For such a light, bright, colorful few months — summer is the season that makes the biggest statement, but also the season that blasts on through the quickest. But with the blasting comes the overgrown lawns, neighborhood walks at 9:45 p.m. when it’s still light out (!) and dinners consisting of heaping servings of strawberry crisp. Or how about the impromptu sidewalk picnics at lunchtime or the beautiful, blooming Dogwood trees lining the block? Seattle, maybe a little more than some sunnier cities, waits hard for this time of year. I’d like for you all to know that I’ve locked the winter coat away for good, and while the raincoat is definitely making an appearance of late, I hope not to look at a stitch of fleece for a good few months. And to eat more berry crisp for dinner — which brings us all here right now.
I received Kimberly’s new cookbook, Vibrant Food, in the mail a few weeks ago and one of the recipes that immediately jumped out at me was the Summer Berry and Peach Crisp. I met Kimberly through her blog The Year in Food; we both had friends and cities in common and she’s so genuine that we hit it off right away. In addition to recipe development, Kimberly is a super talented photographer, so it’s no surprise this book is a beauty, and there are so many recipes I can’t wait to make (Sweet Corn and Squash Fritters, Summer Squash Pasta with Green Goddess Dressing, Almond Honey Cake with Poached Quince). It’s organized seasonally and further categorized by produce or ingredient, so it’s not only beautiful but also useful — the best kind of books.
When I sat down to glance at the crisp recipe, I knew peaches would be a stretch, but I’ve been trading Marge Granola for flats of strawberries at the end of each farmers market lately, so I knew we could easily be in business. With the back door wide open and a nice evening breeze accompanying me in the kitchen, I was off — mixing berries with a little lemon juice, working butter into a simple mixture of oats and nuts and greasing our cast-iron skillet (I decided to bake our crisp in a skillet instead of a more traditional casserole dish). It came out of the oven bubbling hot and fragrant at about 7 p.m. and the sun was shining and our picnic table beckoned, and there’s a chance it became dinner. And that it was enjoyed right out of the pan.
It’s my sincere hope there will be much more of that this summer. I’ve been making a list of books and podcasts and all kinds of travel and summer-related links to share with you, so more of that soon. But for now, let’s eat skillet berry crisp. Right out of the pan.
A few quick recipe notes: Kimberly’s recipe calls for a variety of fruits but you could certainly make this with any fruit you like, or more of one than another. Essentially if you have about 5 – 5 1/2 cups of fruit you’re good to go here. Because I’ve been a little crazy about sugar lately I used a little less sugar than the recipe called for and I ended up using 1 cup of quinoa flakes in the topping. If you can’t find these, certainly use oats instead. But I love their little hit of protein and they work into the cold butter so beautifully. Last, because I was too lazy to go out and buy almonds (what Kimberly suggests), I used hazelnuts and pumpkin seeds here for the nuts. Use any nuts you’d like — just keep the proportions about the same. Pecans would be great as would walnuts.
Adapted from: Vibrant Food
For the Filling:
For the Topping
Preheat the oven to 375 F.
Make the filling: In a large mixing bowl, mix together the berries with the sugar, lemon juice, flour and ginger. Pour the fruit filling into a shallow 2 to 2 1/2-quart baking dish (or large oven-proof skillet!)
Make the topping: In another large bowl, combine the oats, nuts and seeds, hazelnut meal, brown sugar, salt and spices. Add the butter and use your fingers to work the dry ingredients and butter together to form a loose mixture. Sprinkle evenly over the fruit.
Bake for 30 to 35 minutes, or until the crisp is golden brown and bubbling at the edges. Allow to cool 10 minutes before serving. Serve warm. Right out of the pan, or in small bowls topped with ice cream if you’d like.
Winter Comfort Food
I intended on baking holiday cookies to share with you today, but when I sat down to brainstorm all I could think about, truly, was the morning porridge I've been making and how that's really what I wanted to send you away with. The holiday season always seems to zoom on by at its own clip with little regard for how most of us wish it would just slow down, and this year feels like no exception. We got our tree last week and I've been making a point to sit in the living room and admire the twinkle as much as possible. I have lofty goals of snowflakes and gingerbread men and stringing cranberries and popcorn, but I'm also trying to get comfortable with the fact that everything may not get done, and that sitting amongst the twinkle is really the most important. That and a warm breakfast before the day spins into gear. This multi-grain porridge has proved to be a saving grace on busy weekday mornings, and it reheats beautifully so I've been making a big pot and bringing it to work with some extra chopped almonds and fresh pomegranate seeds. While cookies are certainly on the horizon, I think I'll have this recipe to thank for getting us through the busy days ahead.
We returned home from San Francisco on New Years Eve just in time for dinner, and craving greens -- or anything other than baked goods and pizza (ohhhh San Francisco, how I love your bakeries. And citrus. And winter sunshine). Instead of driving straight home, we stopped at our co-op where I ran in for some arugula, an avocado, a bottle of Prosecco, and for the checkout guys to not-so-subtly mock the outlook of our New Years Eve: rousing party, eh? They looked to be in their mid-twenties and I figured I probably looked ancient to them, sad even. But really, there wasn't much sad (or rousing, to be fair) about our evening: putting Oliver to bed, opening up holiday cards and hanging them in the kitchen, and toasting the New Year with arugula, half a quesadilla and sparkling wine. It wasn't lavish. But it's what we both needed. (Or at least what we had to work with.) Since then, I've been more inspired to cook lots of "real" food versus all of the treats and appetizers and snacks the holidays always bring on. I made Julia Turshen's curried red lentils for the millionth time, a wintry whole grain salad with tuna and fennel, roasted potatoes, and this simple green minestrone that I've taken for lunch this week. Determined to fit as many seasonal vegetables into a bowl as humanly possible, I spooned a colorful pesto on top, as much for the reminder of warmer days to come as for the accent in the soup (and for the enjoyment later of slathering the leftover pesto on crusty bread).
If I asked you about what you like to cook at home when the week gets busy, I'm willing to bet it might be something simple. While there are countless websites and blogs and innumerable resources to find any kind of recipe we may crave, it's often the simple, repetitive dishes that we've either grown up with or come to love that call to us when cooking (or life in general) seems overwhelming or when we're feeling depleted. While my go-to is typically breakfast burritos or whole grain bowls, this Curried Cauliflower Couscous with Chickpeas and Chard would make one very fine, very doable house meal on rotation. The adaptations are endless, and its made from largely pantry ingredients. I never thought I'd hop on the cauliflower "rice" bandwagon, but I have to say after making it a few times, I get the hype.
People describe raising young kids as a particular season in life. I hadn't heard this until we had a baby, but it brought me a lot of comfort when I'd start to let my mind wander, late at night between feedings, to fears that we'd never travel internationally again or have a sit-down meal in our dining room. Would I ever eat a cardamom bun in Sweden? Soak in Iceland? I loved the heck out of our tiny Oliver, but man what had we done?! Friends would swoop in and reassure us that this was just a season, a blip in the big picture of it all. They promised we'd likely not even remember walking around the house in circles singing made-up songs while eating freezer burritos at odd hours of the day (or night). And it's true.
Oliver is turning two next month, and those all-encompassing baby days feel like a different time, a different Us. In many ways, dare I say it, Toddlerhood actually feels a bit harder. Lately Oliver has become extremely opinionated about what he will and will not wear -- and he enforces these opinions with fervor. Don't get near the kid with a button-down shirt. This week at least. He's obsessed with his rain boots and if it were up to him, he'd keep them on at all times, especially during meals. He insists on ketchup with everything (I created a damn monster), has learned the word "trash" and insists on throwing found items away on his own that really, truly are not trash. I came to pick him up from daycare the other day and he was randomly wearing a bike helmet -- his teacher mentioned he'd had it on most of the day and really, really didn't want to take it off. The kid has FEELINGS. I love that about him, and wouldn't want it any other way. But, man it's also exhausting.
It's been a uniformly gray and rainy week in Seattle, and I'd planned on making a big pot of salmon chowder to have for the weekend, but then the new issue of Bon Appetit landed on my doorstep with that inviting "Pies for Dinner" cover, and I started to think about how long it's been since I made my very favorite recipe from my cookbook, Whole Grain Mornings. I'm often asked at book events which recipe I love most, and it's a tough one to answer because I have favorites for different moods or occasions, but I'd say that this savory tart is right up there. The cornmeal millet crust is one of my party tricks; when we need a quick brunch recipe, this is what I pull out of my back pocket because it's so simple and delicious. This is a no-roll, no fuss crust with a slightly sandy, crumbly texture thanks to the cornmeal, and a delightful crunch from the millet. In the past, I've used the crust and custard recipe as the base for any number of fillings: on The Kitchn last year, I did a version with greens and gruyere, and I teach cooking classes that often include a version heavy on local mushrooms and shallot. So if you are not keen on salmon or have some vegetables you're looking to use up this week, feel free to fold in whatever is inspiring you right now. Sometimes at this point in winter that can be hard, so hopefully this recipe may help a little.