Bamboozled.

When in China, be sure to follow the wise words of anyone who says "local guide". We started out our Thursday morning by getting mangoes and strawberries for breakfast and heading out to the countryside on motorbikes. We had planned to hike Moon Hill, a beautiful archway atop a karst, which is where we met Mama Moon. Mama Moon is a spunky lady who has to be at least 70 years old, who advertised herself as a "local guide" who could get us entry tickets for a "local price" and show us the "local trail". We would be getting a 75% discount on the price, which is hard to argue with. Turns out the local way is parking our motor scooters in the forest, climbing over a mossy stone wall, and crawling through the overgrown bamboo on a muddy and very obviously human made pathway in the mud. In between shushing us to be quiet and having us duck down so we wouldn't be seen, Mama Moon kept assuring us we were on the right path. Eventually, we did meet up with the paved walkway and made it to the top for some spectacular views. It was only awkward when 11 sweaty and muddy Americans clamored on the paved path in front of some rather shocked Europeans who had no idea where we had emerged from. Thanks, Mama Moon. 

Bamboo is the only way to travel. 

The rest of the afternoon was idyllically cruising the countryside on our little motor scooters. We took the same scenic route we found on the bikes, and made it to the same cafe for more mango sorbet and the chance to maybe float on bamboo rafts. Call it creatures of habit, but the mango sorbet and the views make it a hard place to only visit once. The rafts weren't running that day, so we ordered a leisurely lunch, but the minute we had finished, we saw someone untying the rafts to float on the river. We took our chance; this whole trip, the river had been too high to even think about rafting it. While not being able to raft all week, it also meant we were the only rafts on the water that afternoon. I highly recommend slowly floating the river being gently paddled by a man wielding a huge bamboo stick as you gaze up the catawampus mountains carpeted in green around you. It's lovely. 

Our last remaining days in Yangshuo were spent soaking up the scenery by finding little hikes and pathways to wander, riding through the countryside on bikes and motor scooters, and again on foot while munching on mangoes and those egg crepes I've come to love. Evenings were spent swapping stories in the many cafes that line the offshoots of West Street, and considering how much tea is too much tea to bring home for friends and family. One afternoon was spent doing a cooking class with the Cloud 9 restaurant; Hannah and I myself joined two French women and the restaurant's head chef for a market tour and then a tutorial on how to make 4 or 5 dishes.  The lack of photos is only because we were instructed to keep cameras and phones away while we strolled through the enormous market and later cooked our meal. The vegetables were beautiful; deep plum eggplants neighbored piles of lotus roots and bamboo shoots while huge bags of cumin perfumed the air. Baskets of eggs were precariously stacked to be inspected by those interested; teeny speckled quail eggs, soft mint and beige chicken eggs and larger duck eggs all piled high to be admired. I could talk all day about the produce, though I intentionally skipped out on the butcher block. However, detour didn't save me from spying the bags of turtles, bins of eels, and buckets of snails that rimmed the entrance. 

(Rule breaker; impromptu market shot). 

The kitchen was a long room framed by windows that overlooked the city. Each station was lined with well loved woks and containers of seasoning staples like salt, sesame oil, garlic  ginger, black vinegar and oyster sauced. First up was a mushroom and scallion stuffed and steamed dumplings, then spicy green beans sautéed with numbing sichuan, a stir fry of Chinese lettuce root and carrots, and little parcels of deep fried egg plant stuffed with the remaining dumpling mixture. While the French women split their meals with their interpreter and had extra to take home in a takeaway box, Hannah and I had no problem polishing off the delicious meal. The package included a little print off of the recipes, meaning I'll be recreating the meal as best I can when it comes time to go back home. 

Don't be fooled by the print on the currency; there are about 172,192 bamboo rafts in that river if the 20 yuan note wasn't in the way. 

Before leaving Yangshuo, we had to get a photo by the so called "20 yuan shot", the scenic stretch of the Li River that appears on the back of the 20 yuan note. True to the TripAdvisor review, after you will come to despise the word bamboo after your visit. The entire walk through dusty streets lined with people selling fruit and little fish in tiny bags, I was bombarded with about a thousand offers for a ride down the river on a bamboo raft. Dozens of tiny women shouted "Bamboo! Bamboo!" as we all made our way down to the river and tried not to melt in the scorching sun. On our walk back to the bus, we were chased down by one last woman shouting "Bamboo, bamboo!". I would had brushed her off as just another vendor, but I recognized that spunky grin anywhere- Mama Moon had come to the neighboring city Pinxing to work her "local guide" magic. True to form, she tried to have us spend the afternoon hiking up a karst to see the view from a bird's eye perspective, telling us we could get in "no charge, just for locals!". Sadly, we had a bus to catch, and couldn't fit it in. I fully expect to see Mama Moon sneaking tourists onto the Great Wall next month. Until then, it was a bumpy bus ride before catching a tuk-tuk, then another coach to Guilin, where a bullet train took us to Liuzhou and a sleeper train (full post on THOSE adventures to come) and a taxi before arriving in Zhangjiajie; the Avatar Mountains. 

Emily Eats India

Not that my globetrots are planned around my "epicurious" nature, but cuisine does seem to explain my inexplicable pull towards India. India has always been a brightly colored land I've been itching to visit. Crowded streets smoking with the curling steam of chai masala seems too good to pass up for someone completely lured in by food, culture, history and architecture. Though there are several countries on my "to visit" list, India always seem to find its way to the top five. So, when the chance to explore the alleyways of Delhi and the painted facades of Jaipur, I took it (obviously). The trip to India came via an invitation to a friend of a friend's wedding in Chandigarh, however the whole experience was a captivating slew of days that I doubt will come again in this lifetime. The sites and sounds and stories of the trip as a whole can be found on another post or two, but today's offering is all about the tastes.

 

Eating primarily Italian, Mexican, Chinese and French growing up, Indian food had an addictive introduction in college. With flavors and textures so uniquely different from what I'd been used to, Indian food quickly grew to be a favorite cuisine. The lovely Ms. C and I would haunt a fabulous little place in Provo, under the reservation of "Mr. Batman", mostly because  hearing "table for Mr. Batman" with a prominent Punjabi accent would put anyone in a fit of giggles. Ah, though college had provided an admirable introduction to Indian food, I don't think I was fitfully prepared for the real deal. Channa masala and dal tadka quickly soared to my favorite go to dishes. The creamy and spicy sauces swirled with roti or naan then chased down with a mango lassi seemed to be the stuff dreams were made of. I wholeheartedly dedicated my time in India to tasting anything and everything, mostly with rather pleasant results. I say mostly pleasant because a roadside stand owner did convince me to taste these metallic covered cardamom seeds and it took several sticks of gum, a good douse of water, and an hour or two to get the soapy, metallic, and oddly floral taste out of my mouth. You win some, you lose some I suppose. 

Proper mealtimes were always rather structured, wandering down to the first floor of a hotel for breakfast to mispronounce an order of parantha and dosa and inhaling a late lunch of curries and paneer stuffed naan. However, once arriving in Delhi, the street food was calling my name. I had cultivated quite the food list of items to try on my trip to India, and Delhi was marked as the place to get momos and kulfi off the street. The Chinese style dumplings were an easily delicious find and the quest for kulfi made for quite the adventure. After awkwardly navigating the ordering procedure and confused as to why the dense ice cream broken into bits to be doused with a sweet and creamy sauce, then showered with limp noodles, I was able to cross kulfi off my list...with mixed results. The oddly chewy frozen texture was a bit off putting, while the noodles took the "completely baffling" category by storm. Not something I thought I would have again, though I did break that mental agreement later in the trip. As a head's up, order the kulfi sans noodles; the texture of the kulfi is enough to keep your mouth occupied. 


Snacks were always discovered by serendipitous happenstance; warmed-by-the-sun lime orange juice outside of Raj Ghat, or a spicy bag of Lays Masala chips at a roadside stand, or the sickeningly sweet Panchi provoked after seeing advertisements plastered on every street corner. Snacks were a fun adventure, but it really was those curries and dals that I came to crave.

I've already delved into research of how to make such dishes in my own little kitchen, and although I did by best to pick up cooking tips and spices while here, I do think part of the appeal of Indian food is the India part....though I doubt that will stop me from making (and eating) my favorites when back in Salt Lake.

The Ugly Dumpling

I've had my eye on making dumplings for a quite some time. The whole process seems rather therapeutic; rolling out thin rounds of dough, spooning a tiny amount of filling inside and artistically folding each little half tightly before tucking it atop a floured sheet and under a damp towel...Not to mention the indisputable fact that potstickers are delicious and I'm a staunch believer in gastronomy therapy. This whole week had me hankering for dumplings of some kind,  so Saturday seemed the ideal time to test out my wrapper folding skills. Though I've seen the wonton wrappers in the grocery store and knew it would streamline my afternoon in the kitchen, there's something about making a meal completely from scratch. Yes, you could buy the frosting to schmear atop your cake, but it kind of feels like cheating once you've put in the effort to make the majority  of the edibles all by yourself. 

For potstickers, the ingredients are simple enough; basic elements mixed together to create something that is from it's foundation delicious. Salt, water, and flour was all the dough needed, in addition from a few minutes of kneading. Hands removed of ring and watch stirred flour from a knobby mixture into a smooth dough that tightened up quite nicely into a firm and solid ball. Ground chicken, loads scallions, spicy grated ginger root and a few other ingredients made up the filling and that's really all there was to it. 

Almost. 

The painstaking process of making these dumplings should have been thought out more thoroughly. A late breakfast Saturday had me skipping lunch and arriving home ready to tuck into a heaping pile of the crunchy yet juicy little dumplings. Although I did get my reward, it wasn't until I had rolled out dozens of evenly round circles of dough, spooned tiny bits of filling inside before folding the dough over and haphazardly 'perfecting' the crimping fold. A tray full of mostly proportional sized dumplings gently floured just waiting to meet their tasty demise meant we were getting closer, but weren't quite there yet. 

Then came the boiling and the frying and the agonizing wait until the entire batch had been rolled, filled, folded, boiled, and fried. Then, and only then, was it was time to eat. Albeit a little uneven and a tad bit ugly, were delicious. 

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.

Popsicle Me Pretty

Naturally, life's latest purchase was a popsicle mold. Forget grown up decisions and plans to be made; a popsicle mold was clearly an essential purchase.  I’m pretty sure it's come up in 98% of the conversations I’ve had in the past 2 weeks…making this mold pretty vital to my social life. You’d be surprised to know how well I can awkwardly segue into announcing my purchase. “Are you going to that thing on Saturday?” “No, but I did make mango swirled yogurt pops last Saturday….here’s a picture. Look at my picture. Do you see my picture? Love my picture.” 

An embarrassingly long time was spent researching what mold would be purchased. Yes, you are correct. Not only did I recently purchase a popsicle mold I am ecstatic about, I also spent double digit’s worth of hours research which popsicle mold I would be ecstatic about. Research happened to pay off because: this. 

See? Gorgeous. Combined with the recent DSLR purchase, popsicles were obviously the focus of all my photos this week. I'm sure I’m not the only one who adores seeing amber honey slowly whirled into creamy white yogurt, and judging by how quickly these pops seem to disappear from the freezer, I know I”m not the only one who likes nibbling the frozen creations. Most of my experimentations are also healthy or something which is wonderful because who can feel bad about eating fruit and yogurt? Unless you eat all 10, but still that wouldn’t the that horrid. 

So far, all pops have been wildly successful. The horchata pops weren't that pretty but the cinnamon created a nice little ring at the top and bottle that was slightly spicy and gave some texture to the creamy pop…though if we are judging delicious-ness based on yummy bits, the graham cracker lime crust of the key lime pops had to be the winner. Those disappeared quite quickly.

 Strawberry season made it natural to puree and swirl with vanilla bean yogurt, and juicy ripe mangoes from the Asian market were practically made to be spooned with yogurt and frozen. The orangey color just blended so beautifully it was too much to not put on Instagram….and these red berry pops are too pretty to not ramble on about online. 

Oh, and by the way....all make for fab breakfast fare. 

The Eternal Taco Tuesday

I had a roommate in school that loves tacos. I say this in current tense because she will never stop loving tacos I also don't say this phrase lightly. She loves tacos. In fact, an often repeated roommate conversation was about how much we wished that the taco emoji was a thing, because that would be directly relevant in 77% of our conversations. (Sidenote: apparently the taco emoji has come to pass and will soon be available. Win.) This roomie is now in Texas having adventures without me, but more importantly, is now eating tacos with out me. As an attempt to keep our taco Tuesday (read: Wednesday, Thursday, twice on Friday) tradition alive, fish tacos were a must for this week's menu. I may not be in Texas, but I can make my own fish tacos. More importantly, sister L. was out of town this week which meant that fish tacos could rule the menu for the week. Seafood loving is out of her comfort zone, so I took full advantage of her being gone...both in the kitchen, and with her closet.

If I learned anything from a taco loving roommate, it was that all you needed was some really good sauce, corn tortillas, avocado and some sort of protein...bam, tacos. The college-ness of our tacos varied from missing somewhat crucial ingredients, but somehow "tacos" made with a meat and a few different kinds of salsas and verdes were pretty great at 12:30 AM. Especially when this roommate came back from visiting Texas and returned with carefully packaged jars of "That Green Stuff": it's spicy, slightly textured from some sort of blended pepper, green stuff. It was poured onto many a tacos, and also eggs. And roasted veggies.And pasta. And toast. That green stuff goes well on nearly anything.

I composed a non-college version this week: Blackened halibut, topped with lime crema and a cilantro/cabbage slaw rounded out for some dynamic flavors for this batch of tacos. I also recommend serving these with twice as much avocado as you think necessary, because avocados help make the world go round (basically). I seasoned the fish with cumin, paprika, quite a bit of cheyenne for kick and some garlic salt to mirror the garlicky vinegar I tossed the slaw with. Oh yeah, they were that good.

Taco Tuesday should be everyday.

I make my own Pad Thai

I consumed a ridiculous amount of Pad Thai in college. Just around the corner from my last apartment, there was an excellent Thai restaurant that my roommates and I frequented....frequently. We would run over to celebrate the important things in life, like birthdays, good test scores, and Tuesdays. Pad Thai was there for engagements, and break-ups, and cancelled television series. I love you, Pad Thai.

You would think that eating so much Thai food in college would eventually dampen my love of curries and mango sticky rice. Not so. I think my love of Thai food comes from not knowing such foods existed. Though mom is an excellent cook and dad is quite the foodie, I somehow missed out on dishes from regions other than Mexico, Italy, or France. Granted, this girl loves tacos and a good baguette, but I'm pretty confident could happily live off of dumplings and rice swaddled in spicy coconut sauces. My logic is basically this: because I didn't eat it growing up, I need to make up for lost time.  

This week signals a break through in my Pad Thai consumption. A co-worker shops at this Asian market in West Valley and you know that's we did on our lunch break on Thursday. I tried to not food-geek out too much, but just know I was unsuccessful. I might have slightly frightened my co-workers when I got exuberant over steamer baskets but they'll survive

I had my arms full of mung bean sprouts, rice noodles, kefir limes, and other Pad Thai essentials (plus about 5 of those amazing yellow mangoes) a store clerk handed me a basket while I mentally thought "Oh good, now I can buy even more things and look less ridiculous".

For some reason I thought we would just slip in and I would grab some cool aloe drink and call it a day, so I didn't bother with a cart or anything. I should have known I would have walked out with bags brimming and dying to run home to make Pad Thai (read: eat the entire recipe that should feed about 8 people).

I tackled making dinner that night, but regretted not getting ingredients for a double batch. I sautéed veggies in garlic and coconut oil, but cooked them oh so lightly. I love Pad Thai where it still feels fresh and kinda crunchy. The cilantro on top certainly helps with that as does a squeeze of lime.

The dish was a hit with me and the family which is an added bonus I guess. I'm glad it was met with rave reviews but I've never been awesome at sharing. I did eat this bowl and subsequent bowls of Pad Thai with chopsticks because I have difficulty pacing myself with a fork. Be glad a poorly lit photo was taken before the bowl was licked clean.

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. 

A Philosophy's Pot Pie

March creates some bipolar weather in Utah. Wearing sunglasses today could quite possibly mean donning galoshes tomorrow. For the fashionable foodie, rejoice.  It's not quite time to box away your lined coat, but depending on the day you can also safely unpack your sandals. Warm days also mean summery desserts (like blackberry pavlova) but rainy days create an excuse for one more chicken pot pie before "comfort food season" ends.  Food52's recipe created a loose outline for the format and this pie was whipped up with the ingredients had on hand-- with rave reviews. While some ingredients were pantry staples (read: frozen chicken breast, regular russets, and carrots spared from lecture hall munching)  some more upstanding additions were included (read: fresh peas frozen from last summer's farmer's market, and flaky pie crust left over from an apartment pie party).  1 pie and 3 girls resulted in needing only the pint sized tupperware for tomorrow's lunch.  Not a bad meal for college students, right? That being said, I don't think I fit the ramen-noodle stereotype, unless you mean homemade ramen...then I suppose I do.

The evening ended with a few friends stopping by for a chat, which evolved into a discussion on some hefty topics.  Sunday evenings often result in a casual gathering that evolves into some pretty dense topics.  This week tackled Duchamp's "The Fountain" with mixed results. Though I may have not convinced the Thomas Cole fan the value in less-idealized, more-conceptual art, I allowed the pot pie to count as my victory. According to Emily Ruth, the modern-art intolerant should watch out for next week's philosophy Sunday. 

One Iced-and-Gingered Man, Please.

The classic white Christmas waited until the last possible moment (Christmas Day itself) to finally made an appearance. Though inches of the chilly white stuff isn't required for decorating a batch of the crunchy and spicy cookie, it added a lovely atmosphere. Dark molasses creates a gorgeous rich cookie color that makes creamy white royal icing the perfect medium to dabble in. Self proclaimed icing artist aside, I felt these little masterpieces turned out just pretty enough to eat.

 Gingerbread seemed to scream"holiday break" and with the fluffy white stuff falling from the sky it seemed the perfect afternoon activity. I phoned a good friend my high school to make her way up for a good chit chat. Gingerbread decorating fosters a good backdrop for catching up on past memories. Chatting about future plans, we iced the afternoon away (and had our fair share of munching on the mistakes).  Thin and crispy, these little men cause much less drama than the combined (less than savory) real life dates myself and Ms. K have experienced as of late. I'll take a snowed-in chat with a friend with a cookie...or several, please.

Roast. Sugar and Spice. Puree. Spread. Spread on Everything.

Stretching out the last bit of fall constitutes taking advantage of a trip to the orchard for some apples, and some winter squashes - Jonathon and butternuts to be precise. The Jonathons have another destination, but that squash was going to meet its end in the form of pumpkin butter. And it's about as good as it sounds.  Found on food52, I could barely wait for Friday to come to make it. Crank up your oven, and roast that squash until tender, resisting the urge to eat it hot and steaming straight from the pan with a spoon.  (That can come later, but this squash has a delightful chance to become something better...Shocking, I know.)   Scoop out the flesh and add more than enough cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, cloves, and brown sugar, and butter for good measure.  Roast again-this recipe really tests your patience. In between reading assignments and writing that big senior paper, be sure to stir that mix every few minutes or so and evenly distribute the caramel color that deepens as time goes by.  Whirl through the food processor and fill a big quart sized mason jar with this spread.  As good as it was on a spoon, a hot-from-the-oven bagel (slathered with the stuff) was a better vehicle.

Note- this is also delicious stirred into oatmeal, shmeared on toast, and I anticipate, nearly anything else. Quintessentially fall, this packs handsomely and was much appreciated by fellow foodie friends...the bit that I was willing to share.                                                                                        

Smitten With Shashuka

Shashuka. It's breakfast, brunch, lunch, supper, dinner, and delicious.  Just like a chocolate molten lava cake, it's always Shashuka time.  Love for Middle Eastern fare has followed me home from Israel and pervaded my Provo kitchen. Any dish that includes a runny egg is one I'm a sucker for.

I'm also infatuated with Yotam Ottolenghi's cookbooks, especially the recent "Jerusalem" publication  Gorgeous photos aside, how is it not fun to flip through the pages and exclaim, "I know you! You DO have good falafel"? Though I have yet to undertake many of the tasty selections found in the pages of that work of art, Shashuka is one I'm smitten with. As stated before, I've eaten it at most hours of the day and feel like it's an appropriate item to nosh on for any meal.  Roommates were skeptical but supportive, then moved to astounded post tasting.  Served with some hot pita (that didn't quite pocket, but had a nice chew) made a light supper, as well as fantastic update to my breakfast routine. 

To serve as a main course, I upped the spice and cumin and served the dish with labneh, which is trendy for delicious-with-anything-Middle-Eastern-spiced-yogurt.  Labneh made an appearance on last week's supper, arugula salad with chorizo toast (and runny poached egg...duh).   Top with parsley and try not to eat the whole pan because it is also delicious for breakfast. 

The Dough Experiment

In my culinary explorations, I've been timid with making doughs.  My mom is a fantastic cook and her dinner rolls are coveted at any sort of neighborhood get together or family dinner.  Raspberry cinnamon rules barely have time to cool in our house-fluffy, doughy, and deliciously spice ridden swirls culminate to the perfect rolled center. However, after botching the infamous roll recipe the first time I tried, I have always been hesitant. The science of it is intimidating.  Density, taste and texture depends on precise measurements, kneading time, yeast performance, even weather. Yet, being between jobs and only having on 2-day-week class to occupy my time, I thought it was high time to dive into the realm of yeast, rising, punching, rolling, and baking.  Explorations started with a flatbread, but results were more cracker like than pillowy.  Next, I toyed around with a solid pizza dough recipe. I cook dinner for a group of friends on Fridays, and thought that several differently topped pies would be an excellent Friday supper.   Mostly, I was just looking for some justification for my dough trials and my roommates are good sports.

Fresh Mozzarella and Basil-Friend Voted Favorite

Four pies were delightfully consumed that Friday and the pizzas got progressively better.  The initial pie was a bit too doughy and pale, but the balsamic reduced caramelized onions paired well with rosemary and ricotta.  The next was a rosemary-red potato pie, which still needed  a bit more cooking time.  I do suppose impatience can also be a factor in the perfection of your pizza dough-I was a tad eager to pull them out of the oven.  Pie #3 was an enormous hit-lightly spooned tomato sauce with lots of fresh mozzarella, then topped with basil after being pulled out of the scorching oven. The cornmeal coating on the pizza pan gave good texture, as did a slightly longer baking time.  But the dough was still chewy after that crunch yielded.  Success demanding a repeat, and pizza #4 was an exact replica. I've since played around with pita bread, missing that Middle Eastern staple here in the States.  The dough didn't quite puff into the characteristic pocket, but no where near inhibited it being toasted and topped with honey, cinnamon sugar, raspberry preserves, peanut butter, butter or nutella.  The latest batch didn't even make it past a breakfast item. I think I'll tackle the beautiful bagel next after the success of the Friday pizza night.  For those pies were great- and photographed beautifully.   

à cuire: (Fr) To Bake

Coconut Cranberry Granola Bars

 It's been a spell since my latest post.  College life doesn't nearly produce as many interesting tales as a stay in Jerusalem does.  Not to say that these past months have been dull-not in the least.  Spring has arrived and with that comes much more to time to experiment in the kitchen. It also means I'm a few more months closer to graduating.  Graduating college. Just 2 semesters left.  Seems like a day that would never really come.  After high school, college was a natural step, but after college opens a box of ambiguity.  However, that box for me is looking more and more like a box of chocolates...I don't quite yet know what my post undergraduate plans will be, but I know that they will involve food and travel.  And most definitely chocolate.

I'm staying down in college central this summer which has it's pros and cons. Luckily, my campus has free copies of the New York Times available to students-I read it voraciously. I am sure to snag the Wednesday edition without fail and hoard the food/dining sections in my desk drawers.  It's been a classically Utah spring lately which means the weather flirts between sunshine and storms.  One particularly breezy Monday demanded some serious culinary investigation. The product of that Monday's adventures are pictured above.  Seems silly to purchase granola bars when they are a delight to make and photograph too well, right? Next experiment must include chocolate and peanut butter, with some cinnamon.


My last post hinted at Christmas festivities.  Gift giving this year resulted in the possession of the most beautiful cookbook.  Jerusalem: The Cookbook captures quite brilliantly the beauty of the city through food. That's really all I'm asking for out of life-exploration through food, family, friends and funds for travel.  Naturally when the Times had recent culinary coverage of Middle Eastern cuisine, I had to crack open the pages and test out a few recipes myself.  This cardamom chicken with basmati rice and herbed yogurt sauce was delectable and tasted better than photographed.  Nicely chosen, Ottolenghi and Tamimi.

Friends made in the Middle East have remained friends.  We mostly connect over food-sharing stories and recent finds in Provo.  One friend in particular is quite the culinary accomplice and we had a lovely time recreating Levain Bakery dark chocolate-walnut-chipped-cookies.  Unfortunately for the roommates, spare cookies were savored secretly.  I handled the half dozen share quite nicely on my own.  Yours truly, Emily Ruth: independent college student, cookie munching, Times hoarding, cookbook reading delight.