Guess what, folks! Just as I predicted, I’m up to my ears in German baking. It’s been a long time since I allowed myself to wallow in a new cookbook, studying a new cuisine.

I’m only in the beginning stages, which is code for: I’m wobbly. I’ve been paying particular attention to the yeasted cakes (I’m a sucker for everyday pastries), and while the cakes are simple enough that I’m pretty sure I’m doing them correctly, they’re different enough that I’m not exactly sure how I feel about them. This is a good thing (my middle name is Pollyanna): it means I’m stepping outside my box. Thrills!

It’s quite the process, determining if a recipe works. Do we prefer it fresh, or is it better the second day? Do my kids turn up their noses, or do they request the item for a snack? Does my husband voluntarily take it in his lunch? If I set the cake stand on the table, will people help themselves to cake for breakfast? When the cake plate is empty, does anyone ask if there is more hidden in a cupboard somewhere?

I didn’t need any of those tests for the cinnamon pretzels. Right off, they were an enormous hit.

The pretzels taste like a cross between animal crackers, graham crackers, biscotti, and peppernuts. They are mild, faintly sweet, and crunchy. They’d made a perfect snack for toddlers, but—warning—adults are incapable of keeping their hands off them.

It  might seem tedious, having to shape all those pretzels, but it was actually quite low-key and mess-free. While my younger two kids practiced carols for their Christmas concert, I stood at the table-that-is-not-my-new-island (waiting, Honey, WAITING) and rolled and twisted the dough into adorable little pretzels.

For one tray, we sprinkled pearl sugar on the egg-washed pretzels to look like salt. It wasn’t Luisa’s suggestion, so my little embellishment made me feel all kitchen goddess-y, in a Germanic sort of way.

Cinnamon Pretzels
Adapted from Classic German Baking by Luisa Weiss.

Even though the pretzels’ utter simplicity is what makes them so beguiling, I can’t help but wonder how they’d taste with a hit of ginger, or maybe cardamom. Fabulous, probably. Also, I think whole wheat pastry flour would work well here, especially if making these a snack for little ones.

9 tablespoons, plus 1 teaspoon, butter
1¼ cups sugar
1 tablespoon cinnamon
¼ teaspoon salt
4 eggs, divided
4 cups flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
pearl sugar, optional

Brown the butter over medium heat. Pour the melted butter into a mixing bowl and beat in the sugar, cinnamon, and salt. Beat in three of the eggs, one at a time. Add the flour and baking powder and mix well. The dough will feel like play-dough. Refrigerate for at least an hour.

Break off ½ ounce pieces of dough. (Yes, we used a scale—dough-ball size was my younger son’s job.) Roll the dough into 10-inch long strips. (Yes, we used a ruler… in the beginning.) There is no need to use much, if any, flour. Shape the strips into pretzels (you’ll figure it out—just do it), and place the pretzels on a parchment paper-lined cookie sheet. The pretzels hardly rise, so there’s no need to leave much space between pretzels.

Beat the fourth egg until creamy and brush over the pretzels. Really get a nice coating—the egg gives the pretzels a delightful glossy varnish. Sprinkle with pearl sugar, if you like. (Recommend! Recommend!)

Bake the pretzels at 350 degrees for 10-12 minutes, or until the pretzels are golden brown. Out of the oven, let the pretzels sit on the hot trays for another couple minutes to continue crisping before transferring them to a cooling rack. Store cooled pretzels in a pretty glass jar on the counter.

This same time, years previous: 2015 garden stats and notes, meatloaf, the quotidian (11.4.13), chatty time, posing for candy, cheesy broccoli potato soup, why I’m spacey, sweet and sour lentils, and Greek yogurt.

This same time, years previous: listening, watching, reading, apple farro salad, stuffed peppers, quiche soup, apples schmapples, dusting the dough, and hamburger buns and sloppy joes.

This post was written over the last few days, a compilation of my jots and tiddles.

“I am feeling current moods of frustration right now.”

I opened up my October word document to write a post and this was the last line I had written. At first I didn’t know what I was looking at, but then I remembered: my son said it. He was going on a rant—something about his shirts going missing—and it made me laugh so I quick typed it down.

To be clear, I am not feeling current moods of frustration right now. I’m not sure what I’m feeling. Kind of blah, maybe. But good, too. Good blah? I spent the morning writing, and it actually felt productive which was an unusual occurrence. And a few hours before that, my husband and I went running, so at least the day got off to a good start.

About that run. It happened in the dark, with the wind whipping at the trees and sending the dry leaves scuttling and making us skittery. Once we heard a low growl and a quick flick of the flashlight revealed an untied dog, slowly rising. It stayed put, but we both picked up the pace. And then, a half mile later, there was the loud sound of flapping wings right by my husband’s ankle and a bird shot out of the ditch. My husband leaped straight up, his feet pedaling the air as though he were trying to climb to heaven. I gasp-laughed for a quarter mile.

I just finished reading Lab Girl (so beautifully written, though I admit I skimmed some of the science-y sections) and now I need a book. Suggestions?

I’m craving cake. Actually, I’m craving baking. You know, the kind of afternoon where the hours stretch like a leisurely yawn and there is nothing on the agenda but sugar, butter, and the eating of delicious things.

It’s because of Luisa that I’m feeling this way, I think. (Well, because of Luisa and because I don’t have any good desserts on hand right now.) I just finished reading her interview with the German woman who helped her recipe test for her latest cookbook and it totally put me in the mood to bake so I, naturally (but uncharacteristically), ordered the book on the spot.

Update: it’s here!

And my name is in it!

Since I only tested one recipe, I assumed I wasn’t a real tester, like real testers had to do a certain number of recipes to qualify. That Luisa had the integrity to include my name, even though my role was eensy-weensy, proved she really does pay attention to detail, making me trust her and her recipes all the more.

Now I’m reading recipes in snatched moments, dreaming of wood fires and yeasted cakes and caramelized sugar. Gearing up, in other words. I’ve already warned the family that we’re eating only German pastries for the next couple months.

They’re cool with it.

The other day my daughter was asking my son if the previous night’s show was any good.

“Did you have a clap-ation?” she asked.

We looked at her blankly, and then it hit me. Clap-ation, it’s the new standing ovation!

As I’ve said before, I am head over heels with my rice cooker. Every time I think about it, I get all tingly. Giddy, practically. Mid-afternoon rolls around, and I’m like, Is it time to cook some rice yet?

I’ve developed a thing for cilantro lime rice. I discovered the recipe on the Simply Recipes blog and have made it several times. Everyone loves it. It’s so good, it stands alone, but it’s also fab with anything Mexican-y or Thai. Or just with another wedge of lime and an avocado.

Cilantro Lime Rice
Adapted from Simply Recipes.

The lime juice is supposed to be added after the rice is cooked, but the first time I messed up and added the lime juice before cooking. The rice was lovely. The next time, I added half before and half after and didn’t think it was any better. Or much different, for that matter. My conclusion: add the lime juice whenever you want. It’ll be fine.

If you chop the cilantro fine, it looks prettier, I think. (Though I’m always guilty of a sloppy, rough-chop.). Also, a single recipe doesn’t make nearly enough. Double it.

2 tablespoons olive oil
1½ cups basmati rice
1 large clove garlic, minced
2¼ cups water
1 teaspoon salt
zest of one lime
3 tablespoons fresh lime juice
1 cup cilantro, fine stems and leaves, minced

Saute the rice in the oil for 5 minutes or until the rice starts to brown. Add the garlic and cook for another minute. Add the water, salt, and zest. At this point, you can cook the rice on the stove-top as you would for plain rice, or you can transfer the whole mess to your rice cooker, clap on the lid, and press the “on” button (squee!).

When the rice is done, fluff with a fork and gently fold in the lime juice and cilantro. Serve and swoon.

This same time, years previous: reading-and-ice cream evenings, the quotidian (10.27.14), the quotidian (10.28.13), under the grape arbor, applesauce cake with cinnamon cream cheese frosting, 2009 garden stats and notes, and go, Obama!.