S-A-T.U.R-D.A.Y

Wow. I feel like a waste of time today. I'm okay with that. It's almost 8 p.m, and Joe & I have just gotten up from an afternoon nap. I need to be cleaning the apartment.

The wine with lunch was not a good idea, especially not after the later-than-usual night I had. My head is killing me.

Yesterday afternoon, I went over to a friends for an afternoon of baking and an evening of watching a Korean drama called Coffee Prince. It's adorable. You can find the whole thing subtitled online. I recommend it.

We had a great time chatting & watching the adorable couples, but we also finally got around to making chocolate babka. I found the recipe for the Jewish sweet bread, filled with chocolate & cinnamon, on Smitten Kitchen at the beginning of the year. The ingredient list is intimidating, so I wanted to wait until we had the time to make it together (and the cash for 2.25 pounds of chocolate, six sticks of butter and two bags of flour). It's one of the best recipes I've ever used, with everything working out perfectly. I've had lots of luck with Smitten Kitchen, & I promise you would too.

We ate the babka for dessert. We ate it for breakfast. We still have 3.5 loaves. ITS SO MUCH CHOCOLATE BREAD. I'm not really complaining.

I'm trying to start eating less desserts. This year, I've used the "We only like [in France] once, so enjoy it while you can" philosophy. My clothes still fit, so apparently it worked okay. I have noticed, though, that I'm more dependent on sugar-based energy & my overall energy levels have dropped.

After a night with Lauren, I came home to get ready for an end of the year "spectacle" at the elementary school where Joe works Monday-Thursday. He was leading them in some English singing, which was by far the most adorable thing I've seen this year.

Some of the songs played during the other classes' skits where, well, less adorable–ranging from the Beastie Boys & Rage against the Machine to some songs with language I'm not even comfortable typing out. I guess what they don't understand can't hurt them?

From his Friday school, Joe got a year-end thank you gift that I am helping him enjoy: a box of Nancy macarons. Ingredients: egg whites, sugar, almond powder. If you haven't guessed, macarons are by far my favorite French recipe, & they have a unique history here in Nancy.

The recipe for their crispy, delicate outer shell (where crushed almonds replace flour) originated here. The "Trois Soeurs" created the cookie to fit the diet they followed at the convent. A small Nancy-focused shop called Trois Soeurs has kept the tradition alive, making the original macaron cookie without sandwiching them.

In other news, Joe & I watched It Might Get Loud, a music documentary with Jack White, the Edge and Jimmy Page. I recommend it (after you watch Coffee Prince). After watching Jimmy Page playing the mandolin in his backyard, I've been searching for a cheap mandolin to learn on. I've spent this whole year feeling like I need some music in my life. I mean, I'd even a ukulele (since there are loads of options for about $40!!), though Joe says I'd only be able to play Hawaiian-sounding music and would quickly drive myself crazy.

I think the tiny-guitar route would drive both of us less crazy than the original plan, which was to have Joe start teaching me the guitar. Confession: I know this is shocking, but I'm not a patient person. I'm not good at NOT being good at something, and I'm not good at asking for help. Something tells me this combination of personality traits & having Joe as my would not be good for our marriage...

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muffins to ease the sadness

Bluck. The weather yesterday was absolutely terrible, and I'll be honest. I taught for an hour. The rest of the day was spent cleaning or sitting in bed reading "The Memory Keeper's Daughter", which has not been a pleasurable read. That with the rain cast a dark cloud over our apartment that no rainbow could peak through. The muffins I made perked me up a bit, but now I'm still sitting around asking Joe questions. Are we okay? When will we have children? How do you make sure your child is okay? Will you, if our child isn't "okay", give them to the nurse and tell her to take it away and then tell me that the baby died? (Sorry. I just spoiled the first 30 pages. No worries, there are 500 more to go.)

I'm a worrier. Books like this increase the worry and decrease the honeymoon happiness that usually floats around our apartment. Not good. Our apartment isn't big enough for the two of us and a bad mood. Today though, I put extra blame on the weather. Even Joe seemed to be under the same Eeyore cloud I'd found, sitting in his usual spot near the window clicking through articles and not willing to do much. We ate a quite dinner, read quietly and went to bed early. (Even Joe was asleep well before midnight.)

I made a big to-do list for today, trying to set myself up for two months of productivity now that classes are ending. To start: breakfast. Choco-coconut-strawberry muffins & strawberries with kiwi slices. Here is my first draft of the muffin recipe, though they're a bit lumpy and the batter is rather dry. I'm not sure how I want to adjust that. Regardless, they're moist enough and pretty tasty. (Plus dry batter is way easier to eat with your fingers.)

3/4 c sliced strawberries (that you then mash with a potato masher)
3/4 c sugar (less if it's raw or course sugar)
1/3 c melted butter, which is about 3 tablespoons
2 c flour
3/4 teaspoon each f baking soda & baking powder
1/2 teaspoon of salt
1/2 c coconut flakes (or here, coconut powdery stuff)

Mix the first three ingredients, then add in the rest and stir (or fold, since it's so dry) until well combined. Throw in 3/4 c (oh, what the heck, a big cup) of your favorite kind of chocolate all chopped up. I used dark, as always. There was a huge sale on it this week–five bars for three dollars. They're gone now. Maybe less of a bargain and more of a way to ruin your ab routine. Bake them at 375F (190C) for about 20 minutes. Eat while warm, or don't even bake them and eat the batter with a spoon. There's no egg, so no worry!

I think the end of classes is having a bigger emotional impact on me than I expected. Saying goodbye to a law class that I'd had for both semesters, I got teary eyed. It doesn't take much for me to cry, but thinking about my students, who I'd come to know so well & understand how to work with, facing intimidating professors in an even more intimidating university system switched me into big sister mode. I wanted to protect them, to do more for them. I wanted to stay with them and remind them that a bad grade isn't the end of your ability. It's just an adjustment: You have to relearn how to read the figures. You have to figure out what the grades really mean and what you can really expect–what they really expect from you.

They're all capable. I want to sit on their shoulders and whisper that to them. I want them to stick with it and use their law degrees to change the world in ways I know they can. I've heard their ideas–from human rights policy reform to adjusting hiring practices to limit race and gender discrimination in the workplace. These are the moments they need to remember–when they sat in a group of four and forced themselves to use vocabulary they barely knew to create original ideas about what law should be.

I'm leaving them. Toward the end of class, when they started getting excited and loud, I reminded them that they only had 20 more minutes to deal with me. Twenty minutes, then they wouldn't even have to think of me being on the same continent. I was startled by how much that statement affected me. I'm leaving them, and in a way it feels like abandonment. Like I'm failing them. Like they could, in some way, need me.

Then I remind myself that of the 30 professors I worked with during college, I remember four our five–or I remember names, but not their course. They have years left for the real professors, the mentors and the ones that matter, to step in & push the crazy, married American girl to the back of their minds like that one class I took on world civilizations that only met once a month. Who was that guy again?

I'll miss teaching. I'll miss walking into that hot room & shouting for them to be quiet. I'll miss fearing that they'll one day ask a question I can't answer. I'll miss them assuming that I don't speak French. I'll miss being inspired by them to make myself into a teacher I'd never imagined–never thought I wanted–myself to be. We did a lot of learning together.

having an epiphany

The celebration of Epiphany is celebrated in many countries across Europe and around the world; however, France has their own unique traditions in the celebration of Epiphany.
-source

Epiphany is the time in early January (exact date varies depending on the country) when the arrival of the three magi is celebrated. The real epiphany comes from the magi's (and the world's) realization that the Lord was in human form.

I've been gearing up for this one–it was part of the Advent excitement. According to the same site, "Epiphany has been celebrated through much of the world since the 4th century."* But for the main part of the celebration, the "galette des rois" (similar King cake).

In the King cake version, eaten on Mardi Gras, a naked baby statue is hidden inside (creep town), tying the cakes together, back to the same tradition: a celebration of the Lord taking human form (only to be eaten by a child that then wears a paper crown & "rules" for the year).

Joe & I have been cheating. We've mentioned our favorite pastry here in France, pithivier (puff pastry filled with frangipane). We've eaten a good amount of them. In the south of France, the cake takes on a more brioche texture and is filled with... some sort of fruit filling? Not clear on this. Not yet sad to say that I'm missing it. Luckily for us, the King cake common in northern France is very similar–flaky pastry with frangipane filling. The only difference? The shape... and one special ingredient. A small, ceramic figure.

Though originally a broad bean was hidden inside*, France has upped the ante. Now, all the pastry shops you pass have "Collect them ALL!" signs. Every cake has a ceramic figure inside (multicolored cats, Tour de France bikers, fish of all kinds). Every cake ranges from seven to 15 euros. Collecting them all, for a set of 8 and assuming you get a different surprise in each cake, could cost 120 euros, roughly $160.

We won't be collecting. We will be satisfied with our two free slices, courtesy of a teacher Joe works with. And, surprise surprise, Joe found a small, ceramic penguin in his slice that reminds him, "Partégeons la Planète!" (Let's protect the planet!)  I had the chance to meet the teacher at a Christmas open house at the school, where Joe spent an hour surrounded by students excited to shout in English. (I got their approval, so the night was a success.) Included with our two slices was her recipe for the cake.

Hopefully, I'll try that this week. More hopefully, it will be a bigger success than the naan I tried to make that turned out like breadsticks. (We ate baguette with our cauliflower curry tonight.) We washed the cake down with some chai, made with this (never home)maker chai recipe. I strongly recommend it. I also strongly recommend adding a teaspoon of cocoa, but let it steep a looong time.

You can learn more about the celebration & symbols of Epiphany here. Or even if you don't want to celebrate and just want some cake, check out this link for recipes from several cultures.

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when you realize you're where you want to be

I didn't get much done yesterday in terms of a conventional to-do list, but I went to sleep feeling the most accomplished I have in a long time.

The day's main event started at 2 p.m. & ended at around 9 p.m, when Joe & I put our dinner dishes in the sink. The sink was crowded & completely surrounded by clean dishes. Our sponge had been destroyed earlier in the day, when I scrubbed out four bowls of melted chocolate, chocolate ganache & cocoa powder.

Our friend Lauren had come over, & we'd set ourselves to baking. All day. Perfect. We each have a huge heart for everything that happens in the kitchen, & we were excited to share the goodies we were each making.

Much of our work involved melting, letting things set & waiting. This means that, while eating chocolate ganache with a spoon, we were able to watch multiple episodes of MXC (just watch). Joe was happy: he got to lick spoons, drink lots of tea with condensed milk (DELICIOUS) & watch amazing Japanese television with American voice-overs.

Yesterday, I made a promise: I will never take my kitchen equipment for granted again.

We don't have a mixer. Actually, I don't even have mixing bowls–or a spatula. I don't know how I missed these facts when I invited Lauren over, but at least she was able to bring a spatula. I mixed my cookies by hand, first taking ten minutes to "whip" the butter with a fork. While mixing it in a brownie pan.

But it felt really great–like I was really starting to understand the ingredients & what it takes to work with them or change their properties. It was like a chemistry experiment, & it was really fun.

More importantly (for those reading that know me or will see me any time soon), it all turned out well & I'm ready to share. I ate too much ganache yesterday that I don't want to see it again for a loooong time.

So here's what we made:

From top left, clockwise:
Punitions, a traditional sablé French cookie (simple recipe & five ingredients)
Mom's fudge recipe (sharing: fudge–yes, recipe–no)
Lauren's cappuccino cookies
Lauren's cracker toffee

This cracker toffee is genius. Line a baking sheet with parchment. Then like it with crackers–like saltines or rectangular butter crackers. Make a caramel sauce (butter & brown sugar). Pour over crackers. Bake. Dump chocolate chunks on top. Bake until the chocolate melts & covers it. (Obviously, I'm missing the specifics that make this recipe work well. I don't have it yet, & I don't know if she'd want me to share it.)

This was all easy enough. I've made a fair amount of cookies in my day, & the fudge was doing all the work on its own in the fridge. Most of the day was dedicated to truffles.

I don't have pictures of them, because they look so much better on Smitten Kitchen's web site, where I found the recipe.

Then, it was time to make dinner. Joe went off on a beer-buying adventure (as we've found a place close to us that will match your beer choice to any food you're making). He came home with two organic beers in huge bottles, & we set to drinking them–until one exploded on the uncorking & poured all over. I let Joe drink most of that one.

What Joe loves most with beer–well, what Joe loves most in his belly–is pizza. Now that I've found yest & an oven, we're going to be making a lot of them. First one last night: broccoli, peppers, goat cheese & garlic. Today for lunch (to use the other half of the dough): crème fraiche (a popular topping here & thicker than our sour cream), avocado, tomato.

We also need to figure out what we'll be eating for the holidays, because tonight we pack for our day of dogsitting!

While eating pizza last night, I was exhausted. I was starting to stress about the other things that I didn't get accomplished yesterday. Then I realized–I didn't care. Not really. I'd had a day with a friend, with a great husband, with lots of chocolate. I'd gotten my hands going on four different recipes. I was starting new family traditions. I successfully made two French recipes. I was completely contented.

I need to take note of that feeling more often.

Off to conquer the world again, in the French style.

bagels + 200 posts

I don't know how we got here, but this is post #202! That's cause for celebration. Thanks for reading, & I'm excited to see what the next 200 posts brings. (The end of our time in France? Exciting news about graduate school? The next big step of our married life?)

I'm also celebrating the return of my good mood. I've been a major black cloud the past few days, & last night at about 10 p.m. I knew that I could fix it. I busted out the bagel recipe I'd found & set myself to work while Joe & I watched a movie.

Our oven is small. I don't have malt syrup, so I was substituting sugar.  I accidentally added two tablespoons instead of two teaspoons of it. My warm water wasn't as warm as it needed to be. All in all, things weren't starting out well.

But when I started kneading the dough, I felt myself return to that calm, centered side of myself–the side that has made some tough decisions & come out largely unscathed, the side that I used to rely on more than I have been lately, the side that overcomes things & stops crying about it.

I will never have a successful food blog. I will never write a cookbook. I will never have the top food pictures on flickr. But when did this become what all baking discussions were about? I've learned to stop judging myself by the success of others.

My bagels came out well enough. The outside is basically the same texture as the inside, but that's really the only disappointment. The yeast was able to eat most of that sugar, so they don't taste too sweet. And I did it for myself.

For me, this is what baking is about. The return to the heart of the home & the tradition of making food for family & for the people you care about. There were no processed ingredients, no preservatives, no glosses or waxes or chemicals. There were ingredients that have been on this earth for centuries. I love this feeling–the transformation of five main ingredients into a warm breakfast (or midnight snack warm from the oven).

It. felt. so. good. I was reminded of my mom making cinnamon rolls, my cousins fighting over the best rolls at my grandma's house, my time at the café, late nights in my rental house during  college (making even less healthy snacks); I had a chance to think of the families before ours, going way back, that did the same thing & the memories it brought to their mind. I felt like I was back in my own mind, finally out from under that horrible cloud.

**uploader isn't working, so click over to my tumblr for a picture**

Now, it's time to eat these bagels for breakfast. My perfect bagel? Sesame or everything. Toasted well (so the outside becomes crisp but your bite cracks into a soft interior). Peanut butter & cinnamon. Eat the halves separately, not stacked together. Maybe even some honey. I used to always include a banana, but Joe & I got scared off of them with the whole deforestation thing... But we have awkward French peanut butter!

Nancy, France has two Canadian bagel locations, & I was nervous to try them. I spent the last four years of my life as a barista in a café that made its own bagels, using the owner's family recipe. I didn't want someone ruining my bagels–crispy outside with a soft, resilient inside. Then, one of my French professors who has a knack for finding really good news articles sent me a link to this piece. 

What was decided: Montreal bagels are better in flavor, texture & tradition. One New York food critic had this to say:

New York bagels used to be artisanal, too, as in made mostly by hand by people who knew what they were doing.

 I agree–not necessarily about bagels, but about most things. For me, part of baking is returning to that tradition.

What food traditions do you hold to most strongly?

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goat. cheese. cake.

I'm starting on my Christmas break to-do list, which will now include a TON of baking & cooking because...
     1. We have an oven & a boat load of spices.
     2. I bought a French cookbook with Christmas money. (Forgot to
     picture that one, Mom & Dad!)
     3. We have every spice imaginable.

For dinner last night with our dear Metz-dwelling friends before they head back to the States, I wanted to try out a special recipe. They were incredibly generous & gave us, along with a world of spices & miscellaneous kitchen supplies, their small oven. The "purpose" of their visit was to give us all of the things still cluttering their apartment & give them a special, hopefully relaxing, night of relaxation, snacks & euchre.

Lauren & Michael will be back to the State before Christmas, which they're excited about after nearly two years in France. After the holidays, they'll be moving to St. Louis... so it was really exciting to share our (limited) knowledge of the city where Joe spent two years & I spent a summer (& lots of great weekends) while he finished graduate school. 

So we had lots to celebrate: the holidays, our growing friendship, Michael's new job, the next step in their honeymoon years of marriage. We decided on our favorite foods–ratatouille & smoked salmon spread with creamy cheese & capers–& an adventurous dessert. Okay, there was also a bonus dessert. Lauren introduced us to these murderous brownies.

I was introduced to tourteau fromagé  (goat cheesecake) on their blog & was baffled by its blackened crust & dome-like shape. This blog has great pictures of goat cheeses & an explanation of the very French version of the American favorite, cheesecake. Unfortunately, I don't have a pan small enough to make it as puffy. Fortunately, the oven they've given us was able to scorch the top out of that tourteau!

The celebrations looked something like this: the finished cheesecake; Joe's innovative way to stiffen egg whites without a mixer; snowflakes made by Lauren; our new furniture and living area, courtesy of Lauren & Michael.

So here we go. My first ORIGINAL recipe, a mix of several I found in French & am converting to ingredients/measurements that should work for you back in the U.S. or wherever you happen to me.


Ingredients for Crust
2 cups flour
one cup of room temperature, unsalted butter
pinch of salt

Sift the flour and salt. Cut the butter into the flour until you have pea-sized pieces. Add a splash of water and fold it into the dough until you get a slightly tacky dough. Add more water as needed, without letting it become elastic or sticky. Refrigerate for two hours. Grease pie pan, press dough into pan and return to fridge while preparing the cheese filling.

Resist the urge to use a spring-form pan. Use a pie pan.

To start, preheat oven to 375 degrees F. Move the oven rack as close to the top as possible with the pie pan. Trust me.

Ingredients for Cheese Filling
1.5 logs of soft goat cheese–the kind without the rind, or 2 of those with the rind (cut the rind off)
3/4 cup sugar
1/2 cup flour
6 eggs, separated
2 ounces milk
teaspoon vanilla

Cut goat cheese into small pieces. Mix cheese, milk and 1/4 cup sugar until an even consistency is achieved. Mix in egg yolks one at a time. Add in flour and vanilla. In separate GLASS bowl, beat egg whites and remaining sugar until stiffened. Carefully fold into cheese mixture. Pour into pie crust.


This part is important. Put pie into oven until the cheese develops an even, black BLACK layer on the top. Move the pie and rack to the middle of the oven & bake for 35 minutes.

Kitchen at Camont describes the cake as light, with a texture like angels' food. Mine, which is a mix of several recipes & methods, came out more like a custard. I think this is because of the hand-mixed egg whites & the difference in cheeses. Camont used fresh goat cheese, while we used the logs. Regardless, the light custard with the snap of goat cheese flavor is delicious.

fall break goal 2: new recipes

Today, I'm taking a break from social media (with the exception of this blog post) & e-mail writing to focus on my graduate school applications. So close! I'm also doing day two of the One Hundred Push Ups challenge, which I've now challenged Joe & my sister to join in on... we'll see what happens.

As I mentioned in my previous post with the new pasta recipe, I'm really trying to teach myself some new recipes.

I'm a nervous person. I get anxious, stressed & over-worked on a regular basis. I create to-do lists, goal lists, grocery lists & lists of lists. I'm so good at list-writing that I tend to make them too long, stressing me out before the day has even begun.

To balance out the frightening, heavy things on my to-do lists, I give myself baking & reading breaks. Pouring myself into a story or pushing my hands through the dough of a recipe work to calm me down like nothing else can. So when I'm frustrated with reading in French, I get more frustrated that I can't bake anything. I curse our two hotplates.

I've been looking for new ways to calm myself down–yoga, 100 push ups, knitting. So far, I got too busy for yoga & didn't want to spend the money on yarn. I'm failing at keeping myself calm. I knew that nothing was going to replace my traditional meditative activities, so I've been researching dessert recipes & even knew meal recipes (though making desserts & treats for people is the best feeling to help me lower my stress level). Here enters recipe number two of our fall break: pain perdu, or French-style French toast.

Pain perdu literally translates to "lost bread." French bread has no preservatives, so after a day without eating a baguette, you've made yourself a nice doorstop. To use the old bread, the dip it in vanilla-infused sugar, milk & eggs. Sound familiar? It's similar to our French toast, but that recipe is traditionally Spanish*. You guessed it. If it says "French," it's probably not. (Like French fries, but who would want to say "Belgian fries"* and lost the nice alliteration?)

This is the recipe I used. It's in French, but it's simple: 1/2 liter of milk, 2 eggs, 50 g of sugar + 2 packets of vanilla sugar (or 60 g of sugar + 1 tsp vanilla), 6 chunks of old, thick bread, 100 g of butter. You know what to do from here.

Now, I don't even pretend to understand how much a gram of anything is. I do know that I make a mean batch of French toast, so I cut the proportions in half, because 1/2 a liter is way too much for six pieces of bread! I just guessed until it look about right.

Similar to the milk, you're looking at a lot of butter.

A lot.

Do not be alarmed. It is France. You've watched Julia Child. You knew this was coming. Cut the butter back, but make sure you've left enough to leave a decent layer in the bottom of the pan so that these soggy chunks of sugary, milky flour are really frying.

Joe was still asleep when I turned on the coffee maker & dropped in the first slices of bread. I wasn't sure what to expect, but I'm hoping the sweet butter scent mixed with the coffee that wafted up at me made the early morning wake up pleasant. I know that it was pleasant for me.

People tell you this, but you don't believe it until you really do it for yourself: everything cooks better with real butter. Everything. Joe & I have been cooking with a lot of butter lately, because it's easy to find fresh, inexpensive & unsalted, unplayed-with butter here. The creamy, sweet flavor & golden brown coating it gives foods is unparalleled.

I bring this up, because I hate the debate about which is better for you: margarine or butter? While it's true that margarine has no cholesterol*, it also true that most margarines have a long list of ingredients that aren't found in nature.

I wish I could find links to the studies I've read that support this, but stay with me for a minute. It's touched on here. The problem with these miracle, low-calorie, zero-carb replacements filling the shelves is that their put through long chemical processes to get that way. We haven't had time to study what these products do to the human body. Our body is working on them in some way, but if it's not burning calories to turn them into energy, then is it storing them? Can they be converted into energy, since calories are how we measure a food's energy potential?

This is all I'm saying for now: Look at the perception we have of French obesity rates versus American obesity rates. Look at the prevalence of fast food in each culture. There is a lot to be said for focusing on moderation & natural foods with shorter, comprehensible ingredient lists instead of opting for the trendy packaging that says, "Don't you look smart? This candy has no sugar & no carbs!"

Remember: Those frozen TV dinners were once fashionable, too.

pithiviers

 Joe & I had a pretty strong list of goals when we arrived here. We've been slowly ticking away at them. For Joe, one of these goals was to become a regular at our neighborhood's boulangerie/patisserie where we buy our baguettes everyday (except Mondays, when their closed and we are very sad).

We were expecting this to take much longer than it did. Joe has a very set routine. Each afternoon, he walks in, waits in line, asks for une baguette and checks out the pithiviers, a traditionally round puff-pastry filled with savory (think tarragon-type flavors, meats or goat cheese) or sweet–this is definitely sweet! If they're fresh–one day he was lucky enough to walk in as they were bringing out a tray from the oven–he buys one. Later, we share it and guess the ingredients.

If he doesn't have to wait in line, if he is the lone customer in the store, he takes a stab at French small talk. One woman, an older, kinder woman than the other employees we've met, had a brief conversation with him. He explained that he's an American, new to town, and that in the States, pithiviers n'existe pas. And what a sad story that is!

We were first attracted to the pastry for the glossy, sugary top and, we admit it, the bright green sprinkles. With the first pithiviers, we fell in love. The traditional pastry exterior holds an indescribably delicious, crumbling interior. It's why we keep going back to the pastry. We couldn't quite put our finger on it–of course lots of butter and sugar to give it the texture, but what? Almond? Alcohol? 

One of our friends who hopes to sign up for some baking classes with me gave us the missing piece, rum. The buttery, warm flavor is characteristic of frangipane, a crumbly-type filling with an almond flavor. Lots of times in frangipane, they use fruit liquors to give that flavor. So we were both right: almond and alcohol.

Now, I just need to find the perfect recipe and get out of this two-hotplate apartment so we can really start figuring them out. The States needs pithiviers!

Our love for the pastry was increased ten-fold when Joe went into to buy one pithiviers and came out with two. The second was a bit sad, a bit slight on the sprinkles and crumbling at the edges. He was being rejected, and the woman Joe has spoken with knew he would appreciate the gift. She slipped the second pithiviers into his sack with a slight "our secret" smile.

I could barely wait to get home to devour them. Joe couldn't get over his success: after only three weeks of regular visits, he had achieved his Regular status! We were trying not to get too excited. Maybe it was a fluke. Maybe we just got lucky... and then it happened again!

After spending the day at activities dedicated to new Nanciennes, which apparently is a bit of a French tradition, we were finally heading home. We popped in to buy bread for dinner, and the woman asked, "Oh, no pithiviers?" We laughed together, and then she pulled out one of the little sacks they drop their pastries into when you buy them.

"It broke," she said with the same shared-secret smile. So it's true: Joe's a regular, and he's scoring free pastries like what. If this were NBA Jam, he would be in fire! This can't be good for my waistline. Good thing I brought lots of stretchy leggings.

While we've fallen into a rut with our pastry selection, we've been trying a lot of other new, fun foods. Here are two from the weekend, quail eggs (popular here) and strong ginger beer (ginger ale). The difference between ginger beer and previous ginger ales is the ingredient list. Old Jamaica ginger beer with fiery Jamaican ginger root (made in the Netherlands to defy all logic) contains carbonated water, sugar (real sugar), ginger root and aromatics. It packs a bit of a punch, too. Joe & I split one because we knew we wouldn't make it all the way through a ginger beer.

We've also found some new, local beers. La Stan is named for Stanislas, the Polish guy who ruled here for a bit (we'll get to Nancy history in another post). They make a pretty decent abbaye and blonde, but more importantly they have lovely labels.

8: busy, but enjoying it (change)

Yesterday was an incredibly busy day. And I loved every minute of it. I was running around the house–in the kitchen, chasing Baby around the bedroom and relaxation in the TV room...

My sister and I have started doing yoga together, with a video that I just got (and is the best I've seen so far). We tried Jillian's yoga, which is not yoga and is actually terrible and miserable and made me like her less. So Chloe and I spend 40 minutes a day with Rodney Yee, a professional ballet dancer, on the TV and stretch across the floor. We look silly. We laugh. We relax. We feel better.

A lot of things made me feel better yesterday, actually. Like spending four hours scraping old caulk from windows with my dad and fiancé. Like making iced red tea with raw sugar. Like cleaning up the whole kitchen and chugging a glass of freshly filtered water. Like being home while Joe went back to work and making tons of food to surprise him.

We've talked about this. I don't like the idea of the expectations put on women–to provide the home life. I want it 50/50. And it is. We both love coming home to the other's surprises, whether its him making me green beans or me cleaning his apartment. Or in the case of today, it was me making Garlicky White Bean Crostini. (I forget where this recipe comes from.)

I put together our food processor, which always reminds me of the Silver Monkey. Then, I tossed this inside:
1 15-oz can of Cannellini (white kidney) beans
2-4 garlic cloves
3 tablespoons lemon juice
1 tablespoon olive oil
1/4 teaspoon sea salt + 1/4 teaspoon pepper
2 teaspoons fresh basil, chopped (my homegrown basil, I might add)

I pulsed this until it was a chunky mixture, then I tossed it in the fridge. It will be put on top of thinly sliced, lightly toasted baguette (hence the "crostini").

Joe and I love finding recipes with beans, since neither of us enjoy eating meat really. Ok, we enjoy it but we don't trust it. This is my soap box and I will stand on it firmly. So beans are a big source of our protein, healthy fats, fiber and fullness. This is a new recipe for us. I suggest adding a little spice, since the white kidneys are a bit bland... maybe oregano to bring a more Italian flavor or cumin for a smoky spice. (I would put cumin on absolutely everything if people let me.)

A million e-mails and wedding details got sorted out... and I'm fighting the urge to decorate the shelter we will have our rehearsal dinner at. I saw a great spread on Design*Sponge (something I stare at too frequently), and I'd love to have a similar casual feel. We'll be at a park, surrounded by playgrounds and ball diamonds, so it would work out nicely. We just don't want to invest the money, but part of me is saying, "So what? Have some fun with it." We'll see. For now, I'll just get back to finishing the place cards and thank-you card early addressing. (Again, we're so so efficient.)

34: a night in the kitchen

To celebrate July 4, my parents went for a visit to one of Mom's sisters. To celebrate our parents being out of the house, my sister and I pulled out a cookbook I got at my bridal shower and went to town.

Joe's Aunt Paula and I frequently discuss our eating habits, our reasons for vegetarianism, and our attempts at feeding ourselves, so it was no surprise that her bridal shower gift would put us in the kitchen. Her gift, Deceptively Delicious, (+ Honey Moon beer among other things–yum) is a cookbook that adds vegetable (or fruit) purees to each of its recipes, ranging from mac & cheese to doughnuts. The goal is to trick unsuspecting children into eating their vegetables.

There are tons of comfort foods and traditionally frozen, processed foods in this cookbook. I love the idea of bringing these recipes home, making them yourself and adding a bit of health to them. And what better person to test it on than my sister, who would subsist on meat and potatoes alone (literally, maybe some cheese added in) if we let her?

So we sat down and picked out our recipes: chicken nuggets (with broccoli puree), mozzarella sticks (with cauliflower puree), doughnuts and coffee cake (each with butternut squash puree).

Things were going well until the cauliflower starting steaming. The stench spread throughout the kitchen, and I can't blame Chloe for being a bit nervous. She got a bit more nervous when it came time to fry up the chicken nuggets (conveniently made with pre-cooked, pre-cut fake chicken strips). They were dipped in a mix of egg and broccoli puree.

"You can take that one," Chloe said. It was a bit more green than the others, a bit lumpy–signs of extra vegetable clinging to the thin chicken strip. I agreed to eat the lumpier nuggets.

But when it came time to eat, we both forgot about the vegetables and gorged ourselves on homemade, fried deliciousness.

The nuggets turned out great. They were golden, warm, popping in the pan and so good we burnt ourselves trying to eat them too quickly. Our technique needs a bit of work. Some of the nuggets did look a bit too green (though the flavor was great), and some were a bit naked.

The technique for the mozzarella sticks definitely needs to be adapted too... but again, with no change to flavor. These were Chloe's favorite part of the night; I'm trying to decide what I liked best. This recipe frustrated us the most, because the cookbook was definitely lying. Cook in 1 T oil? To get them golden brown and perfectly fried like in the picture? I'm calling bullshit on that one. That picture was deep, deep fried. But we tried to stick as close to 1 T as possible, adding a bit when the pan seemed too dry.

We froze for more than 20 minutes, but looking back I may leave them even longer... and let the cheese mix set a bit before rolling them in bread crumbs. Moral of the story: if you follow this recipe exactly, you'll have mediocre-looking cheese sticks that fall apart on you (as seen above), but you will eat them in less than five minutes anyway because they are delish.

So our dinner had been made. Chloe had mixed up homemade pizza sauce to dip our yummies in, and the sauce and cheese sticks were put into our margarita glasses (genius, Chloe!). We sat down to enjoy our picnic while watching Fried Green Tomatoes–a favorite movie and food of mine and a perfect match to our fried dinner.

Then it was back to the kitchen for another our hour of baking... then an hour of MASSIVE cleanup. The hardest part of the night? Deciding whether we liked the dougnuts or the coffee cake better, which resulted in stomach aches from eating too much batter. (So much that we got frustrated with spatulas and switched to spoons.)

I mean, look at that perfection. Both breakfast treats are flavored with butternut squash (a small change we made), cinnamon and brown sugar. They seem very fall-ish, but these doughnuts are so light and airy (just like the cookbook says) that they're easily eaten year-round. They'll be a great, light breakfast tomorrow before heading to Put in Bay for a day of family escapism.

(photo credit: Chloe)

As for this morning, it's time to get going. We're cooking up some eggs and sausage to have with the coffee cake, which is so heavy and so full in the pan that we thought it would explode in the oven.

55

 Yesterday was full of activity around the house, from early morning Spring cleaning to late evening exercise-biking. I documented a few parts of the day to share here.

Chloe and I got mini M&Ms and make cookies. They are, by far, the best cookies I have made in a very long time. It was humid, so we refrigerated the dough between batches. They were perfect little circles of happiness.

Look at those lil' chips.

What's that? That's me kicking some serious ass on my vest. I've learned a few things about sewing.

1. If you put less pins in and don't try to make it exactly perfect with pins, when you sew and guide the fabric, it all works in. We all come out okay.
2. Stay stitching give the fabric structure but is never seen. It's never backstitched for extra permanence, but it holds it's own. There's a lot in that to be tapped into. Symbolism for another day.
3. Pattern sizes run small. Like wedding dresses. This should not depress you or make you want to jump on the scale.
4. You cannot sew suit material with the same needle as the lining. Except when you can, like in this case when I forgot to change it and it worked out okay. So I'm not changing the needle, but this can't be a habit. I have to check my needles. Best way to check the needle you need? Read the packages your needles come in. (Seems obvious. It wasn't. I messed that up.)

 I figured I might as well spend the whole day in the kitchen, so I busted out the scrapbooking materials and started work on a friend's birthday present coming up here soon. I haven't seen her in what feels like years, so this will be a little surprise before I get to give her some more surprises on my visit in mid-July. (Hey, Kristen :)

64

All of my children are out in the world, so I've been busying my hands for the day with story-writing and pattern-cutting.

I transplanted my chive today. I threw pebbles in the pot's bottom, threw in the potting soil, topped it with the clump of chive roots and soil that pulled out of its tiny home. I placed them in the middle of their new, larger pot. Right in the middle.

I added a top layer of potting soil and patted it down, covering knobs of white, root-like material at the base of the chive stem. When I knew that the roots were secure, I reached for a watering can and noticed that the chives had wormed their way to the side of the pot. Somehow, in my patting and securing, I'd edged them over.

And that's where they'll stay. I'm hoping they won't be intimidated by the basil they've been reunited with, which has its third set of leaves and is a deep, vibrant green.

When I potted the chives, I poured a small cup of water over them. I took the extra over to my milkweed, which is the height of my forearm. I was excited by how strong the stems are, how resiliant the little plant has become.

I told my mom about the milkweed's strong hold on life while we did dishes, looking out the window and across the backyard to the flowerbed where they live. Without breaking a beat or thinking a second, Mom kept washing a dish and let out a flat, "Yay." I laughed. A weed.

Safflower blooms in July. Its branches are high; its leaves are like thistle with spines. Its taproot can grow in arid soil. Symptoms of a weed, an unwanted, unattractive flower. Spines.

I was on (never home)makers and found a recipe for Nutella pie that I'm excited to make for my family this weekend, while we celebrate the good weather and my long stay at home. I have a big craving for chocolate, so I went to the store today to pick up a few of the ingredients I'm missing, one of them being sunflower oil

I'm from a small town, so I wasn't expecting to find it at any of the groceries. If I had patience, I could check the farmers' market tomorrow. I wasn't. I went to the baking aisle and was surprised to find everything I needed in the size I needed and not too exorbitant prices. I got my sister a frozen coffee and headed for home.

When we got back, I took another look at my supplies. Whole-wheat flour. Safflower oil.

Wait.

Safflower oil?

Yes. Safflower, from a few feet back and with strained eyes, read Sunflower. Now, I am stuck with it. A weed in the kitchen pantry that's not worth returning, which fortunately will work the same as sunflower oil without much change to taste.

two hundred twenty-two

Now that it's three days late, it looks like Christmas outside. There are a few inches of snow, and we're hoping it doesn't slow us down with the wedding planning. Today is our appointment with our cake woman. (What's a better word for that?) With the snow, Dad got a bit nervous about letting us go; it was going to be me, Joe and Mom.

Dad decided that he would drive us, to keep us safe. And if he doesn't get back from work on time to take us, Joe could drive us, to keep us safe. Apparently, this means that neither Mom nor I could drive to Jackson Center safely. Or it just means that women can't drive. Hmm. Joe would say I'm being too sensitive. He may be right.

So, here's what we're thinking so far...

This is really art deco, so minus the people on top I really like it. I think we could incorporate really obvious deco elements, like those found on tops of buildings or doors from the period, to make the top of the cake really pop, which would eliminate the need for a cake topper. Joe and I are not all about the toppers, so that could be cool.

When we saw this cake wrapper, we were sold. I want this design on our cake, but we're just not sure how to work it yet... All over is too much, so maybe just the lower half of a layer or two? Maybe not black and white, but a softer color? maybe have them cut in actual shapes of color instead of just the outlines? Don't know, but I'm very, very excited about it.