Popovers

The first time I ever had popovers was the summer Brad popped the question. I had just finished my junior year of college and it was a beautiful day at Longwood Gardens, when he pulled out a ring and asked me to be his wife. 

Upon going home to my parents, I began wedding planning right away. And one of the first things I did was look for a place for the reception. The winner was the Lincklaen House, an old refurbished inn in nearby Cazenovia. This small village, set on Cazenovia Lake, used to be a vacation destination for the wealthy a hundred years or so ago. 

My mom, sister and I walked into the Linckalen for lunch that June to assess the food and discuss menu options. It wasn't very crowded, there were only a few patrons sitting at small square tables. A breeze came through the open doors and the clinking of cutlery on plates could be heard from the outdoor patio. We sat there admiring the old woodwork, checkerboard tile floor and vintage feel, a feeling of anticipation and apprehension in our smiles. 

The server came by to fill our water glasses and offer the customary small plate of bread to pick at while we waited for our meal. Except it wasn't the usual variety of sourdough and whole wheat slices. Instead, we were given large, crusty-golden balloons that looked like they had mushroomed dramatically out of their pan. Upon piercing, these popovers released a cloud of steam and revealed a mostly-empty, wispy inside. The honey butter that accompanied it melted almost instantaneously upon contact with the hot bread and dripped lavishly down the sides and onto our hands. They were decidedly eggy and not overly sweet  and our eyes rolled with pleasure as we licked our fingers and possessively eyed the last one in the basket.

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I recently started making popovers at home and they are so delicious. Apart from being super easy, they are also super impressive and quite fun for little helpers to watch the dramatic rise in the oven. 

Chicken Waikiki

Two-year olds. Lots of joy amidst lots of hard. And one of the hardest things has got to be getting them to eat dinner. As we sit around the supper table, another delicious meal growing cold in front of my pouting son, I can feel my desire to control his eating habits reaching like long, bony fingers--eat, eat, EAT. And I'm sure he can feel it too because he responds with a two-year old battery of defenses including whining, pretending to be tired and distracting me with hugs and kisses. 

It's never easy.

Almost never. Once in awhile we have those amazing nights when everyone is calm and peaceful. The baby is gurgling sweetly and the two-year old sits in his chair and feeds himself his dinner. Happily. And usually it's because we are eating chicken waikiki. 

Tender pieces of chicken, dredged in flour and pan fried, are baked in a sweet and sour sauce, along with bits of red pepper and pineapple. The meal is spooned over a bed of rice, the sauce soaking down into the white grains. Add a green vegetable on the side--I love to use broccoli--and you have a tasty meal that even my picky two-year old describes as "So yummy!"

Summit Salad Dressing (Sesame & Poppyseed)

My windows are open. The first hints of spring are wafting through, a sunny breeze bearing the beginnings of new life. Jack and I open the back door, previously sealed from the winter cold, and bang through the screen door to the backyard. The lilacs are heavy with large, purple blossoms and big, old bumblebees are bobbing from bunch to bunch, burying themselves in the colorful bower. The grass is springing up in tall, brilliant patches, threatening to take over the yard by pure exuberance. We bury our toes in it. It's soft and alive and tickles our bare feet. 

We find half a bird egg, of palest blue and spattered with brown speckles. Jack is in awe of it, holding it in his hands and threatening to crush it with his two-year-old wonder. We put the egg on the sill, anxious to show Daddy later. 

The sun is so warm on our heads, spilling luxuriously over our matching brown hair. Jack runs from end to end of the yard, for the pure joy of it. He crouches over the dirt, spying a troop of ants, busily marching from here to there, and back yet again. Jack interrupts their monotony with his dump truck, the plastic treads diverting their insect march. 

Spring has come again.

Magic Cookie Bars

Do you have a go-to recipe? A recipe that you love, that's easy to whip up and keep the ingredients on hand? Something that you can run to the cupboard for when someone comes over unexpectedly, or maybe you have a craving or you need to take a treat to that party? 

Magic Cookie Bars: our family's go-to recipe. My mom would make these on Sunday nights after church. We'd all be roaming the kitchen, opening the fridge multiple times and staring blankly at the contents. Then mom would mention these bars and we'd all perk up and go sit at the island until they came out of the oven. 

I think a similar recipe, with added butterscotch and white chocolate chips, is known as "Seven Layer Bars." However, in my family we call these magic cookie bars, probably because they magically disappear as soon as they are made! 

Broiler Cake

I've been reading a fascinating book recently called "Ratios: The Simple Codes Behind the Craft of Everyday Cooking". It's all about the science behind cooking; that what makes a popover different from a muffin or different from a crepe is just the ratio of flour to fat to sugar to eggs, etc. One of the things I've learned is that a basic sponge cake is not all that different from a pound cake. The ratios are the same (both are equal parts flour, fat, sugar and egg) but the difference lies in the order in which the ingredients are mixed. A pound cake starts by creaming together the eggs and butter while a sponge cake starts by beating the eggs and sugar. These methods give a sponge cake its light, airy texture and a pound cake its denser, richer texture. 

Broiler cake is a sponge cake. You start by beating the sugar into the eggs. This creates millions of tiny air bubbles in the batter which expand in the oven, making your cake rise impressively and leaving it full of tiny air pockets, like a sponge. However, my mom always called it a hot milk cake, due to scalding the milk before adding it. 

What makes this cake so special, beyond the delicious sponge, is the topping. You can use coconut or crushed pineapple, or nuts if you wish. Mixed together with butter, brown sugar and cream, the topping is spread over the hot, just-out-of-the-oven cake and then stuck under the broiler for a few, short minutes. The intense heat of the broiler causes the topping to boil, melting the sugars to create a carmelized crust that is brittle on top, but soft underneath, and punctuated throughout with coconut. 

The effect is wonderful. A sweet, moist cake that is light and airy, covered over in a richly, decadent topping of carmelized coconut. And it's easy to make, to boot. A perfect cake to wow your friends or family, or to just have a piece all to yourself while the kids are napping!

Oatmeal Chocolate Chip (or Raisin) Cookies

When it comes to baked goods, are you into raisins? Or chocolate chips? 

I'm a chocolate chipper, myself. 

I like raisins. Plain, by the hand. But can't say I'm a fan of them in my cookies. Give me ooey-gooey, chocolate any day. 

My mom started making these when I was in high school and they are one of my sister's favorites. They are pleasantly chewy due to the oats and they have just a hint of cinnamon. And the good thing about them is that they please both raisin and chocolate lovers. Just add whichever you prefer. 

Sour Cream Coffeecake

I don't remember ever going to an Easter egg hunt. I'm not sure why. Maybe we did and I just don't remember it. Or maybe it's because we lived way out in the country and there were no community egg hunts nearby. But whatever the reason, don't feel bad for me. I don't feel jipped. 

Because we did get Easter baskets. Easter Sunday would find my mom sneaking quietly into our room to deposit two white, woven baskets, filled to the brim with green, plastic grass hiding all sorts of sugary treats beneath. I know, pretty standard. But the best part of the Easter basket was the gigantic, solid, white chocolate, Easter bunny nestled on top. None of that hollow, milk chocolate variety from the convenience store that tastes slightly of plastic. 

It was so special. And it delighted my little girl's heart. I would save that Easter bunny as long as I possibly could, sneaking a small bite every time I came in my room. Nibbling the ears off first. Then the head and tail. And then bit by bit, the rest of the bunny's solid, chocolatey self would disappear. 

The bunny was the best part of the basket and I would have been seriously offended if my mom had switched out my white chocolate rabbit for a milk chocolate one. Not because I don't like milk chocolate, but because I wanted to be just like my daddy. He always got a mini white chocolate on Easter, not preferring milk chocolate, and so I had to have the same. 

Meat Pie

It's hard to know what to do with leftover roast. You can eat it in sandwiches or make a stew, but sometimes you need something different. My grandma's method was to make Meat Pie. 

Meat Pie isn't strictly a pie. I'm not sure it's even loosely a pie, but it's a great way to use up leftover roast ingredients. It's essentially a soup on the bottom with biscuits or dumplings floating on the top. My grandma used to just make Bisquick biscuits, but my mom found a homemade dumpling that we use now. It's a simple, hearty dish stemming from the necessity of making a bit of leftover meat stretch into an entire meal. As a pastor's wife, my grandma's grocery budget was not large. 

It's a great recipe because it's flexible, depending on what you have leftover from your pot roast. Bare bones, you only really need leftover meat and gravy to make this, but you can also add in leftover onions, carrots and potatoes. 

The rich broth gets its flavor not only from gravy, but also smashed roasted onions and carrots that were from your pot roast. If you have them, they deeply enhance the flavor profile of the broth. Added to this is leftover roast chunks and bites of carrot and potato. The dumpling batter is dropped onto the top, where it cooks in the steam generated by your simmering "soup." A delicious way to turn boring leftovers into a satisfying meal.

How-To: Whipped Cream

If reading my blog only changed one thing about your cooking, I would be so happy if it was learning to make real whipped cream instead of using fake "whipped topping." 

I have a few recipes, okay two, that I use fake topping for. Jello Cake and Chocolate Eclair Cake. And I understand that sometimes life is crazy and why add just another thing to your list, like whipping cream. 

But, real whipped cream is oh-so-heavenly and oh-so-easy. It's almost just as easy as opening a tub of whipped topping and dumping it out. You measure 4 ingredients (does salt even count? you only use a pinch) and beat for 3 - 4 minutes. Boom. Done. And the results are incredibly better. Sweet and light. And the ingredients are real. 

So the next time you pull up a recipe for Key Lime Pie or Gingerbread, maybe pull up this one too and just give it a chance? You may never want to go back to "whipped topping" again. 

Granola Bars

It is mid-afternoon here. The sun is golden and warm and streaming through my front windows with vibrance. It is quiet. Jack is asleep upstairs and Emma is asleep in her little bouncer in the kitchen. Dreams are flickering across their faces. 

Supper is in the oven and the house is picked up. A rarity these days. It's a moment of peace in the crazy busyness of life. I love these moments when life is calm. 

But it's not always that way. Sometimes there are train tracks all over my floor. And pacifiers tucked in nooks here and there. Sometimes (most of the time) there are dishes all over the counter and oats all over the floor. Sometimes a baby is crying in one room and the toddler is crying in the other. Sometimes these rooms smell of diapers or burnt granola bars. Sometimes there is no sun shining through my windows and it's raining. Not a nice spring rain, but a cold, dreary, unhappy sort of rain. 

But that's life right? A topsy-turvy mix-up of peace and chaos. Storm and serenity. A blog I read once said that "Life is a process of making messes and cleaning them up." And it's oh so true. Learning to smile amidst the mess and say, "Yes, Jack, let's make the granola bars, together."