• the quotidian (2.26.18)

    Quotidian: daily, usual or customary; 
    everyday; ordinary; commonplace

    Dough globe.

    For our local homeless shelter.

    To keep me from ruining any more pork, he turned the last three loins into 17 pounds of sausage.

    I chalked this up under the category of The Things I Find…

    We gave him a magnifying glass for his birthday and now the deck is scorched.

    Though he’s not quite sure how: fixed.
    Brushing up on his Spanish: Wonder, two ways. 
    The movie  we watched it last night  was so good. I even teared up several times. 
     Bonus: it had connections to both Napoleon Dynamite AND The Princess Bride.


    This same time, years previous: steer sitting, homecoming, roasted cauliflower soup, the quotidian (2.25.13), bandwagons, the quotidian (2.27.12), buttery brown sugar syrup and cinnamon molasses syrup, Molly’s marmelade cake.

  • homemade pasta

    Sunday, I borrowed a pasta maker from a friend and all week long I’ve been researching recipes and watching youtube videos of Italian grandmas making pasta. I have yet to deviate from the basic recipe I’ve been using — everyone loves it, so why mess with it? — so mostly, I’ve been focusing on developing a feel for the process.

    Pasta, it turns out, is wonderfully simple to make, and the flavor is leagues better than the store-bought stuff. I had no idea! It’s lighter, and the texture is magical: For the first time, I understand the term al dente after only two minutes in boiling water, the pasta is cooked through, firm and toothsome, without a hint of gumminess.

    Mostly, I’ve been making fettuccine, but I also sometimes hand-cut the dough into wider pieces for pappardelle. I never knew what pappardelle was until a couple weeks ago when I came across a recipe that called for it. I searched grocery stores high and low, but no luck. Then I found it online, for about seven freaking dollars a pound! So now I’m happily — gleefully — making highend pasta by hand in my own kitchen, for just pennies, toot-toot! (That’s the sound of me honking my horn.)

    One night I made lasagna:

    Instead of boiling the fresh noodles, I simply layered them with ricotta, both fresh and grated mozzarella, parmesan, and lots of sauce. I baked the lasagna, covered with foil, for the first 45 minutes or so, before removing the foil and baking for another 20-30 minutes. ‘Twas delish!

    I’m still figuring out how to store the fresh pasta. So far, I’ve been shaping it into nests and then freezing them in plastic bags, using wax paper to keep the portions from sticking together.

    The other day for lunch, I cooked a nest of pappardelle, plopping the frozen noodles directly into the boiling water. They took a couple extra minutes to cook, but tasted as good as when they were fresh. I drizzled the noodles with melted butter, added Parmesan and sliced ham, and gave them several good grinds of black pepper.

    I’m eager to try some variations — different grains, adding spinach to the dough, messing around with the spaghetti setting, etc. Up next: ravioli. The ricotta and fresh parsley are a-waiting!

    Have you ever made pasta? If so, fill me in on your favorite recipes, fresh pasta dishes, and pasta makers … because I will be buying one shortly.

    Homemade Pasta
    I looked at a bunch of recipes, like this and this. For a look at the science behind pasta making, check out this post by Serious Eats.

    This grandma is fun to watch. (Here she is again.)

    Note: I gave my mom a sample of the cold, cooked noodles and she thought they tasted eggy. I, however, do not detect any eggyness. My cousin, who makes her own pasta, is sensitive to eggy flavors and just uses one egg, plus water, for her pasta. Do whatever you like!

    1 cup semolina
    1 cup all-purpose flour
    3 eggs
    Drizzle of olive oil, optional

    Dump the semolina and flour on the table, and make a well in the center. Crack in the eggs. Add the olive oil, if using.

    Gently beat the eggs with a fork, gradually incorporating more and more of the flour. Switch to a bench knife and, with a chopping motion, continue to mix. When it’s all a shaggy mess, use your hands to pull it together and knead it into a glossy ball. Wrap with plastic and set aside to rest at room temperature for about 30 minutes.

    Cut the dough into two parts. Rewrap one of the parts in the pastic so it doesn’t dry out and begin rolling the other. (If you don’t have a pasta maker, whack off a broom handle and do it like this.) Roll the dough through the machine at level one about 10-15 times, lightly dusting the table and dough with semolina and each time folding the dough in half or thirds. Then, at each level up to five or six (which is all the higher I’ve gone so far), roll the dough through once or twice.

    When the dough is the desired thickness, cut the pasta sheets into appropriate lengths (generally 8-12 inches) and then cut the lengths into fettuccine, lasagna, spaghetti, pappardelle, etc, dusting the final noodles with semolina or flour to keep them from sticking together.

    To cook: Boil water with plenty of salt. Add the pasta and cook for 1-3 minutes. Drain, add toppings, and serve. Refrigerate any leftover cold, cooked pasta and reheat later. It’ll be just fine.

    To freeze: Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or wax paper and mound the uncooked, fresh pasta into little nests and let air dry for 1-2 hours. Cut the paper and slip the nests, with their paper bottoms to keep the nests from sticking together, into a plastic bag. Freeze, taking care not to bump the bag as the frozen pasta is prone to breaking.

    To cook frozen pasta: Dump frozen nest into salted, boiling water. As it cooks, use a fork to gently separate the pasta. Boil for an extra minute or two.

    This same time, years previous: jelly toast, a love story, doppelganger, old-fashioned molasses cream sandwich cookies, lemon cheesecake morning buns, peanut butter and jelly bars, the quotidian (2.24.14), pan-fried tilapia, birds and bugs, ginger lemon tea, chicken pot pie.

  • the quotidian (2.19.18)

    Quotidian: daily, usual or customary; 
    everyday; ordinary; commonplace

    And then my husband said, “Do not ever buy pasta from the store again.”

    Mid-week satisfaction: fresh bread and roasted veggies and sausages.
    The balance of marriage: On Feb 14, my husband bought me candy; I made him a pot of steelcut oats.
    Oh, shhhh….ugar.

    Recuperating from surgery and stitches after somehow tearing up the inside of her leg.
    (The cone of shame freaks her out, so we’ve compromised with the shirt.)

    On his morning to-do list: Put away the toilet paper.
    So he made himself a pair of chaps.  

    And then I found this on my camera.

    To better visit with our daughter…

    …who is sending us lots of photos of beaches and horses.

    For about two minutes, we had snow.

    Dogs, a still life.


    This same time, years previous: Thursday thoughts, Jonathan’s jerky, in the last ten months, almond cake, chocolate pudding, in the eyes of the beholder, Shakespeare in church, just stuff, coconut pudding, odd ends, creamed chicken with cheese biscuits.

  • kitchen sink cookies

    The other day I found myself at Panera in the afternoon rather than the morning, so instead of buying a piece of baguette to go with my coffee, I splurged on a Kitchen Sink Cookie. Thick and chewy, and packed with caramel, chocolate, and pretzel pieces, the enormous cookie was a meal unto itself. I ate only half (or a little more than half, maybe). Back home, I broke the remaining half into pieces and fed it to my children, like the good mama bird that I am.

    And then I became obsessed with recreating the cookie for myself.

    It turned into a bit of an undertaking. After finding a copycat recipe, I had to track down the caramel bits and flaky salt, the large chocolate chunks and the correct type of pretzel. Unable to find the salt and caramel anywhere, I finally ordered them online and, now that I’ve experienced their magic firsthand, both are staples in my kitchen.

    The caramel bits have tremendous power to elevate ordinary desserts — toss a handful into brownies, blondies, granola bars, cookies, rice krispy treats, etc, and the end product is just that much better — and the salt is like magic fairy dust.

    The crystals, some as large as lentils, crumble easily between your fingers, and, sprinkled on top of cookies, cakes, and pastries, they add a delightfully salty-sweet crunch.

    I wasn’t terribly impressed with the dough from the copycat recipe  — the texture of the finished cookie was too airy-crisp, the flavor shallow — so I blended the recipe with my tried-and-true chocolate chip cookie dough, adding some ground oats for chew, using a mix of both baking soda and baking powder, and increasing the brown sugar.

    The second time around, the cookies were chewier and tastier — and in a blind taste test, all of the children said they preferred the one with oats — but now the dough was so stiff it was nearly impossible to shape into balls, argh.

    The Panera cookies are perfectly round and evenly thick, but mine tapered at the edges, the caramel bits melting out the sides to create uneven, lacy edges (which, even though it might make for some great snitching, it’s not ideal). Also, my edges browned too quickly. I mostly solved the problem by mounding the cookies around the edges, and pressing down on the middles (and then filling the cavities with more caramel bits and pretzels), and then severely underbaking the cookies, but still, I never got the uniformity I was after, or the perfect Panera cookie chew.

    Oh well. They’re still good. Great even. When our supply ran out, my older son actually scolded me for not having already made more.

    Kitchen Sink Cookies
    A mash-up of my regular chocolate chip cookie recipe and The Cooking Actress‘s recipe. 

    This is the recipe that I followed the second time, the one that we all preferred. However, next time I’ll reduce the flour to 2 cups and the oatmeal, pre-whirled, to 1, in hopes that the cookies will still be chewy but the dough will be a little less stiff. I’ll keep you posted.

    2 sticks butter
    1¾ cups brown sugar
    ½ cup white sugar
    2 eggs
    1½ teaspoons vanilla
    2½ cups flour
    1½ cups quick oats, ground fine in a blender
    1 teaspoon each baking soda and baking powder
    ½ teaspoon salt
    1½ cups caramel bits
    1 cup chocolate chunks
    ¾ cup pretzel snaps, broken into pieces

    To garnish: flaky salt, and more caramel bits and pretzels

    Brown the butter in a saucepan over medium high heat. Measure the sugar into a mixing bowl, add the butter, and beat well. Beat in the eggs and vanilla. Add the flour, ground oats, baking soda and baking powder, and salt and mix to combine. Add the caramel, chocolate, and pretzels and mix until combined. If desired, refrigerate the dough.

    Scoop the dough onto parchment-lined baking sheets. The bigger the cookie, the better (mine were nearly ½ cup of dough each), so expect to fit only 6-8 cookies per tray. Shape each dough blob into a disk, pushing down on the center part just a bit. If desired, stud the top of each cookie with a couple pieces of caramel and some pretzels (chocolate pieces stay soft, making for messy eating, so I stopped sticking them on top), making sure to push them into the dough. Sprinkle with flaky salt. 

    Bake the cookies at 350 degrees for 10-15 minutes, depending on size. The goal is to underbake them. Like, really underbake them. The edges should be just beginning to brown, the centers puffing up nicely. When I pull them from the oven, I whack the trays on the counter to make the cookies deflate. Let the cookies rest on the tray for five minutes to firm up — they will continue to bake a little — before transferring to a cooling rack.

    Because of the caramel, these cookies can turn hard, even at room temperature, but 10-20 seconds in the microwave and they are chewy-soft again.

    This same time, years previous: the quotidian (2.13.17), it gets better, colds, busted knees, and snowstorms, the quotidian (2.13.12), the outrageous incident of the Sunday boots, mocha pudding cake.

  • the quotidian (2.12.18)

    Quotidian: daily, usual or customary; 
    everyday; ordinary; commonplace

    Just for fun: yet another mac and cheese.
    Smoked sirloin tip roast: still pink, yessss!

    Weather tasting.

    Breathing from the stomach: the stools  his idea  are to hold his shoulders down.
    Letter writing: oh, the agony.

    Glittered lids.

    Friday evening, through the raindrops.

    This same time, years previous: bits and bobs, chasing fog, a taste, one-pot macaroni and cheese, and then I turned into a blob, how we do things, a round-about compliment, potato gnocchi, potatoes with roasted garlic vinaigrette

  • good morning, lovies

    Good morning, lovies.

    The rain is pattering on the roof. The air outside is white. Inside, candles are flickering, the fire is warm. The children are silent: the boy writing a thank you letter and the girl sewing a hole in her pants. Granola is toasting in the oven.

    It’s my day off from writing. I had exciting plans to sleep in but I woke soon after five, my mind racing. Downstairs I made coffee and and then curled up on the sofa to talk with my husband. Kindly, he closed his book and listened to me.

    For breakfast, sourdough pancakes, eggs, hot chocolate, whipped cream, more coffee.


    Last week my older daughter left for Florida with her employer, and her employer’s horse and dog.

    They’ll be there for a month, living in a camper at a barn; the employer will be taking riding lessons and my daughter will be helping out wherever. While I was chatting with her on the phone this morning, she got a text telling her to go pick coconuts.

    I guess she’s not in Virginia anymore.


    After years of reading about flaky salt, I finally bought some.

    I can’t believe I waited so long. Sprinkled on cookies before baking, it’s a game changer. (Also new to my kitchen, caramel bits, yummm.)

    More about both soon, pinky promise.


    When my mom told me I needed to read In Shock by Dr. Rana Awdish, I ignored her for a bit — a book about a doctor turned patient didn’t sound all that fab — but she persisted so I finally checked it out of the library, promptly inhaled it, and then bought a copy of my own to boot. I want my older son to read it, since he’s interested in medicine, and my husband, too, and anyone else who interacts with the medical system. Which is everyone.

    Nutshell: our approach to medical care is screwy. Doctors are pitted against patients. Patients aren’t seen as people. And this doctor, through her harrowing story, experiences these problems up close and then makes changes accordingly.

    Read it.


    This afternoon I’ll check my daughter’s math and make sure my younger son practices his music. I’ll write a chatty email to a friend and probably start another blog post. I’ll drink coffee and vacuum the floors.

    Maybe I’ll take a nap, or maybe the kids and I will watch another episode of The Great British Baking Show, or maybe we’ll start a new read-aloud.

    There will be potato soup for supper, and I’ll go to bed early.


    P.S. One more thing: this music video from last summer’s Peru trip.

    This same time, years previous: crispy baked hash browns, eight, gourmet chocolate bark, chai-spiced hot chocolate.

  • twelve

    On Saturday, we celebrated this boy’s twelfth birthday.

    The main order of business: food. The kid can really pack it away.

    Breakfast: bacon, eggs, hash browns, toast, and orange juice.
    Lunch: shrimp scampi, broccoli, and cake.
    Supper: pizza, veggies and dip, and rootbeer.

    The cake was kind of a disaster.

    Actually, the idea (from Aimee’s blog Simple Bites) was great. Brilliant, really. Individual pans of ice cream, each one a different flavor (in our case: vanilla, cookies-and-cream, coffee, chocolate dipper), frozen separately and then stacked, along with a layer of brownie.

    The bottom layer of ice cream had a chocolate cookie crust (so yum), and the whole thing got iced with stabilized whipped cream (a teaspoon of gelatin sprinkled into a cup of whipping cream). For the top layer, mounded scoops of assorted ice creams (first frozen into a pan and then, once frozen solid, unmolded onto the top of the cake). Mini chocolate chips, swirls of ice cream, and sprinkles finished off the whole thing.

    The problem was the brownie layer. I’d suspected a layer of frozen brownie might be hard to cut, so I emailed Aimee to find out what kind of brownies she used. I didn’t hear back from her, however, until after I’d gone ahead and made a pan of brownies — she’d used a mix, she said.

    Oh. Also, oops.

    Before serving, we let the cake sit at room temperature to the point of melting. But even then, the brownies were impossible to cut through. My husband tried everything: soaking the knives — a variety of them — in hot water, heating knives on the stove, using an electric knife (and nearly overheating it). The poor cake looked like it’d been through a war.

    None of this fazed the birthday boy, of course. And actually, we all had fun with the cake despite the problems. Food adventures are the best.

    Notes for next time, because there will be a next time — it’s a good cake:

    *more cookie crumb layers
    *perhaps some caramel sauce between a couple of the layers
    *in place of the brownies (because rockhard chocolate, no matter how delicious, does not belong in an ice cream cake), thin layers of cake
    *only a total of four layers. Five layers, plus the ice cream-scoop topping, was a bit ridiculous.

    For our son’s main gift, my husband and I went out on a limb and got him something new to both him and us: an Arduino kit.

    Actually, I still don’t know what it is, really. Circuit boards and LED lights and wires and connectors and stuff. But the kid is entranced.

    He spends hours figuring things out, and already he’s squirreling aside cash for another kit. Something to do with a self-driving car….

    This same time, years previous: the quotidian (2.6.17)object of terror, loss, timpano!, a Wednesday list, cheesy bacon toasts, itchy in my skin, chocolate mint chip cookies, seven, wheat berry salad, travel tips, the perfect classic cheesecake.

  • chicken and sausage gumbo

    At the library last week, I snatched the entire stack of Cook’s Illustrated magazines and ever since I’ve been happily sifting through the recipes, making grocery lists, tracking down unique ingredients, and experimenting. For supper a couple nights back, I made chicken and sausage gumbo. It was delicious — spicy, rich, meaty, and flavorful — but the thing that I was most excited about was the sauce. Or rather, how I had thickened the sauce.

    The recipe called for toasting the flour — a whole cup of it — in the oven until it was the color of cinnamon and then adding it to the broth to flavor, thicken, and darken the sauce. I’d never heard the likes, so of course I had to try it.

    Not knowing what to expect, the process felt touch-and-go. While the flour toasted, I hovered, afraid it would scorch, but I needn’t have worried — the flour browned slowly and steadily. Then, adding the broth to the flour, the paste turned lumpy even though I had been steadily whisking the whole time. I ran my immersion blender through the paste — problem solved. And then, immediately after adding the flour to the liquid, the sauce tasted grainy, like a Nicaraguan corn drink, and I nearly threw in the towel. There was no way I’d get this by my family’s noses.

    But then, after simmering the sauce for another 20-30 minutes, the weird texture completely disappeared, leaving the sauce smooth as silk. Dark, nutty brown, and lusciously rich, it reminded me of an adobo sauce (never mind that I’ve never made an adobo sauce) — it had depth.

    I’m still scratching my head about the flour, though. Any other time, adding a cup of flour to four cups of liquid would yield a horribly gelatinous paste, so why not in this case? Does flour lose its thickening properties after it’s been toasted?

    Chicken and Sausage Gumbo
    Adapted from the January and February 2017 issue of Cook’s Illustrated magazine.

    The recipe called for two pounds of chicken, but since there was plenty of sauce, next time I’ll use three pounds.

    As for the sausage, andouille is expensive and sort of hard to find, and after eating it, I think any spicy sausage would work well here. Next time I’ll probably use kielbasa instead.

    1 cup all-purpose flour
    1 tablespoon vegetable oil
    1 green pepper, diced
    1 onion, diced
    2 stalks celery, diced
    3 cloves garlic, minced
    1 teaspoon each smoked paprika and dried thyme
    2 bay leaves
    ¼ – ½ teaspoon cayenne pepper (I used chile coban)
    4 cups chicken broth, divided
    2-3 pounds skinless, boneless chicken thighs
    8 ounces andouille sausage, sliced in half lengthwise and then in crosswise in quarter-inch pieces
    salt and black pepper
    6 scallions, sliced thin
    1 teaspoon white vinegar

    to toast the flour:
    Put the flour in a sided baking sheet and bake at 400 degrees for 20-30 minutes, stirring every five minutes. When the flour is the color of ground cinnamon, remove it from the oven and transfer to a bowl to cool. The flour can be made ahead and stored in the freezer.

    to make the gumbo:
    Saute the pepper, onion, and celery in the oil until softened. Add the garlic, thyme, paprika, bay leave, cayenne, and a bit of salt and pepper and saute for another minute. Add 2 cups of chicken broth. Nestle the chicken into the broth in a single layer (don’t worry if it’s not completely submerged) and cook on medium-low heat for about 20 minutes, until it’s cooked through. Remove the chicken to a plate to cool and then shred with a fork.

    Slowly whisk the remaining 2 cups of broth into the browned flour. If the paste is lumpy, use an immersion blender to smooth it out. Increase the heat under the vegetables and slowly whisk in the flour-broth paste. Add the sausage. Simmer uncovered for 25 minutes, stirring occasionally.

    Add the chicken and scallions to the gumbo and heat through. Remove the bay leaves and season with salt and black pepper. Remove from heat and stir in the vinegar.

    Serve the gumbo over rice.

    This same time, years previous: the quotidian (2.1.16), stuck buttons and frozen pipes, how we got our house, taco seasoning mix, advice, please.