Bake Me A House

I'm rather enamored with my tiny gingerbread house.

Granted, it is a touch wobbly, the window panes didn't quite get an uniformly even bake, and the roof slates most definitely don't come together at the corners, but it's lovely all the same. The whole process was as Christmas-sy as it could be;  gingerbread dough baking in the oven as holiday movies played, walls and roof pieces cooled while chocolate mints were being made downstairs, and the entire thing constructed to the music of Burl Ives, Frank Sinatra and Sufjan Stevens. I wished I could have taken off work for some sort of "baker's leave" to make it all in one day, but I did make do with making, baking and building the spiced abode in stages. 

For best results, be sure to make your dough in the evening; the bubbling sugar and butter makes the ginger and cinnamon smell delightful. Multitask by sleeping and chilling the dough in the fridge so you are well rested and the dough is thoroughly frigid. That makes for good dough and a good arm work out when you roll things out.  Bake, and embrace the little bubbles that will crop up on your roof, walls, and windows; it won't look anything like Martha Stewart's photos in the tutorial.  Note: You'll use less than half of the dough you make, so envision a massive forest of gingered trees to surround your cottage, or some other sugared and gum-dropped fatality for the remainder.

Now, it's time to build. If you are anything like me, take about hundred photos that won't ever see the light of day, but you've just come to love those four walls, tiny chimney pieces and uneven roof slats so much you can't help yourself.

 

Now, Sunday mornings make for a rather lovely chance to put on an hour or two of Christmas music and ice your little house. It's preferable if snow is falling at this point, but it's not necessary. You can always replicate the fluffy white stuff atop your cottage's roof with some powdered sugar once you've line the windows and piped some shingles (and reinforced the cracks you are nervous about). 

There's a few more days until Christmas Eve, giving you time to create an army of some impressively decorated gingerbread men to leave for Santa. You've got about a pound of gingerbread to somehow dispose of, after all. 

Autumnal.

It's an under-utilized word, autumnal. Somehow able to capture that warm afternoon while simultaneously hinting at a chilly evening,  a single word is both all spiced with cinnamon and wrapped in a knit sweater. Exaggerating, I am not.  Maybe I'm prejudiced, but it's factual that fall is the best season. 

How could it not be? Complete with rich oranges, pureed root vegetable soups, and frothy chai, the food alone in this season takes the cake (cardamom and apple studded cake, that is). 31 days of haunting Halloween films, 2 birthday celebrations in the Cummings family, and roadside stands of Honeycrisp apples, striped squash and hayrides makes October very difficult to beat. 

Twenty three was a quiet affair, the 5th being tucked after sessions of Conference, and landing on a Monday. Family celebrations happen on the 4th, with a little shopping and a celebratory lunch with pops before the work day began. Such a grown up birthday, needing to go into work....though the flowers at the desk did help a tad. Wednesday was a social affair, with a hand picked guest list of those who would most appreciate sipping drinking cocoa out of tiny glass teacups and cooling everything down with pumpkin spice popsicles...I told you all there would be popsicles when summer time officially ended. 

While 22 was spend running around the Hagia Sophia, no matter where you are in the world, being home for the holidays or for birthdays is exactly where you'd like to be.

A Glut of Peaches

Cobbled, sliced, pie'd, pureed, crisped, jarred, crumbled, grilled, ice creamed, and caked; these peaches have been everywhere. It's a cruel trick of summertime. All season I bide my time just watching these orangey red beauties get bigger and bigger until all 400 of them need to be picked in a 3 day span. I take a taste of the Early Alberta's at the farmer's markets, but I know that I have my own glut of peaches that will be ready in just a few weeks. Hundreds of peaches slowly weigh down the branches so much it makes walking on the sidewalk difficult until they start to drop off the branches themselves. Then, it's time to pick. Peaches are best picked in the late evening, just as the sun sets and you can sit down on the grass and eat the biggest peach you found that night..still warm from the August sun. Juice drips down your face and off your elbow and your surrounded with boxes and boxes and boxes of peaches.

They are handed out to neighbors and mailmen, carried to coworkers, and pawned off to anyone who will take them. 400 peaches are a bit much for 3 people to eat, no matter how many peach pie recipes there are. Then, they are carefully counted (to compare with last year's crop) and the peach production begins.

I can only eat so many peaches right off the tree, so several dozen are carefully sliced into mason jars to be eaten in the far away months. Others are sliced thin and dehydrated, frozen for smoothies, or pureed into fruit leather. The others meet there end in some sort of breakfast, lunch and/or dinner option. Delicious when sliced in a bowl swirled with a little cream, or nestled in a crumbly oat topping, two by two the peaches started to disappear. Peach crumble, peach cobbler, and peach cake each took and few out of the boxes piled up in the garage until only a few dozen remained.

I'm a sucker for early morning light and peaches nestled in flour and sugar (but who isn't?)

And just like that, the peaches are gone. The trees are bare, with leaves that won't be green for all that long. It's an official end to summer. The nights have gotten a bit cooler and the last few peaches are stashed as a fleeting souvenir to the days in the sun. Fall and winter will come, spring will hint at the upcoming peach season with pinky white blossoms and the wait resumes; tiny green pods will slowly grow bigger and bigger, slowly turning orange and blush red, and the branches will slowly droop, until it's time to do it all over again.

A Little Tart

Have I mentioned my love of food puns? This might be the first on the blog, but a few minutes in a grocery store will get the "pun times" rolling. Lame introductory paragraph aside, this weekend was a little bittersweet, but ended with a little tart...quite literally. A week up in Park City with the family was the sweet part; days at the pool, adventuring in the Olympic Park, enjoying a scrumptious Italian dinner, and a float down Provo River proves that point. Though we'd all love Sister C. to be there, she decided to be in England for the past year and for the next six months. I don't really feel that badly, but it was a bit bitter because we had to celebrate her birthday without her the day after our Park City escapades had ended. Psh, not only did she miss the family vacation, she missed her birthday! Not really, we sent the party to her. Bless the people in England who are willing to not only have her over for cake, but make her a classic British dinner, and show her the little film of her friends and family wishing her a happy birthday. England did treat her right, though I'd rather have her in America.

The second dose of bitter was sending sister L. off to college. Though I'm not entirely convinced she's old enough to be in at a university, I suppose that's what happens to smart girls after high school. Perhaps to console myself (or my mom, it's a toss up really), a little fruit tart seemed to be in order. Though it's kinda cute to send photos of the cat as my new roommate to the sister down at school, the reality of the cat actually being my roommate is a touch disheartening.

This is just a preview to the long awaited peach season. I can't wait. 

Because breakfast should be delicious and pretty...and basically dessert

Though the fruit mosaic atop buttery shortbread didn't quite alter that reality, it didn't make anything worse. It does make me sad to see my little sister grow up, I am jubilantly envious she'll be staying up late, eating too many Oreos, and making friends she'll keep through the years. I like flipping back in my journal/sketchbook to reminisce a little bit...though college barely ended, it seems like another chapter of my life (and provides a good reminder that I was still a little foodie, even when on a college budget).

Farmer's Markets: A Guide

Dozens of little fruit and vegetable stands crop up in the oddest places in the summertime. Chalkboards profess the dates of when you favorite fruits will be in season, and if you are anything like me, you’re tickled at the prospect of wandering rows of beet filled baskets. (I don’t even like beets, but they photograph splendidly well. See below.) Summertime is certainly a season of excellent kitchen experiments. Last week’s apricots were marvelous into an oatmeal crumb bar, and this year’s strawberry season made for many a’ pavlova (and about 4 dozen jars of jam).  During other seasons, the idea of eating locally is always a fantastic idea, until I remember that I live in Utah, and I wouldn’t be able to eat rambutans ever, and a myriad of other tasty things. That being said, I give an honest effort to cook seasonally during the summer time. And farmer’s markets make it that much simpler.

Crunchy and marshmallowy meringue, tart creamy lemon curd and fresh berries. Yes, please. 

I’ve had my fair share of markets and that life trend doesn’t seem to be slowing down.  In college, I looked forward to summertime Saturdays, and not for the reasons you might suspect. You may think college was about wild parties in the summer time, but that has never really been my jam (black current is truly my jam, but that's another post). Regardless of the hour I was up on Friday, I made sure I was up early enough to beat the heat and walk a handful of blocks to the local market, toting well-worn recyclable bags. Naturally, I’d snag breakfast at the Kolaches place on the way to the market (very convenient). 

Even when abroad, I’m a sucker for any sort of outdoor market, especially if there is food available. I had a full on food freak out when I first encountered the spice bazaar in Turkey. I walked away with significantly more in my stomach and with considerably less in my wallet. 

The Provo markets weren’t as spectacular as in Turkey, but after my grownup job, I’m now in spitting distance to the Salt Lake Market: a glorious realm of cheeses, local honey, pastries, pressed cider (in the fall), and salsas which line the paved sidewalk. Combine with bunches, bushels, baskets of local produce and you’ve got yourself quite the farmer’s market. Though a visit to the market is an activity itself, there’s a bit of a guide I follow as I peruse my options.

Step one: I always bring cash, but in two sets. One set is the predetermined amount I am willing to spend. Your second set is for emergencies. Emergencies like “it’s the last week for black currants” or the adorable 4 year old that wants to know if you’d like some buttermilk pancake syrup. This is only to be used in emergencies.

Step two: Buy what looks good, then hit the web. Luckily, a few hip food sites are into the whole eating locally deal, so they will already be featuring recipes for asparagus in early spring, or cherries in July. If all else fails, I’ve never been too upset I’ve had to eat a bucketful of blueberries instead of finding a buckle recipe that tickled my fancy. 

Step three: Go early. You'd think this was because it's blasted hot in the summer (true), and that you want your pick of the crop (also true), but mostly it's so that you can browse all morning while you eat a strawberry handpie AND be there to snag an empanada for lunch. Win Win. 

Oh and one more thing- enjoy the market while it lasts, because as fun as holiday baking is in the winter, it's not the same as browsing the rows and rows of a farmer's market. 

Apricots and America (but mostly butter)

Happy Fourth of July and stuff, America. For the C. family, that means a couple days of good ol' American tradition; BBQ's, parades, fireworks, and sweltering in the heat of July. It's all good fun. Because all us working people had the 3rd off, 2015's celebrations included a heavy dose of nostalgia as we made the trip up to Brigham City for a day at the pool...just like old times. I went there all the time as a kid, so coming back some 14 years later was a flashback straight out of my childhood.

 We left the pool late, snagged some great fried chicken at Maddox, and stopped off at one of the many fruit stands that dot the highway. If that isn't an American afternoon, I don't know what is.

I love those roadside fruit stands. There's something about purchasing fruit that's a little blemished, piled in well worn baskets, right next to the orchard. I'm a big fan of grocery shopping (where else can you ogle at so much food?) but the pristine rows of fruit isn't as charming as the roadside markets and stands. Being early July, apricots are in full swing here, which meant baking something truly lovely for our firework picnic the next day.

Inspiration struck. Apricot & strawberry bars. Though they're not exactly bright red, white, or blue, somehow these bars were still very appropriate for the holiday. I riffed off a recipe for apricot bars I had found online, but added a couple twists. A little lemon zest to brighten up the shortbread, brown sugar instead of white for an extra caramelly taste, and a schmear of strawberry jam below the pitted fruit because that's what was in the fridge. (Sidenote: A few weekends ago, the C. family got gobs and gobs of strawberries and spent loads of time jam-ing and jar-ing, so adding strawberry jam to the slightly tart apricots was an obvious addition.)

Layer shortbread, jam, sliced apricots, and an oat crumble, and test your patience. You'll need to wait while the bars bake and through one agonizing cooling session. Ah, now your patience as been rewarded: Square, package, and tote to the park. Eat while enjoying the scent of bugspray and fireworks in the air, if at all possible.

Just like Mum

This weekend was spent down memory lane as I came to Holladay to nanny 2 of the 3 kids I spend quite a few summers with. They have gotten older, and no longer run to see what surprises I had in my big Mary Poppins bag. Which makes me sad...I enjoyed those little science and art projects almost as much as the kids did. I did have a project or two planned but this time around, the weekend was a quick blitz of soccer practice, soccer games, and track meets. Though I've enjoyed the rain Utah's recently been swimming in, the sunshine made for a great afternoon outside. Egg drop contests and shadow art will have to wait however, tired kids with busy schedules demanded a more relaxed weekend of cookie baking. I estimate about 7 dozen's worth of both sugar cookies and chocolate chip. The thick sugar cookies with sour cream icing made for a quick breakfast on Sunday (unbeknownst to me) but the real stars were of course, the classic chocolate chip. 

I had tried to make chocolate cookies like my mom had a few times but didn't get it quite right until I watched her from start to finish. Missing from the margins but present in her memory are little additions to the recipe that make all the difference. Make sure you cream the butter and sugar for a 'good long while '(no precise timing here, a good long while is determined by texture and color), add the chocolate chips and flour together instead of in batches, and upping the flour content are just a few secrets that resulted in my sub-par recreation attempts. You would think that following the worn recipe exactly would yield cookies just like mom: not quite. But I've tinkered with what I've seen and made an adaptation or two for myself. 

As good as mine are, the old cliche rings true; there's something about your mother's cooking. That something very well could be excellent cooking skills paired with nostalgia. These cookies have been around for years of my life, and structured  my childhood afternoon snack. A favorite family story involves elementary aged older brother J coming home from school one day to a plate of chocolate cookies. A cookie in hand and one in his mouth he asked my mom "mom these are really good, but next time, can you have them warm when I come home?" Cute. 

I'm much less picky. Warm, cooled, half-baked, or even the raw dough, these cookies are excellent. And according to Emily Ruth, make an excellent dinner.