Making Pastry

For the past four weeks, every Wednesday I kiss the dogs goodbye, throw my overnight bag in the car and make the gorgeous two and a half hour drive from Dillon to Missoula. I love having that time to myself. I listen to our local NPR station, I daydream, I watch the drop-dead scenery roll by. Sometimes I turn off the radio, roll down the windows and just breathe in that cold, clear mountain air. Heaven. And it's about this time of day I've been rolling into Missoula heading for the fun, camaraderie and carb-loading of my new favorite past-time...the Posh Chocolat Pastry Class.

Sadly, this Wednesday's class was canceled so I figured I'd better get my behind in gear, go through the pictures and get that long over-due pastry class post done. Let's face it, I'd much rather be basking in the glory of rising pastry and whirling buttercream but, hey, looking at the pictures just reminds me of how much fun we're having and, oh!, the things we're learning.

We've gone through yeast breads, enriched breads, biscuits, muffins and cakes. I've learned how to make a Swiss Meringue Buttercream (something I've always been intimidated by) and how to fill a cream puff (always a good skill to have). My favorite lesson so far was making croissants and, especially, making Pain au Chocolat. Time consuming, yes, but so much fun. Makes my mouth water just thinking about it.

Another aspect I'm thoroughly enjoying? Working in a warm, well-organized kitchen and baking with other women who don't think it's crazy to wax poetic over rising bread dough. We swap tips, share stories and laugh together over awkward attempts at new techniques. I look forward to their smiling faces as much as I look forward to the goody bags we get to take home at the end of a successful evening of baking. Who knew baking with friends could be so satisfying? Instead of book clubs, why aren't baking clubs taking off? Hmm, maybe I'll be the first to get the trend going.

So, Natalie, Jo, Marietta, Maggie and Chef Ana, since I can't be with you all tonight, I've put up a web album of our Wednesday fun for you to peruse and I will happily drink a toast in your honor. Here's to new friends and unrestrained baking! Cheers!

Can I Get a "Hell, Yea!"?

Chocolate Truffles of love

 I know, I know, baking and chocolate, you know I love it, I obsess over it, I lay in bed at night dreaming up chocolate fantasy concoctions. Yada, yada, yada. You've heard it all before and I know I've gone on and on about the baking ban. But, folks, I'm about to take it to a whole new level...

I received an innocent email from our local artisan chocolate and pastry chef in Missoula (Posh Chocolat, check 'em out) announcing that she will be conducting a six week class in the art of all things holy...like chocolate-making AND french pastry AND yeast breads AND...wait for it, tortes and cakes. I passed out. I came to. I passed out. I came to. I passed out. I woke to find the dog licking my face and I jumped up, hit reply and screamed (in written form of course...well, to be honest, I might have screamed it out loud as well), "SIGN ME UP!!!" (Please, the ban had no chance. None, whatsoever. Don't judge me.)

 And not knowing the level of crazy obsession that she's dealing with, she did. She signed me up. So starting April 6th not only will I be home (HALLELUJUAH!), I will be sashaying my way around and around a commercial kitchen with the loves of my life (sorry, Erik, but you should know this by now): butter, sugar, flour and, of course, chocolate. 

Oh, sweet god, please tell me I'm not dreaming!

When All Else Fails...Make Biscuits

Yesterday was one of those days. I know you know what I'm talking about. The kind of day that just struggles against your best efforts to smooth its ruffled edges. You try, you take deep breaths, you tell yourself this is just a lesson in patience. You go through your routine doing your best to jump the hurdles that come your way. When the dog you spent an hour brushing out so she would look presentable at her doctor's appointment walks over and lays right in the dusty, red dirt the moment you turn your back, what else can you do but mutter a curse word and sigh?

No problem, it's cool. You've got this. And when you climb into your little shower looking forward to washing away the red dirt and dog hair and the owner of the RV park decides to cut the water at the exact moment that you have whipped your hair into a frothy lather and are about to rinse...well, all I can say is those curse words do come in handy, don't they?

You get through it. You move forward. You get to the vet appointment early. And when the 15 minute vet appointment turns into an hour and a half allergy-inducing test of will for all involved, what else can you do but suck it up and smile? Moving on. You're now late and the dogs are on their last nerves. You're barely hanging on to the last thread of your sanity but you're doing it. You're not down yet. You fight the evening traffic to get across town in time to pick up the hubby.

And when you finally...finally... manage to get the hot, traumatized canines and the equally hot and traumatized hubby all home only to realize that somewhere in between the torture of the vet and the retrieval of the spousal unit, you were supposed to hit the market so you have something to cook for dinner...well, I suggest you do what I did. Just throw in the towel and make biscuits.

Buttermilk biscuits. Hot, fluffy goodness that solves all problems. Add a vege scramble and a glass of chilled white wine and all of a sudden those ruffled edges of a rough day are as smooth as one of Martha Stewart's tablecloths. I've been asked to start posting my recipes so here's my favorite buttermilk biscuit recipe (not sure where I picked it up but I've been using it for years). I hope it can ease some ruffled edges on a rough day for all of you too.

Heaven-sent Buttermilk Biscuits

4 c all-purpose flour

4 tsp baking powder

1 tsp baking soda

1 1/2 tsp salt

1 tsp sugar

1 c (2 sticks) unsalted butter, cut into little pieces

2 c buttermilk

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. In a medium bowl, whisk together dry ingredients. Using a pastry knife, cut in butter until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs.

Add the buttermilk and stir until mixture just comes together. Don't overmix and don't worry that batter is sticky. Turn out onto a lightly floured surface and use floured hands to pat the dough to a 1-inch thickness. No need to roll it out. I use a 2-5/8 biscuit cutter but any 2-1/2" glass or round cookie cutter would work as well.

Place biscuits on baking sheet and bake at 375 degrees for 18 to 20 minutes until they're lightly, golden brown. Cool on wire rack and...EAT UP. Delicious.

Some Red Velvet Lovin'

Ahhh, Valentine's Day...a celebration of love replete with wine, chocolate and flowers. It's no secret that I look forward to it every year since it really is my "get of of jail free" card to indulge in all of the aforementioned vices with complete and utter abandon. And let's not forget, it also allows me to indulge in another of my not-so-secret addictions...baking high caloric, and very much forbidden if I EVER want to fit into my bikini, treats. Seriously, I would love to track down whichever marketing guru came up with this concept and give them a big, fat, wet kiss on the mouth. I couldn't have dreamed up a better scam myself.

 

And this year, in honor of having spent the last half of the year in, or straddling, the south (North Carolina and Texas respectively), I decided to treat my honey to a little southern style lovin'...that's right, folks, the oh-so-lovely and much revered, Red Velvet Cake...with a twist. Since I'm working with an oven the size of a postage stamp, I decided to switch it up and do Red Velvet, CUPCAKE-STYLE (insert drawl here).

Like the big hair and pageant makeup of Texas, there is something charmingly sweet yet shocking about this unnaturally red batter that rises into this moist, cocoa-flavored scarlet star. Topped with the luscious, creamy, tangy frosting and accessorized with raspberries and chocolate, I felt liked I'd given life to the newest Dallas debutante. You just couldn't help but stare. I decided to call it my Shock and Awe campaign. And the hubby really was shocked and awed after months of living through the much-dreaded and long-lived baking ban.

As I pulled out my ill-treated and dusty Kitchen-Aid, the euphoria of climbing back into the baking saddle was a heady and seducing sensation. Now this is what I call love, people. Me, my Kitchen-Aid and all those lovely ingredients lined up like little soldiers just begging to be sifted, whipped and coaxed into a mouth-watering, irresistible, edible work of art. Oh, baby, how I've missed you!

And, lest we not forget the absolute beauty and fulfilment of my Shock and Awe campaign, the look on Erik's face as he sank his teeth into the lovely goodness of my humble offering and the giddy, love-filled, cream cheese smile he gave me as he savored the bite made me all the more grateful for the greedy capitalist that invented this glorious day. So, I say to hell with pretending to be immune to all of the pink and red trappings and gaudy, heart-shaped symbolism associated with this infamous holiday. I plan to strap my love-gun on my hip and wriggle into my "I'm a Valentine's Day Whore" t-shirt (pink with red hearts all over it) and proudly proclaim for all to hear, "LET THEM EAT CAKE! RED CAKE WITH CHOCOLATE HEARTS ON IT!"

Wishing you all a Happy Valentines Day, whether you're a believer or not!

And, Erik, so glad you're mine and I love you.....

Curry It Up

 

There's one thing that I've always wanted to try...to make my own curry. I'm addicted to curry, either Indian or Thai, I'm really not picky and one of my favorites is Thai Massaman curry. So, when I came across this gorgeous mortar and pestle in a secondhand shop, my vision of pounding and grinding my own curry paste finnnaallly came to pass. First let me just say, for anyone who has ever tried to find galangal root and doesn't live in a large metropolitan area with a large Thai population, let me just tell you that you're going to have an adventure...and probably see things and meet people you might soon want to forget. Be that as it may, I did find the galangal root and the many other exotic ingredients required for my first curry experiment. And I just might want to add, it was due to no small amount of assistance from the very patient and oh-so-much-braver spousal unit (what would I do without that guy!).

So, ingredients procured,  I dove in. I chopped, pounded, grinded, whined, asked the spousal unit for a donation of his muscle power, grinded some more, calculated the calories I was burning while doing all of the aforementioned, sniffed, sighed, laughed giddily and finally produced my very own.......

 

 curry paste! Woohoo! Did I screw things up a bit? Duh, of course, but it was still delish...though not as delish as my favorite curry at Cham Thai in Billings, MT to which I measure all other curries (is it too weird that my favorite Thai restaurant is in Billings, MT? I swear it's better than any that I've tried, from Australia to New York! Try it and then we'll see who should be labeled "crazy"). So, I will call my curry making a minor success and I look forward to my next attempt...though I'm not sure the hubby would say the same. Hrmph. Maybe I'll just move on to my other desired use of mortar and pestle. Making my own chocolate! Now, if I could just get my hands on some cacao beans.....

And since I'm talking successful kitchen adventures, here's another that really knocked our socks off. It's a recipe for a Tomato Pie. Oh, stop it! Don't think I don't see you turning your nose up! I see you. But I swear this recipe is so good you'll get past the less than appealing title and be running to your computers to post your own blogs about this tasty little dish. It comes from one of my favorite bloggers, Nici, over at Dig This Chick.

 She made it as a pie, but due to my attempt to cut carbs, I turned it into a tomato tart, using only a half recipe of a Pate Brisee. Other than the fact I substituted a shallot for the garlic (and only because I had more shallots than garlic) and changed it from a pie to a tart, I followed her recipe exactly and came up with...

magic! And a favorite new dinner recipe. Hmm, and let's not overlook the fact I got to indulge in a little, um, BAKING! Thanks, Nici, I owe you one!

Cast Iron and Cornbread

As I wander about exploring this new area we've landed in, I just can't resist diving into the local antique and junk stores. I've been on a quest for a long time now to find old cast iron pans since, as I've bemoaned previously, none were passed on through my family. I've hit stores from California to Alaska and back and, sure, I've run across them here and there but most dealers understand the treasure that they're selling and want to catch a sap like me who will be willing to slap down sixty bucks for a dutch oven...missing its cover, no less! Outrageous, I say, so I move on and the treasure hunt continues.

Well, let me tell you that I recently hit the motherlode! I guess it stands to reason that in this area of homesteaders and ranchers, cast iron is as ubiquitous as cowboy boots and bison. To me, though, it was as if I was a miner and I had just hit a huge vein of gold. When, in poking around one of the local stores, my good sport of a husband casually strolled over to me with a corn cob cast iron pan in his hand and asked, "Isn't this what you've been looking for?", I swear I almost fainted. And when I took a look at the price tag and it was less than ten bucks, I let out a whoop that shook the rafters.


I pranced around that shop with that pan clutched tightly in my hands and couldn't believe my luck as we uncovered more and more cast iron jewels just begging to be taken home, cleaned up and put back in service. Ok, sure, we live in a motorhome with a kitchen the size of a postage stamp but, c'mon, who am I to say no to a hardworkin' piece of historic cookware that just wants to get back in the game?


So, I packed those suckers up, got a good arm workout to boot, and headed home to try them out. Umm, let me just say, it was everything I've ever dreamed it to be. I made cornbread in the corn cob pans and paired it with a hearty bean stew and Erik and I gobbled it up, licked our fingers.... and dove in for more. Oh, man, is there anything better than hot-out-of-the-oven, crispy, fluffy and mouthwatering cornbread....drenched in butter? Ok, yea, yea, there goes the diet and I'll have to run from here to Missoula and back to work it off but whateva! It was SO worth it and, hey, let's not forget I burned those calories hauling those babies home.


So, I am FINALLY the proud, new owner of ancient cast iron and couldn't be happier with my new kitchen accoutrement. Don't get me wrong, I'm still on the prowl for my holy grail of cast iron... a small dutch oven WITH a lid that will fit in my motorhome's Easy Bake oven but, for now, I will bask in the glow of knowing that if my life depended on my making skillet biscuits or crispy cornbread, I am SO on it.

Now, on to the next issue...where the heck to store all of them... Hmm, maybe Erik will make some room in his bicycle equipment storage bin. I mean, really, cast iron or a bicycle tube? No contest if you ask me!

Hand Me Downs

Grandma's paring knife

Being the only girl born between two brothers, hand-me-downs weren't really part of my daily life. In fact, when I did happen to acquire something passed on by my older, very stylish and much-admired friend, Margaret, I cherished it above all else. I wore my Chemin de Fers (anyone remember those?) until the material was transparent and despite the fact they didn't fit my shorter, curvier frame they way they molded to Margaret's tall, willowy, modelesque figure. I worshipped the white and lemon-yellow striped sweater she casually passed over to me and I can still feel that giddy, I-can't-believe-she-gave-this-to-me feeling as I type this. I wore that poor sweater until the gust of a strong wind would have blown it apart.

And so it has gone throughout my life. My most treasured possessions are not the shiny, spankin' new, of-the-moment, latest "it' things. They are the items that have been passed down, passed on, have some history behind them, have a story to tell. I buy antique furniture and wonder who used to love it, I gaze longingly at old silverware and china sets and wonder what celebrations they were used for, and, oh, to hear the stories that were told around them. I live (when not on the road) in a little, old Victorian house with intricately carved door moldings and baseboards and I wonder which craftsman worked so painstakingly on them. I'm even addicted to old photographs. The people staring out at me are not of my blood but I long to know their story. What were they thinking when the cameraman snapped that shot? And better yet, where are they now and how was their life after they stepped away from that captured moment in time?

Home

No surprise then that it was with much interest that I was reading Clotilde's (Chocolate and Zucchini) post about how she came to acquire a beautiful marble mortar that her grandmother found buried in her garden in Marseille, France in 1937. It was such a touching story and it made me regret my own family's lack of cooking tradition. Unfortunately, in my house, cooking was a necessity, not a joy, and if opening a box or a packet or a can could make the ordeal any easier, it was used enthusiastically. Thus, I have very few kitchen hand-me-downs; my grandmother's paring knife, a heart-healthy pie crust recipe and a Joy of Cooking (yes, I see the irony) cookbook from my aunt and little else.

Kay and her favorite guy, Terry

To make up for this lack of kitchen heirlooms, I started raiding the history of other families by collecting their family recipes. One of my dearest friends, Kay, generously shared a bread recipe that was passed on to her 45 years ago by her aunt, Lorraine Thompson, of Petersburg, AK. Kay grew up in that tiny fishing village on an island in the middle of Alaska's Inside Passage, and with its strong Norwegian heritage, tradition and history are valuable commodities. I was absolutely thrilled to be entrusted with it and this recipe has become a staple in my baking repertoire.

In honor of all of you out there who might not have a rich family kitchen heritage, I am humbly handing down Kay's kick-ass bread recipe (with her gracious permission) and hope it becomes as treasured a hand-me-down to you as it has become to me. Make it with love, people!
Aunt Lorraine Thompson's Brown Bread Recipe

3 cups lukewarm water (110-115 degrees)
1 pkg active dry yeast
1 cup milk, scalded
1 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup molasses
1 1/2 tsp salt
2 tbsp oil (I use olive oil)
3 cups whole wheat or rye flour
8 to 9 cups all-purpose flour

(I half this recipe since it's only the hubby and me and it works great. FYI, I still use the whole pkg of yeast but half everything else, using 4 cups of all-purpose flour to start)

Stir the yeast into the water and set aside to proof (approximately 5 minutes). Combine milk, brown sugar, molasses, salt and oil in a bowl (I do this directly in the bowl of my KitchenAid which, by the way, was a hand-me-down) and stir to dissolve. Add proofed yeast mixture, whole wheat or rye flour and 8 cups of the all-purpose flour. Mix (with dough-hook if using your KitchenAid) until well-combined and it has formed a ball.

At this point, Kay uses her KitchenAid to knead it until the dough is smooth, I turn the dough out on a floured-surface and start kneading by hand, adding additional flour as needed. If kneading by hand, knead for approximately 7 to 10 minutes or until the dough is smooth and elastic.

Oil a large bowl and put dough in it, turning it once to coat. Cover with a cloth and let sit overnight or at least until it has doubled in size (approx 1 to 1-1/2 hours).

In the morning (or once doubled in size), punch dough down and divide into 3 to 4 loaves. Put into greased bread pans, cover with cloths and let rise again until double in size (approx 45 min).

Bake at 325 degrees for 45 minutes. Transfer pans to a wire rack and let cool in pans for 5 minutes then turn out loaves onto wire rack to finish cooling.

Eat and enjoy, knowing that many other people in places far, far away have eaten and enjoyed it as much as you. Cool, huh? Gotta love hand-me-downs.

Thanks and much love to you and your family, Kay. My life is richer and fuller because of you.

The Magic of Simplicity

"Simplicity means the achievement of maximum effect with minimum means."—Koichi Kawana

How is it that the combination of seemingly innocuous and unrelated ingredients can combine to make the most delicious and satisfying nourishment? And I'm not just talking "satisfying nourishment" for the body but also for the soul.

Let's take pizza, for example. On the surface, it's just some very basic plain jane ingredients mixed together then baked in a hot oven. Take flour, salt, yeast, throw in some water, let rise, roll out and top with garlic, cheese, some tomatoes and a sprinkle of an herb or two, throw in the oven and, Voila!, magic. That rough day you had? Forgotten. Been craving something you can sink your teeth into? Done.

Nothing spectacular used to create it, no eye of newt or dragon's blood so where exactly does the Bibbity Bobbity Boo come in? Is it just me, or does the rising dough, all warm and yeasty, fluffy and puffy make you feel contented, happy, expectant? How about proud at the way you managed to stir some flour, water and yeast together and now your dough is rising like the phoenix from the ashes and you get to watch this transformation taking place before your eyes?

As I chop the garlic and grate the cheese, the aromas rise up and swirl around me filling our tiny kitchen with the scents of dinner, of home, of coziness. I walk outside to gather some of the herbs dancing happily in the evening breeze and their bouquet coats my fingers and blends with the cheese and garlic to create a symphony of savory perfume.

Now the magic is really picking up steam. The subtle mixing of flavors whispering promises of amazing and mouthwatering results. Into the oven, and the incantations begin, "Is it done yet?, How much longer? Oh, I can't wait, my stomach's growling. Wow, it looks so good". My husband does the requisite pizza dance. With oven mitt on hand, he peeks and peers through the tiny oven window, pacing back and forth while chanting some of the aforementioned incantations.

And, then...Bing!...the moment has arrived. Those simple, solitary ingredients have melded and transformed into a hot, spicy, tasty, gooey delicious circle of comfort and love, nourishment for both the body and soul.

I smile lovingly at my husband and he smiles happily back at me....then we both lunge for the biggest slice.

Magic in the simplest of moments....

Valentines Magic

Ahhh, breakfast!

So what happens when your new hobby, chocolate making, collides with your old, well-loved hobby of cookie baking? Magic...and a massive sugar rush...followed by the sugar crash of the century. With all the tasting I did, it took me two double espressos before I was able to be get motivated enough to finish. But after my heart started pumping again, I whipped these suckers right out!

I started off just dabbling with chocolate. I used both milk chocolate and white chocolate tinted with a pink icing color. (By the way, does anyone know of a line of food coloring that uses more natural ingredients? I just detest that chemical-y taste that some of the food colorings impart to your food. Plus, who KNOWS what you're ingesting! The FDA says it's safe but, frankly, I just flat out don't trust 'em. If anyone has any suggestions or has a favorite brand, could you please email me at inbetweendayz at hotmail dot com? Your suggestions would be much appreciated!).

After a few false starts, I managed to successfully pipe the chocolate into filigree hearts and circles then eventually graduated to writing. I have to say that the writing was the hardest part of the whole process. I'm a printer. I print EVERYTHING, from lists to love letters. Heck, I haven't written in cursive since 5th grade and wasn't even sure I remembered how but once I got my uncoordinated brain around the idea that the letters actually have to connect, the words just started flowing.

As the chocolate was left to cool and harden, I whipped up some sugar cookie dough and also the chocolate cookie dough I used for Valentines Day last year. Once the cookies were baked and cooled, it was time to decorate!

Remember the crafts table in Miss Barnett's first grade class? No? Well, too bad for you because it was AWESOME and this reminded me of it! Since I have no elaborate gardens to tend, sigh.... and yes! I'm still pouting so don't bug me about it, I have to find my zen place in other ways and this did the trick. Swirling and smearing and dotting and combining the chocolate with the iced cookies, it was like making those cut-out paper hearts at school and being so excited to run home and show them off.

Since I was duped by my trickster hubby into running a 5K on Valentines Day, (Who the heck organizes a race on Valentines Day?! You wanna know who? A husband who has run out of romantic ideas and figures putting on a race is a great way of skirting his romantic responsibilities! I swear, once I crawl over the finish line, I am going to stagger around until I find him and then I plan to clobber him with one of my cookies!), I probably won't have the strength to type. So, just in case I don't survive, I want to wish you all a very Happy Valentines Day. May your loved one give you something more than a sweaty high-five at the end of a grueling and unnecessary run.