Fix it with cookies

This is our youngest cat, Calpurnia.

She looks sweet, right? Most of the time she's too shy to cause mischief. She lies on the window seat, watches the neighborhood, or haunts the kitchen near her bowl, squeaking plaintively for food. Calpurnia is skiddish, sweet, and sleeps a lot.

But sometimes, when the sun shines just so through the shades, Calpurnia leaps from lounger to LIONESS!

She's what the nice lady at the Humane Society calls "a wooler," and she loves to attack strings, shoelaces, pull-chains, necklaces, and my knitting projects. Last week, she unraveled a hat I was knitting, stringing the yarn across the rug, around my guitar stand, and off the circular needles. Way off. Many stitches off. Calpurnia hid from me under the dining room table.

All I could do was rip the hat out, start again, and make some chocolate chip cookies.

I have a theory that chocolate chip cookies can fix anything. Anything. I know they could fix the world if applied strategically. Calpurnia's yarn spree motivated me to bake some cookies for myself. I baked a batch for my dad on Father's Day, then another one for the mechanic at Midas who spent all day tracking down an electrical problem in my car. My dad loved the cookies, and the mechanic didn't charge me for a thing. These cookies fix things.



Just fix-it chocolate chip walnut cookies
adapted from the CHC Cookbook

• 2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour (like Hudson Cream)
• 1 tsp baking soda
• 1/2 cup butter
• 1/2 cup healthy shortening, like coconut or palm oil
• 3/4 cups cane sugar
• 3/4 cups muscovado sugar
• 1 tsp. vanilla
• 2 large eggs
• 2 cups semi-sweet chocolate chips or chunks
• 3/4 cup chopped walnut pieces

Preheat an oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit. Using a mixer, cream together the butter, oil, vanilla, and both sugars until they're fluffy. Beat in the eggs, one at a time. In a small bowl, mix together the salt, flour, and baking soda. Next, slowly incorporate the flour mixture with the butter/sugar. Stir in the walnut pieces and half of the chocolate chips.

Drop cookie batter by the tablespoon-full on a cookie sheet, keeping three inches of space between cookies. Use the rest of the chocolate chips to decorate the outside of each cookie. (They have to look good enough to eat, right?) Bake the cookies for 10 to 12 minutes, let them cool, and then enjoy.

Here's hoping they fix your wagons.

To polenta with love

The photographs in this post almost never emerged from their dark cocoon in my Canon SLR.

Several weekends ago, as I finished capturing pictures of the guests at our Memorial weekend cookout, I heard a great

*snap*
*crinkle*
*snap*

when I rewound the film! My heart gave a spastic, sideways kick; film should never sound like a bowl of Rice Krispies! My mind composed two explanations for the sound: either the film had indeed ripped, or the film was never securely on the spool and had not been advancing for the entire roll. I suspected the first cause.

Carefully, as if my SLR would explode upon agitation, I tiptoed back in the house. With the aid of an improvised dark bag (i.e. a black T-shirt tied off with thick rubber bands) and a windowless closet, I hoped to salvage my film and return it to the canister. How could I lose a precious, irreplaceable photo like this?

Raymond and James, two handsome young men

Baby James and his parents, Ross and Amanda, were visiting from Chicago, and my husband didn't want to put him down! Also, I wanted to capture the orchid centerpiece Raymond bought me (before I killed it two weeks later...) After fumbling around with the film in a darkened closet, I realized the film was a) ripped and b) determined not to go back in its canister. Oh, Dragnet! I closed film back in the camera and knew the situation required professional hands.

Martin takes his glasses off and gets serious.
That's Ross' elbow on the right.

Thankfully, the folks at Douglas Photographic Imaging came to my aid. DPI is sandwiched just east of downtown Wichita, in a demure brick building. They develop photos, offer classes, rent their dark room, and majorly saved my bacon. The lady behind the counter seemed just as invested in saving my photos as I was, and she reassured me that "we rescue film from people's cameras all of the time!" And the photos took my breath away. I think I've found my new photo place.

But back to the party! Raymond wasn't the only one who wanted to hold James. He got passed around the table like potato salad at a picnic, winning the hearts and minds of all he met.

Ashley, James, and Erik. Ashley has the best hair.

Our perinially busy-yet-awesome friends Erik and Angie even made it to the affair. Eric and Raymond played silly songs for us later in the evening on guitar and mandolin. I remember the Gourds's cover of "Gin and Juice" was a big hit.

Yes, Angie is always that glamorous!

The night was originally to be a wine and cheese party, but it evolved into more of a smörgåsbord: hamburgers, hot dogs, sun tea, spearmint lemonade, chips, guacamole, brownies, wines, cheeses, olives of all kinds, and the night's winner, polenta fries. My sister, Kira, and her roomate, Sarah, loved them.

The splendiferous thing about polenta fries is that they're easy and almost completely foolproof. The dish only requires about 5-10 minutes of your attention, and the rest of the time, it's either cooling quietly in a pan or toasting in the oven. That means you can make these crispy & mealy fries when you're otherwise distracted, cleaning the house, or mowing the lawn before a summer party. Give me another helping of easy, please.

Easy-peasy polenta fries

• 1 cup medium-grind cornmeal
• 3 cups water
• 1 egg
• 2 tb. crushed dried basil and/or oregano
  
• 1 tsp. salt
  
• 1/2-3/4 cups Italian bread crumbs.
• 1/3 cup shredded Parmesan cheese (optional)
• olive oil spray
  

First, grease the bottom of a large casserole dish or cake pan. Set the pan aside.

In a medium saucepan, bring the water to a boil. Before you add cornmeal, crack the egg into a small dish, stir it slightly, and set the dish next to the saucepan. After the polenta begins cooking, you'll want eveything you need at your side.

Stir in the cornmeal slowly and constantly with a wooden spoon. Keep stirring until the mixture begins to boil again, then lower the heat to a soft simmer. Take out a 1/3 cup of this mixture and, using a fork, whip it in with the egg. Return the eggy polenta to your larger saucepan and stir. You'll have to stir briskly to avoid ribbons of cooked egg; you want the egg for its binding power, not its looks.

Let the polenta simmer for 15 minutes, stirring occasionally, until it has a thick and smooth texture. Remove the pan from heat and stir in the salt and spices (rosemary and thyme are a nice substitute for oregano and basil.)

Spread the polenta evenly in your baking dish with a spatula, as you would with brownies. Let the polenta cool on a countertop while you clear away the cooking dishes. Cover the polenta and let it cool for at least an hour in the fridge, until it's firm.

Next comes the fun! Mix the Italian bread crumbs and Parmesan cheese in a small bowl, then, using a sharp knife, cut "fries" from the block of polenta. You can make them as fat or thin as you like, cutting funky shapes or traditional rectangles. Roll each fry in the bread crumbs, then transfer it to a cookie sheet. Cram those fries on that sheet, spray them liberally with olive oil, and toast the fries at 375 degrees in an oven until they're "done," about 30-45 minutes, depending on the crispiness you like.

Kira, Sheree, and Sarah: lovely and always full of sass.

Just et up with it

What could be more simple and lovely after a long, weary day than beans and tomatoes? Nothing, that's what.

Lately, about everyone I know--including me, really --has been hulking around in a lost, ho-hum kind of way. The first heat waves of summer are upon us, construction at Kellogg and I-135 is a daily drudgery, and the mosquitoes have awakened from their watery graves.

Another reason we're all weary because there's trouble, with a capital T, right here in River City. I've heard that Wichita is making headlines as far as Italy right now. Most of the people I know here are, to use a colloquial term, "just et up" over the whole thing. Who wouldn't be?

Since I'm kind of a journalist, I've been pretty occupied with the story, and in need of soothing. After unwinding in the garden tonight, planting more chard, basil, and lettuce, this is the kind of dinner I needed. Tasty, fragrant, and fill-the-nooks-of-your-belly satisfying.

Beans and 'maters.* Mmm.

beans and 'maters with a toasted pita

Beans and 'maters
serves 3

• 1 1/2 cups dried kidney, Anasazi, or pinto beans, about 3 handfulls
• 1/2 can or 1 cup canned stewed tomatoes (I like 'em seasoned with onions, garlic, and green pepper)
• 1/8 cup Sriracha or hot chili paste
• 1/4 cup ketchup or tomato paste
• 1/2 tsp. dried oregano
• 1/2 tsp. garlic powder

Soak your beans in cold water overnight (or at least 8 hours), covered, in a medium-sized saucepan. Drain the soaking water, then re-fill the pan with 6-8 cups of cold water. Bring the beans and a pinch of salt to a strong boil and then reduce the heat to a simmer. Cover the beans and let them cook until almost tender, about 40 minutes.

When the beans are about ready, drain some cooking water from the pan, leaving about 1 1/2 cups of liquid. Add the stewed tomatoes, with juice, chili sauce, ketchup/tomato paste, oregano, and garlic powder. Let the mixture get up to a simmer, and let everything cook until the sauce has slightly thickened and the beans are tender.

I enjoyed my beans and 'maters with a toasted pita, which I topped with mashed avocado. (That didn't photograph well at all.) What is an avocado, after all, but green butter?

The beans and 'maters taste great hot or cooled to room temperature, and I bet they'd taste divine spooned on top of a slice of French bread, like Jules prefers.

*"'maters" is a slang for tomatoes. You know, like "tuh-maters."

To rice and beans and cheese

To confirm your suspicions, I admit that yes, the month of May has wiped the floor with my good blogging intentions.

Somewhere between finals, Final Friday, Memorial Day, two "part-time" jobs, graduations, birthdays, and road trips to exotic locales like Winfield and Kansas City, I lost grip of my cooking. My eating became nomadic and feral; I survived on oranges, iced coffee, brownies, quesadillas, and microwave curries from the Eastern food store.

I did cook a little this month, and by "little" I mean "a minuscule number of dishes." I baked polenta fries and sliced tomatoes for a Memorial Day cookout, baked boxed Ghirardelli brownies t.h.r.e.e times, and occasionally remembered to bring a salad of lettuce, almonds, and cranberries to work. But mostly, I flitted about between engagements, munching on Snickers Dark bars and drinking cold coffee.

By this Friday, I felt like I no longer knew how to cook, or what to cook, or whether I owned any recipes that worked. Whatever I cooked should be as simple to make as, say, a peanut butter sandwich, since in times of great duress, I've been known to screw up plain rice or hard-boiled eggs. After re-reading Molly's post on Cook Burn-Out and finding my mental happy place, I reached wayy back, parted the curtains of my mind, and found a dish I've been making since college.

Beans and rice.


"Beans and rice?" you say. "There are 5,393,471 ways to make beans and rice, and they are all superior to your method." That may be, but I still love my way of cooking beans and rice; it's evolved with me for at least eight years.

Back in the dorms, I had a 25% success rate of cooking kidney beans without welding most of them to the bottom of the saucepan. I used canned beans and I flavored the mess with packets of Taco Bell hot sauce. (Was my mother the only mother who hoarded fast food sauce packets?) Because I was "watching my figure," I wouldn't use more than a tablespoon of butter in the whole mess, yet I loved my beans and rice.

By 2005, when I was living briefly in Seattle, I got the hang of cooking rice on a stove top, to the relief of every pan I've used since then. Around that time, I ditched the Mexican hot sauce in favor of Sriracha chili sauce.

In 2007, I learned to salt the rice, and in 2008, I fell in love with avocados. Cheddar cheese migrated into the dish organically.

I don't know how the recipe will have evolved 20 years from now, but I do know it'll still be good comfort food.

Beans and rice and cheese

• 2 small handfulls (or about a cup and a half) of kidney, Anasazi, or pinto beans
• 1 cup long-grain brown rice
• 1/8-1/4 cup Sriracha hot sauce
• sea salt
• 1/2 an avocado
• 1/2 cup shredded cheddar or pepper jack cheese

Soak the beans overnight, covered, in a pan of cold water. The next day, drain the soaking water and cover the beans with 6-8 cups of fresh water. Bring the beans to a boil, then reduce the heat to a simmer. The beans will need to cook this way for about an hour.

Once the beans are simmering and covered, start the rice. Rinse the rice in cold water to wash away any dust or sand, then pour the rice and 2 1/2 cups of cold water in a sauce pan. Bring the rice to a roaring boil, and, without ever stirring it, reduce the heat to a simmer, just like the beans. Let the rice cook either covered or with the lid slightly askew for about 40 minutes, or until the last spoonful of water is almost absorbed into the rice. Toss a 1/4 to a 1/2 teaspoon of sea salt in the pan and fluff the rice with a fork.

By now, the beans should be about 10-15 minutes away from being tender and done. This is a great time to stir a few tablespoons of chili sauce into the bean broth. When the beans are done, spoon them into the rice pan using a slotted spoon. Don't worry about draining them completely; some drippiness is good. Add more chili sauce if you wish, then serve hot, with sliced avocados and cheddar cheese. This recipe makes three main dish or four side dish servings (unless you have seconds.)

With mountains of whipped cream

I've avoided writing a lengthy post about coffee since October, but I can hold out no more.

I love coffee, I am a coffee addict, and I am a coffee snob. It's only fair you know this about me. The affair began in 2001, with my first timid sips of a Spiced Latte (prepared by the incomparable Holly Higbee.) My devotion has yet to wane.

Most days begin with a mug of coffee with cream as I slide into the control room chair at my radio station. I thank heaven every day that my job, unlike so many office jobs, has good coffee for the office coffee maker. No Riffels Roast could prepare my vocal chords to say "committed to quality craftsmanship" without tripping at 5 am.

Drip coffee is my mainstay for time reasons, but I also enjoy a good latte -- hot or cold -- a café au lait (steamed milk and drip coffee), a chewy French press, percolated coffee, iced coffee, and, or course, espresso.

Espresso isn't something you can chug, like lemonade in July. It's a sipper, something you take in slowly, in layers, with only perhaps a piece of dark chocolate on the side to cut the intensity. In 99% of cafes, espresso is still served in its own special glass, with a petit saucer, because drinking espresso is meant to be an experience.

Espresso is tough stuff. It's the leather jacket-wearing, chain-smoking cousin of the café au lait, and it's too intense for people sometimes. That's why, when I'm feeling like a sissy, I like to soften espresso's edges with mountains of whipped cream.

My Francis! Francis! machine still turns out a good shot.

In italiano, it's called "caffè espresso con panna montata." En français, c'est "un café express avec de la crème fouettée." To me, it's simply espresso con panna. It's been winning the hearts and minds of the espresso newcomers for years.

A Flickr photo I enjoy, captioned
A"La Casa della Panna", dietro Fontana di Trevi.
Straconsigliato a chiunque ami un buon caffé con la panna.

A two-ingredient recipe for espresso con panna

• 2-3 tablespoons of fresh, oily, medium-bodied coffee, ground fine for espresso.
• 2-3 cups of spring water, or water with a low-medium mineral content.
  
• 1 can whipped cream or
• 1 cup heavy whipping cream + 1 oz vanilla or hazelnut syrup, whipped or aerated in one of these

Step 1: Make a shot of espresso, timed from 13-17 seconds, with a smooth body and a creamy, caramel froth/crema on top.

Step 2: Load the shot with heaps of whipped cream and eat your dessert with a spoon.

If you're in a position to make a shot of espresso at home, I'm assuming you own an espresso machine and know how already. If you don't and you just have a fancy coffee maker that also produces espresso, Coffee Geek has a great tutorial on how to make shots.

I like to use the Spice Merchant's espresso, San Fransisco, or Vienna roasts for my espresso; they produce roasty, carmely shots that don't have the Starbucks-y aftertaste of burned sugar.

Walk into the Spice Merchant sometime and tell an employee that you're just fascinated by this coffee stuff and you want to know whether they roast all of their beans right there. They will make you smell their 40+ roasts, all freshly roasted and sitting in giant buckets in the center of the store. If you run into Bob, the owner of the Spice Merchant, he will probably give you a tour of their store room, show you the green, unroasted beans, and tell you about each of the countries where they buy their coffee.

The Spice Merchant blends all of the coffees at the Donut Whole as well, and their espresso blend embodies every quality I enjoy in an espresso. You can find DW beans at the Whole on east Douglas.

Also semi-locally, Corsair Coffee offers a rainbow array of coffees that lend themselves to great espresso. Corsair used to have its HQ in south Wichita, but its owner, Noel, moved the operations back to Florida to be near family. You can still find Corsair coffees at Backwoods, Cafe Posto, and Cocoa Dolce, or online at www.corsaircoffee.com

In the Starbucks line of coffees, I prefer their Cafe Vienna roast for espresso instead of their espresso/burned sugar blend. Also, many of my barista friends enjoy the BUX's house and Mocha Sinani blend for espresso. You can have your friendly Starbucks barista grind the beans for you or, if you find your beans at the grocery store, you can grind your own. Grab measure a small quantity of whole beans, set the grind to "fine" or "espresso," and grind only enough espresso to get you through two weeks.

If you want to go nuts, you could always buy green beans at the Spice Merchant or The Daily Grind and and then roast them at home, in a popcorn maker.

When my espresso begins to go awry, I notice its normally rich scent has flattened out and that increased moisture makes the coffee clump together. Then, I dump the old espresso into a coffee filter, brew a pot of joe, and throw the grounds into the compost heap. Plants love spent grounds. Instead of drinking the brew, I use it in cake or brownie recipes that call for espresso or "strong coffee."

While you enjoy your espresso con panna, please enjoy this video.

* Espresso also sets your circulatory and nervous systems into overdrive. In general, one shot contains the punch of two cups of coffee. After a hallucinogenic experience in a "shot-drinking contest" during my Starbucks days (8 shots! too much!) I've become more careful about my espresso intake, saving the shot for dire times or even switching to a good decaf.

Late-night asparagus

Late-night meals in my house usually don't revolve around asparagus. Even after the Wichita farmer's markets have opened in the spring and the only things one can buy are fresh asparagus, dewy blackberries, and blushing strawberries, asparagus is scarce in my home. I know my feelings toward asparagus may make Lynne Rossetto Kasper cry, but it can't be helped.

Perhaps the sparkling, mineral-rich broth asparagus leaves behind after a good steaming alarmed me in my younger days. Maybe the asparagus's awkward place between mini-tree, flower, and wheat stalk leave me unsure of how to eat it. Most of the time, I'm content to leave that vegetable to the other market shoppers.

But tonight, I discovered that asparagus, when paired with a good cheese, is not half-bad. Once again, Fontina saved the day in the Pickle House, with it's creamy, salty and unassuming flavor. Basically, the Fontina, leeks, and cream, formed a support group that encouraged the asparagus to just be itself.

This quiche came together easily, as quiches with pan-press crusts do, and required only some minor sauteing before you bake-it-and-forget-it. C'est parfait paired with some tinned tomatoes and a cool, rainy evening.

Asparagus and leek quiche with Fontina

filling

• 1 leek, cut into thin, thin slices
• 1 tb. butter
• 3/4 pound asparagus, with the tough bits of stalk removed, cut into pieces the size of a thumb print
• 4 large eggs
• 1/2 cup whole milk
• 1/4 cup cream
• pinch each of sea salt and nutmeg
• 1 cup shredded Fontina cheese

crust

• 1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
• 1/4 cup olive oil
• 1/4 cup cold milk
• pinch salt
• 1 tsp. sugar

First, preheat your oven to 350 degrees.

Next, prepare the pie crust. Mix together your flour, salt, sugar, and perhaps a pinch of dried oregano. Add the olive oil and milk at the same time, and mix the wet and dry ingredients by lightly "fluffing" with a fork. Form the dough into a ball, handling as little as possible, and place the dough in the center of a 9" pie plate.

Smoosh and spread the dough across the bottom and up the sides of the pie plate, taking care to keep the dough no thicker than about 1/4" in any place. Crimp the dough on the sides of the plate with your fingers, then prick four or five sets of air holes into the bottom of the dough with a fork. Set aside the dough.

In a small saute pan, melt the butter over medium heat and toss in the asparagus and leeks. Cook the vegetables for 6-8 minutes, just until the vegetables are tender through. Turn off the burner and let the veggies sit while you prepare the filling.

Whisk together the eggs, milk, cream, salt, and nutmeg, then stir in the Fontina cheese and cooked vegetables. Pour the mixture slowly into the pie crust to avoid egg-tastic spills. Place the quiche on a cookie sheet and bake for 40-45 minutes at 350 degrees in on the center oven rack. You'll know the quiche is done when its center has a matte finish and the crust is golden brown.

Serves 6. I've been pairing the quiche with marinated tomatoes, toasted pine nuts, green salads, and/or avocado slices. My husband, who is not usually a quiche guy, say's he'd pay "in upwards of $7" for this dish. That's not bad in Kansas dollars.