For people who love brownies, these are legendary. There are a few different recipes floating around claiming to be the definitive one and there are different stories about how the brownies came to be. The one most commonly held to be true is that Liz Smith of Better Homes and Gardens went to interview Ms. Hepburn for their August 1975 issue--these are the brownies she was served. Whichever story or version you subscribe to, the reason I love Katherine Hepburn's recipe (and brownie philosophy in general) is because she believes in using very little flour. A belief I share. If you are a "cakey," thick brownie person, these may not be for you. But if you like thinner, chewier, denser brownies--keep reading. These are super easy-you make them in the saucepan itself, so very few dishes. I made a small change: the original recipe calls for 2 oz. unsweetened chocolate and they yield a really nice, mild brownie. I make mine with 3 oz. chocolate which notches up the dense, rich flavor.
When I was eating my blueberries and kefir this morning, I noticed a label on the blueberry container: "Who Grew These Blueberries? Please visit www.oregonberry.com, click the lot code printed on the front of this label and find out information about the grower." Wow. Really? Well, I did just as the directions instructed and was led to the smiling face of Paul H. Coussen's Farm in Oregon. Now Paul grew up in Belgium, but came to Hillsboro Oregon when he was young and his grandparents started farming. You get the idea. I sat there and stared at Paul and the picture of his verdant country road the entire time I ate my breakfast. Pretty incredible. On a related note, yesterday I was interviewing the new proprietress of Her Majesty's Secret Beekeeper, Cameo Woods, for a project I'm working on. If you haven't yet heard of her shop: she just opened in the Mission and sells local, artisan honey, beekeeping supplies, and anything derived from the honey process (beeswax, candles etc.) Cameo was telling me that honey actually tastes drastically different depending on the neighborhood in which the bees live--and eat--(for example, Castro honey would taste far different than Glen Park honey). Really? Now living in the Bay Area, I have to remind myself that the rest of the country isn't necessarily as interested in the local, sustainable food movement. It's big here. I get daily tweets and emails about it. My weekend running partners talk about the best local tomatoes and who sells them. When I went to see Food Inc., I was sitting in the theater amongst aging hippies who were nodding and "here here-ing" and somehow wishing it could reach a different audience. We're already sold. I loved Food Inc., but I knew much of the information already. However, there's something about it that has stayed with me.
I can define certain moments of my life in Ben & Jerry's flavors. In junior high, there was Rainforest Crunch (you know you miss it). I had to beat my dad to it or hide it in deep, dark tunnels in the back of the fridge. There were my teenage years of Coconut Almond Fudge Chip (when they reissued it for all of two seconds awhile back, I stocked up expecting the worst). Then in college: Cherry Garcia. A pizza place a block from my dorm delivered it for free. I had them on speed-dial. So last week when I heard about Ben & Jerry's newest creation, Flipped Out, I had high hopes and began the supermarket search. Whole Foods--no. My corner liquor store--sorry. But tonight, at the old-fashioned market down the block, I spotted a freezer case full of Flipped- Out. My lucky day.
I remember a few years back observing my family eat at the Olema Inn in West Marin. I was so sick that weekend. I laid in bed sweating out a fever, having delusions that the stuffed squirrels on the mantle were dancing around my bedposts. So when my sisters begged me to just come downstairs and sit at the table even if I didn't feel like eating, I decided it was time to get a little fresh air (and escape those demonic squirrels). I stumbled downstairs, and sat in the sweet candlelit dining room admiring the menu and wishing that I could eat just a little something. These days it's common to ask if our meat is corn-fed, grass-fed, free-range etc. But at the Olema Inn, they went so far as to list whose field the cows had grazed on (The Turner's field down the road a bit). At the time I thought this was a little too precious: do we really need to know that many details? Seriously, does it matter whose grass the cows consumed on what day? But the Olema Inn was two steps ahead of me. They understood that what your food eats, where it's raised, and the conditions in which it's raised greatly affect the taste and quality.
It’s finally hot here. Like really, really ‘summer has certainly arrived’ hot. As I write, the dogs are sitting at my feet panting away, the fan is blocking out all street noise, and things are very, very still. No breeze. No squirrels darting across the…
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.
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.
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.
A recipe for Blueberry Cornmeal Custard and a giveaway of Megan Gordon's cookbook, Whole-Grain Mornings