House Spouse

Early early early this morning, I was awoken by a loud thunder clap. To me, that sound means summer. So why am I wearing a turtle neck sweater and corduroy pants? I’ve also been sporting my glasses the past few days thanks to springtime allergies (itchy, watery eyes are a curse I’ve inherited from both sides of my family). But I’ve also been drinking cup after cup of hot tea, mostly to warm my icy cold hands.

I was warned by my co-workers that as the weather warms up outside, the temperature drops to a wintery chill inside our office. They weren’t kidding when they said not to put away all my winter sweaters. To make matters worse, I’ve got an air vent right above my desk.

Grumble, grumble, grumble. I’ll be making a new pair of these this weekend (or next).

Despite my winter attire, I’m thinking a lot about the summer farmer’s markets and the CSA box we’ll be likely/possibly receiving soon (organizing people who don’t get how CSA shares work is slightly cumbersome).

I’m also thinking about how I’d really like to use up the last few jars of strawberry rhubarb preserves I made just under a year ago with the first fruits of the spring season.

OK, stop. Farmers markets, knitting, CSA boxes, and homemade preserves? All mentioned in fewer than 500 words? It’s all a little too much vintage whimsy for me.

So, onto my recipe for this second day of marathon blogging. It’s for easy peezy quick drop biscuits that you should make in a pre-heated cast iron skillet. If you don’t have one, just use an ungreased baking sheet. I made them recently to help us use up those precious jars of preserves and wondered why I don’t make them every weekend.

The story with this recipe is that last year, I pre-mixed the dry ingredients to bring down to a family reunion with Andrew’s family. We stayed in some fancy cabins in a pretty area of Georgia where we got to use a big, old fancy farm kitchen. I’d asked Andrew’s aunt to bring enough buttermilk and butter so I could make them for the family for breakfast. I also brought some jars of strawberry preserves I’d just put up to share. Their strawberry season had long passed at this point in the summer. Also, I thought these preserves were too sweet, which told us that his family, whose Southern heritage has bestowed upon each of them a taste for sweets that makes my head ache, would love them.

I couldn’t resist decorating the jars of preserves, and I couldn’t not take the opportunity to enjoy buttery, homemade biscuits and sweet jam while in the heart of Georgia.

If you read yesterday’s post or you just know me personally, you know that I like things just so. Unexpected surprises, especially in the kitchen, have the ability to throw me for a loop and get me really anxious about an outcome. So, no Top Chef competitions for me. (And that’s really the only reason I couldn’t do it…)

Such was the case when I realized I had two pounds of salted butter to work with. I had already added salt to the dry biscuit mix! Wouldn’t they be too salty? This was the first time I’d be cooking for Andrew’s extended family and I was going to fail.

His sister, Julia, walked into the kitchen and I told her how worried I was. She replied nonchalantly, “Don’t worry. We like salt a lot, too.”

The biscuits were salty, but they were awesome. With that sweet jam, they were perfectly complimented. And I got the stamp of approval from a cousin in culinary school and his grandmother who wanted to know how I, a Yankee, had learned how to make such a Southern classic.

The moral of the story is, don’t worry about salted butter. People like it. It is good.

Easy Quick Drop Biscuits
from Joy of Cooking

Ingredients:
2 c all-purpose flour
2 1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 – 3/4 tsp salt
5 – 6 Tbsp cold butter, diced (I like it salted, but do your own thing.)
1 c milk (or buttermilk for tang)

Place a cast iron skillet in a cool oven. Preheat the oven to 450F.

Whisk together the flour, baking powder, and salt. Using a fork or a pastry blender, rub the butter into the flour mixture until you have pea-sized clumps.

Add the milk and stir until it all comes together. It will look like a spongy mess. Kind of like this:

Take the cast iron skillet out of the oven (be careful, it will be really hot!) and drop walnut-size(ish) spoonfuls of the batter into the pan using a tablespoon. I usually start with a larger circle around the edge of the pan and work my way inward. It’s OK if the dough touches. Remember, this is rustic. Plus, it’s cool and Southern when you get to pull the biscuits apart.

Bake for 12-15 minutes or until the biscuits are fluffed and golden. My new oven has a window (the old one didn’t), so I sat in front and watched excitedly as the biscuits were rising:

Serve with your favorite jam or honey.

As a kiddo, I would start novels in a peculiar way. First, I’d write a plot synopsis. This would take anywhere from an hour to a few days. I’d write a very general outline, then change my mind on a few details and have to rewrite it. Then, I’d fill in the outline until I had several pages of synopsis upon which I planned to pen hundreds of pages. Next, I’d create character profiles. Each character would become the subject of an illustrated mug shot. I was meticulous, first drawing in pencil, then tracing over the lines in black ink. If I was feeling patient, I’d set them aside to dry before coloring them in with my colored pencils. Occasionally, a main character or two would get a full-length drawing to show the kind of outfit he or she might wear. On another sheet I’d write the character’s stats: name, age, height, build, interests, and status in the family (such as oldest sister).

The character I recall most vividly was named Libby, short for Liberty. She was Chinese. Her parents came to the U.S. from communist China.

I should mention that I grew up on an Air Force base where we forced to sing the song that goes, “And I’m proud to be an American, where at least I know I’m free,” every day in school. Just kidding. We weren’t. But we did sing it at least once at a school function.

Anyway, I was so pleased with myself for being so clever and patriotic at the same time. But I’m pretty sure only one chapter ever emerged from my sparkly pink pen. Coming up with the idea and planning the book was always way more fun for me. It wasn’t that the writing wasn’t fun, I just always enjoyed all the time I’d spend imagining a narrative so much more.

Things haven’t changed too much. While I don’t allow hours to day dreaming and drawing like I used to, I still love to have a grand vision and contemplate how to execute it. Like little me, though, I get stuck with the details. Extensive, multi-tiered to do lists have helped in other areas of my life, but when it comes to writing I wrestle with wanting everything I say to be brilliant, life-changing, perfectly poignant despite that I seriously lack the capacity to produce that occasionally, much less all the time.

So I put it off until I’m feeling “inspired” until I realize that weeks (or months!) have passed and the most I’ve written is a long email to my sister-in-law whining about how I don’t know what to do with my life. Then I go to my blog and write something quick and fast and hardly perfect, which is followed by excessive worrying. The internal monologue (and sometimes external. Andrew is often the listener to my anxiety-induced logorrhea.) does like this: “Eek! All I do is talk about myself! People hate that. My blog is lame! What’s so interesting about me that anyone would even care? God, everyone food blogs and there’s no reason I should keep doing it because it’s just an echo chamber out there of people being precious about food.” Etc. Etc.

My anxiety is likely founded, but it’s not getting me anywhere. Instead, I’m stuck in a vicious, vicious cycle.

Therefore, I’m going to attempt to end it by writing everyday for 30 days, and that writing will be right here on this blog. When I write longhand in a notebook, what I have to say usually devolves into multiple lists of what I have to do. I promise not to do that here.

The idea is that some posts will be shitty and some won’t and I won’t care. There is no grand vision that I’m trying to execute, just a little bit of writing everyday about what I love to do: cook and eat and maybe some other stuff, too. It’s dorky, it’s cheesy, it’s self-indulgent maybe. But would you mind cheering me on anyway?

I wish I had a Chinese recipe to share to bring this post full circle. I’d call it Libby’s Lunch or something. What I have though is a vegetarian version of a Korean classic. I know. Presenting a Korean dish as an alternative to a Chinese dish is like saying, “You want a recipe for Poutine? Well, I don’t have that, but here’s one for Huevos Rancheros. I know it’s not Canadian. But Mexico, dude! Same continent, right?”

Here’s the deal, though. I have already prepared and photographed and uploaded the photos of this dish. So, three fewer reasons to not post something today and get this 30-day foodblogorama party started.

The recipe comes from a guest poster to the vegetarian blog, Herbivoracious. I can’t say enough positive adjectives for this blog, so I’ll just say one: inspiring. You’ll need some knife skills for all the juilienning, but I wouldn’t worry about it if you don’t know how to do those things. I don’t, really. Just cut up the veggies how you feel most comfortable. Oh, and you’re going to want to have all your veggies prepared before starting.

I actually think this tasted miles better the next day at room temperature. So, if you’re making it for dinner, be sure to save at least a serving for lunch the next day.

Vegetarian Chap Chae
Adapted from Alice of Savory Sweet Life.

Ingredients:
1 bundle of potato starch cellophane noodles called dangmyeon (most packages contain 2-3 bundles and can be purchased at any Korean grocery store or most Asian markets)
1/2 bunch of fresh spinach
1/2 medium yellow onion, julienned
1 carrot, peeled and cut into match sticks
1/2 red bell pepper, julienned
8-10 fresh shiitake mushrooms, sliced
2 stalks green onions, sliced in 1.5” slices (green parts only)
½ block of firm tofu, cut into small rectangle pieces (Save yourself the time and buy it already fried, if possible.)
2 cloves garlic, minced
Neutral tasting oil
Soy sauce
Sesame oil
Salt and pepper
2 tablespoons sugar (Truth be told, I used more than this.)
3 tablespoons toasted sesame seeds

Boil one bundle of noodles for 5 minutes until softened and al dente in texture. Drain the noodles and do not rinse. Add noodles to a large mixing bowl and cut them three times with kitchen shears.

Add 2 tablespoons (each) of soy sauce and sesame seed oil. Toss noodles until sauce is evenly distributed and set aside.

Heat a wok or large frying pan on high. Add 1 teaspoon of oil and just barely wilt the spinach. Sprinkle with sesame oil and add to the noodles.

Cook sliced onions for 2 minutes stirring them as they start to turn translucent. Season with a 1/2 teaspoon of sesame oil and a pinch of salt and pepper. Add onions to the large bowl of noodles. Repeat the same process as the onions except reduce cooking times to 30 seconds for the carrots, 2 minutes for the bell red pepper, 1 minute for the shiitake mushrooms, and 10 seconds for the green onions. Fry tofu squares for 1 minute per side – but do not add tofu to the large bowl of noodles. If already fried, just cook until it’s heated through.

Add 2 tablespoons of soy sauce, 1 tablespoon of sesame oil, and 2 tablespoons of sugar (I went with 3…ok, 4. I was going for the flavor of take-out, I guess.), and ½ teaspoon of ground pepper to the large noodle bowl and toss everything until well mixed.

Add 1 tablespoon of olive oil to the hot wok and add minced garlic. Allow garlic to cook for a few seconds and add the entire bowl of mix noodles and vegetables to the wok/pan. Stir-fry everything for 2-3 minutes and turn off heat. Gently add tofu and transfer noodles to a large serving platter. Sprinkle toasted sesame seeds on top. Serve warm or cold.

On the way home a week or so ago, I snapped the above photo. The gorgeous flowering shrub is located in front of a Blockbuster on Kimball Ave and I love that you can make out the movie posters in the window (Alvin and the Chipmunks, New Moon, and Avatar). Details that date a photograph usually prove delightful down the road.

The days-long stretches of good, warm weather were a real challenge to us Chicagoans. The weather reports kept reminding us that these were record-breaking temperatures for April and this weather is not normal, but we didn’t want to believe it. Me, especially. I kept thinking, when I’d sneak out for a walk around the Loop during lunch or take pages to be read and edited to a nearby park, Chicago weather isn’t so bad. Eight years of experience otherwise was no match for the transfixing abilities of pure warm sunshine.

Now it’s cold again. Well, not really. If it were December and the high for the day was 60, it would feel glorious. But in late April, I want 70 degrees plus. I’ll even take the rain showers that this month is supposed to bring (the grapevine and blueberry plant–yes plant, there is only one that we can confidently claim is alive–could use them). But, Mother Nature, help a girl (with seasonal depression) out.

So, the recipe to accompany this rant is from 101cookbooks.com, a blog I’ve read for a long time, but have lately been visiting more and more frequently. The day I read it, I was feeling down and the simple thought of a spicy soup did wonders for my mood. Actually eating it had remarkably positive effects. I even might venture to say it was healing, if I were a little crunchier in my outlook on life.

The soup is lightly spiced, a bit gingery, and has a subtle coconut flavor. I enjoyed it  even more the next day for lunch. My version went lighter on the green onions (I’m a bit averse) and omitted the raisins (I’m totally averse). Heidi suggests serving it over a grain such as farro, but we ate it as a simple soup with a round of pita for dipping and a spoonful of plain yogurt, a squeeze of lime, and a bit of fresh cilantro for garnish.

Coconut Red Lentil Soup
Adapted from 101 Cookbooks
1 cup yellow split peas
1 cup red lentils
7 cups water
1 medium carrot, cut into 1/2-inch dice
2 tablespoons fresh peeled and minced ginger
2 tablespoons curry powder
2 tablespoons butter
4 green onions, thinly sliced
1/3 / 80 ml cup tomato paste
1 14-ounce can coconut milk
2 teaspoons fine grain sea salt
one small handful cilantro, chopped

Rinse the lentils and split peas well. Place them in an extra-large soup pot, cover with the water, and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to a simmer and add the carrot and 1/2 Tablespoon of the ginger. Cover and simmer for about 30 minutes, or until the split peas are soft (this took longer than 30 minutes for me).

In the meantime, in a small dry skillet or saucepan over low heat, toast the curry powder until it is quite fragrant. Be careful though, you don’t want to burn the curry powder, just toast it. Set aside. Place the butter in a pan over medium heat, add the green onions and the remaining ginger. Saute for two minutes stirring constantly, then add the tomato paste and saute for another minute or two more.

Add the toasted curry powder to the tomato paste mixture, mix well, and set aside. When the lentils are ready, add this mixture along with the coconut milk and salt. Simmer, uncovered, for 20 minutes or so. If you like it thicker (which I did), allow it to simmer for longer, at least 30 minutes. Season again with salt to taste.

Serve with lime wedges, plain yogurt, and the chopped cilantro.

Serves 6.