good not to mention. The Marge Granola booth sits right next to a woman who sells beautiful flowers. In my weeks working next to her, I’ve learned a lot. I know that red dahlias are the most popular. I also know that they last four days. I know what wild amaranth looks like in all its fluffy stalkiness, and I can pick out the best lily in a bunch. I’m often gifted a few stems at the end of the day, and have so loved placing them all around the house. Each week a new color.
The woman who runs the flower booth has a young nephew that comes with her to help each week: sweeping up leaves, making bouquets and taking customer’s money. He can’t be more than ten or eleven, is an incredibly hard worker, and has warm, smiling brown eyes. He recently got new shoes and I watched as he polished them up throughout the afternoon, his aunt giving him a hard time while chuckling: Relax with the shoes. She turned to me, and whispered, “His two loves? New shoes and chicken.” When it slowed down a bit later in the day, I asked him what kind of chicken he likes the best and his face lit up. A once quiet shy kid, quite suddenly, couldn’t keep quiet.
The same afternoon, a young boy walked up to the granola table and asked what he could buy for $1. I apologized and explained that we don’t have anything to sell for $1. Head down, he moseyed on over to the flower table and asked the same question. The woman said that most of the single stems were $1 — with the exception of larger flowers. His face lit up. He scanned all of his options, and ultimately walked away with a stalk of purple wildflowers, clutching them tightly. Proudly.
Towards the end of the day as I was starting to pack up, a handsome, older African-American man walked by pushing an elderly woman in a wheelchair. He stopped and said he had a question about my granola ingredients: How exactly did I get the sunflower seeds to use in the granola? I explained that we have a distributor who delivers them, that I don’t actually harvest them myself. He seemed confused by my response — pointing to the sunflower display to my right and reiterating his question:
“How do you get the seeds from those flowers to use in your granola cereal?”
I answered, “Oh, you don’t. Or we don’t, anyway. That would be very labor intensive.”
“Well then, what are they for in that case?” he gestured towards the summery stalks.
“They’re for decoration. People put them in a vase in their house,” I assured him.
He seemed utterly stumped, continuing to look back and forth from my granola to the sunflowers.”Why?”
“Why? Because they’re pretty,” I said. “They’re just pretty. That’s all.”
A broad, slow smile swept across his face revealing a few gappy gold teeth. He looked up at me and repeated slowly, “Right. They’re just pretty. And that’s all.”
I’ve always said that I love baking because it makes people happy — it makes people smile. But let me tell you something: bakers have nothing on flowers. That table to my right sees a lot of joy, and now that I’ve started to pay attention, it’s one of my favorite parts about working Friday evenings. There are young boys with new shoes, pre-teens clutching wild flowers, big gappy-tooth grins and realizations about the importance of beauty for beauty’s sake. A bag of granola can’t complete with that.
Now how does ice cream relate to any of this? Well I might make the case, as I have to anyone who knows me well, that ice cream needs no case, really. But early last week I decided to make ice cream for dinner for no good reason other than the fact that the house was stuffy, neither of us were too terribly hungry, and I had fresh figs that I needed to use. I’d seen a recipe for Fresh Fig and Chocolate Chunk Ice Cream in Martha Stewart magazine last month, and as I was laying out the ingredients I remembered the wonderful flavor combination of fig and fennel in one of favorite Theo chocolate bars. So out came the fennel seeds and this ice cream quickly became fennel-kissed and oh-so-delightful.
There are many fennel ice cream recipes floating around online; those recipes generally call for infusing the fennel seeds in the warm milk for at least 30 minutes. My version boasts a subtle whisper of fennel so as not to compete with the sweet, earthy figs or smooth dark chocolate. I warm the milk and cream with the fennel and then let it steep for almost ten minutes and that seems to do the trick just fine. The directions ask that you freeze the ice cream for 2-3 hours before serving, but there are some nights when you don’t want to wait that long. So you eat it soft, by the spoonful, right out of the container For no other reason than it’s summer and it tastes delicious.
You can make the base for this recipe up to two days ahead of churning the ice cream. And next time I make it, I just might fold in some sliced almonds or chopped hazelnuts at the very end.
Adapted from: Martha Stewart
For the Mix-Ins:
Combine milk, cream and fennel seeds in a medium saucepan. Bring mixture to a simmer over medium-high heat, stirring occasionally; remove from heat. Stir in the vanilla extract. Let mixture sit off the heat for 10 minutes. Strain.
In a large bowl, whisk together egg yolks, sugar, and salt. Gradually whisk in half of the milk mixture. Pour egg-milk mixture back into the pan along with remaining warm strained milk and cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, until thick enough to coat the back of a wooden spoon, 6-8 minutes or so.
Prepare an ice bath in a bowl large enough to hold another bowl comfortably. Strain custard through a fine sieve into a bowl set into the ice bath. Place in refrigerator and let cool for at least 1 hour, or until quite cold. Meanwhile, chill a loaf pan in the freezer.
When ready to churn the ice cream: sprinkle figs with sugar and toss to coat. Let stand until juicy, about 5 minutes. Fold figs and chocolate bits into custard base with a rubber spatula. Freeze and churn in an ice cream maker according to the manufacturer’s instructions. Transfer to the cold pan. Cover with plastic wrap and freeze until hardened, 2-3 hours.
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.
This past week we've had quite a heat wave in Seattle. I've been getting into the bakery early in the mornings so as to avoid the afternoon heat + hot oven combination, and it turns out the upstairs of our new house is quite a little hot box. I bought some aggressive blinds and a new fan and am hoping both will help cool things down a bit. The wool blanket is in the linen closet for the season, and Sam's been making iced tea like it's his job. Summer has arrived! A few nights ago, the thought of actually doing much real cooking seemed a bit overwhelming, so I figured it was time to dig out the ice cream maker and get to work. I'd wanted to do something with the beautiful strawberries we have in the markets right now, but it seems every time I get a little pint it's gone before I have the chance. They are just so incredibly sweet, and it seems a shame to do anything other than eat them right out of the container, preferably while sitting on the Moroccan picnic blanket you brought back from honeymoon on the lawn in your new backyard trying not to stress out about the incredible, insurmountable number of weeds. So. Many. Weeds. But cherries: somehow the bag of cherries made it safely through the weekend, so I set about to find a great cherry ice cream recipe.
When you have an eight month old baby, making social plans can be hard. Especially in the evenings. When I was pregnant, I read Bringing up Bebe and one of the big premises of the book is how the French feel strongly that babies and children can fit into your lives and that you shouldn't have to change and alter everything to accommodate them. I remember reading the book and thinking: YES! Life will be just as it was, except we'll have a small baby in tow. Obviously a few things would likely be different, but I didn't want to change our routines, change the way we cooked or approached time off together, or see our friends any less. Well of course I'm the fool. Or at the very least, I'm not as French as I thought I was. Today, we very much schedule things around Oliver's nap schedule and bedtime, but thankfully we have a lot of other friends with kids who get it. Friends who make homemade cookies, own ice cream businesses, and have really great taste in music. Friends who host the kind of occasion that warrants homemade hot fudge sauce and eating dessert first.
We're back! After a restful few days in Lake George, I ended up flying home while Sam spent a little time with his family in New Jersey and a few days in New York City by himself before taking the train all the way back to Seattle (a solid four day journey). If you know Sam, this isn't surprising; he loves trains. When he's gone, I quickly revert back to my single gal days of eating veggie quesadillas for dinner (over and over) and staying up working later than I'd like. We would talk on the phone often as Sam would narrate his very full days in New York City and the stops and layovers he had while on the train. After a few days of me lamenting the fact that I wasn't there to experience it all with him, he encouraged me to ditch the quesadillas and do something special for dinner. See a movie. Go to the museum for just an hour. In short: I needed to get better at dating myself.
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.