1. In 1993 we registered for twelve blue-and-white coffee cups from William-Sonoma. We received a gift box with eleven blue-striped cups and, like an ugly duckling, one with a stripe of green. Green Stripe always sat in the back, used only for a crowd, if we really needed twelve cups – until Josie came along and decided it was special, it was the lucky cup.  The renamed Lucky Green isn’t pictured – he’s busy holding her ice cream, or tea, or hot chocolate. Now he’s a swan.

2.  That is one big Kansas Jayhawks mug. It originally belonged to a friend, a friend who asked me to edit and proofread his dissertation, his 300-page, ten-years-in-the-making, bone-dry military history dissertation. I drank gallons of late-night coffee from that mug, pencil in hand, and when all was said and done he got a PhD – and I got the mug.

3.  Five-Layer Butterscotch. Lemon Angel. Raspberry, Blueberry, Bumbleberry. How do I love thee, Betty’s Pies of Two Harbors, Minnesota? Let me count the slices.

4.  Polly’s Pancake Parlor in Sugar Hill, New Hampshire resides in my pantheon of breakfasts: buckwheat waffles, cob-smoked bacon, bracing coffee and maple sugar, maple butter, maple syrup, maple heaven – all from right down the road.

5.  I’ve had this butterflied mini-mug as long as I can remember, which is – ahem – at least the early 70′s. It held everything from root beer to Lipton tea to coffee nabbed from dad’s bigger mug. Today I don’t think of it as child-sized; it’s espresso-sized.

6.  Oh Maine Diner of Wells, Maine. We were in such a crustacean daze after your meaty lobster rolls and melted butter, we sprung for a mug.

7.  Once upon a time, long ago when Josie was not a supercool 14-year-old, she marched into a glaze-your-own ceramics shop and boldly painted the word DAD. It’s been Greg’s number one mug ever since, enjoying permanent favored status in the front row. The bottom reads Love, Josie – which is code for “break this, and feel bad for life.”

8.  Greg’s brother Stephen and his wife, Swedish-born Moa, live in Stockholm. When Josie was 8 or 9 she fell hard for the charming Moomintroll books by Swedish-Finn author Tove Jansson, and the Scandinavian connection proved especially useful in obtaining cute mugs and other Moomin-shwag.

9.  Are you true to Anne of Green Gables, like me and Josie? If you get misty saying “Marilla’s cordial” and “Gilbert Blythe,” this souvenir is for you. My mom visited Canada’s Prince Edward Island last year and dropped by the real Green Gables, part of author Lucy Maud Montgomery’s Cavendish National Historic Site. I want to go. For now I’ve got a mug.

10.  I spent a good chunk of my childhood collecting penguins, and here’s what it taught me: people might forget your name, but never your collection.  And you will spend the rest of your life thanking said well-meaning people for penguin keychains and figurines and mugs. You can pack it all away and wait for people to forget – but keep out the mugs. They’re darn useful penguins.

11. I may or may not have stolen this cup from a restaurant in Falun, Sweden. I’m sure you’ve never nabbed anything from a restaurant. Have you?

——

That concludes our mug shot. Have a lovely weekend, and tell me – what’s in your cabinet?

And…beer. Did I mention the beer? Like an amber line on the map, beer, serious bier, trailed us all through Bavaria. Beer is somehow beautiful over there; all hefty steins and tradition and frosty hopped-up light. That, or I was just on vacation. Either way me and beer, we’ve not always been friends. As an eager college drinker I’d throw up – Greg’s hair-holding skills sealed our deal – and later, a moderation-minded adult, I’d try excellent “artisan” beers and my nervous stomach would think it ate three loaves of bread. An uneasy truce, at best.

On this trip we traveled with my brother-in-law Stephen and his wife, Moa, a native Swede whose sociable, even-handed beer skills could put most European men to shame. She was happy. Greg and Stephen were deliriously happy. They were all three happy to explore the sudsy maze of cafes, cellars and stubes. And me? Come follow the amber line:

In Salzburg we visit Zum Fidelen Affen, which we thought meant something about a loyal monkey, but a waiter reveals it’s The Funky Monkey. Actually, the waiter says, it’s “funny” monkey, but “I just like to call it funky.”

In this friendly, wood-beamed room I discover the joys of rotwein gespritzt - red wine spritzer – and also free, fresh-baked pretzels. I will find out fast in other places that free pretzels don’t always mean good pretzels – but here they are both free and good. I suddenly feel great loyalty to The Funky Monkey, and resolve to become a great Austrian beer drinker, and get more pretzels.

I overdo it at The Monkey. At Gasthaus Somethingplatz I start ordering bottles of plain wasser, and by late afternoon in Mozartplatz, at a place possibly called Mozartbar, I start drinking peppermint tea. I am traveling, and careful. I am boring, and this annoys me. So I down a tall Pils, get twitchy, and then go back to sipping tea.

In Munich we visit a true temple of bier, the Hofbrauhaus, founded in 1592. Here, servers (some in traditional, half-laced St. Pauli girl-garb) rush liter beer steins, sometimes eight in each hand, to long wooden tables stuffed with locals, tourists, yuppies and grandmas. They eat weisswursts and clink glasses and have a marvelous time. I am about to succumb to the liter – an optimistic move, at best  – when I discover the Radler. Part beer, part lemonade, it’s similar to the English Shandy and a great beer compromise for me, or, as Greg concludes, “a tasty little kid’s beer.” I love the Radler, hoist it with two hands and drink every drop. Greg and Stephen are amused. Now if they only put coffee in beer, I tell them, then you’d see some drinking.

And speaking of drinking, the Hofbrauhaus sees a lot of it. Most don’t get drunk, exactly  – a higher tolerance than weak Americans – but the group right behind us, the big table of young, super-buff Italian guys? They gave their best impression of trying to drink all the beer in Germany.

They got more excitable round after round, yelling toasts and smashing heavy steins together. They broke into drinking songs, pounding beers, fists and cameras on the table, and each time they pounded, the beers jumped. Our table mates were Russian, the rowdy boys were Italian and the old ladies at the next table over were German, tut-tutting the rowdies. It was all very cavernous and beamed, cozy and sloshing. I slurped my Radler, smiled at my husband, read the beer-soaked carved initials lining wood planks. We shared another salty pretzel, smelled amber and lemon and hops, and I let that Bavarian afternoon drift away.

For my part, I spent some time over the year exploring the full landscape of food blogs. I examined them all and eventually came to read success fast, to immediately sniff out where and why a blog had it going on.  Clearly food blog readers throng to sites with recipes, scads of recipes, preferably daily recipes.  It seemed that I should get Simmer to act like a real food blog – as in smile, Simmer, don’t you want everyone to like you?

I attended a huge Chicago-area high school with nearly five thousand students, 1,200 in my graduating class alone.  A place where freshmen might consider popularity for a month, then throw up their hands and do their own thing. You could drown in that ocean or you could shake out your dozen good friends, and share awful pizza in the lunch room, and put your laughing heads together against the crowd.

No, I would not make Simmer dress like a real food blog. It’s crowded, these voice-filled corners on the web. Why be anyone else?  When we tell Josie “be yourself” we mean it, and what’s more she believes it; it seems I should follow and let Simmer grow its own quiet way.

With that I give you the ten top-viewed posts of 2009. Of course numbers don’t tell the whole story; I’d like to think every post has a few friends, cookie bakers, dog lovers, people who don’t mind rambling. Something you enjoyed didn’t make the cut? Wave its flag in the comments and thank you, kind readers, for hanging around another year. You’re a loyal, compassionate bunch of true individuals, and I’m so pleased to share at your table.

1. Retriever Retriever, Pumpkin Eater A staggering number of people tuned into the year’s top post, in which Cleo’s upset stomach leads to pumpkin-brown rice flour biscuits.

2. Upside-Down Tomato Basil Bread In which unlikely sticky-bun logic worked magic on bread and summer tomatoes.

3. Sweet and Low: Caramelized Banana French Toast Josie’s oral surgery, a sweet reason to share this challah-soft treat.

4. French Onion Cider Soup: Take Care Technically from December, 2008, this soup brought warmth home after my father’s funeral, and readers kept it gathering steam all year.

5. Two-Bite Jam Tarts: By Any Other Name Are they tarts, or are they cookies? Munching flaky cream cheese dough and marmalade, it doesn’t really matter.

6. Ginger Peach Pandowdy The tale of one messed-up peach dessert leading to another, plus the word “pandowdy” and how it rings like Kansas.

7. The Secret Life of Oven Mitty I say goodbye to a trusty oven mitt, and kitchen puppetry ensues.

8. Shallot Surprise: Raspberry Basil Caprese The shallot that looked like a mouse, and a surprisingly good salad.

9. The Baker’s Alphabet Words and pictures started way back for baby Josie get completed for an expectant friend.

10. Moms Will Be Moms, But Judy is Forever I was happy to see a not-quite-food-post make the list – a personal favorite, it’s the story of a forbidden book, a drunken divorcee, and Wiener Wraps.

You scrape the bowl like a housewife. In the culinary school bakery, that’s what you heard from Chef – my Chef,  a mentor known for good brioche and painfully dirty French puns – what you heard if you worked slowly, or if you left batter lining the bowl, or if you moved like the cake was for next Christmas. And if that was you, pushing batter at an aimless pace (only me once, Miss Speedy after that) then it would be your back Chef would immediately appear behind. “YOU,” he would announce in loud Franglish, “you scrape the bowl like a HOWZE-WIFE.”

He aimed at both male and female and never explained, just moved to the next unfortunate scraper. But it was clearly an insult, this wifey business, calling you sluggish and semi-pro. You were not quick enough, not efficient enough, your arm might have been reaching for bonbons, you might drop baking altogether and go shopping, you scraped the bowl like a housewife.

I filed that phrase and would hear his words in every working kitchen, chopping fast, prepping hard and scraping every ounce of cookie dough from stainless 12-quart bowls. I would clean all the cake batter from the 20-quarts, and lose my hat peering into 60-quarts to hand-scrape the day’s baguette. Years later I too would have underlings, and if I caught a whiff of whatever or saw idle utensils, I got my chance: Look at you. The way you scrape that bowl, it’s like a housewife.

Most rankled at the scorn, worked faster and got better. Once, after watching a new girl swirl pumpkin bread batter like moisturizer, I said it and she yelled “God I HOPE I do.” This I did not see coming.

“Are you kidding?” She placed the filled bread pans on the oven rack, one by one, letting out all the heat. “Have babies and make brownies and not open a freaking shop at five in the morning? Yes, thanks. Scraping the bowl like a housewife sounds pretty good.”

I told her to shut the oven door and mix muffins.

A few businesses and a thousand bowls later I’m in my home kitchen, the kitchen we carefully planned, every knob and drawer and foot of useful space. The kitchen’s cook, she no longer opens at five; I left restaurants to get some peace but still, I move like the lunch rush. The difference now is that a door needs answering, the dog requires feeding, a daughter needs talking. Sometimes batter waits on the counter. Some days I put the bowl in the fridge and bake later, and at some point I began leaving batter in the bowl, just a few chocolate stripes up the side. I might call loudly to the other room, “I think there’s some batter left,” and Josie will run in and grab it, jump on the counter, swipe it like finger food.

Then I think about Chef, and how he’d unfurl wallet pictures of five kids, and how often he mentioned his wife. He told us stories of his family’s bakery in Provence, how he had learned baguettes from his uncles and croissants from his father. He told us about the cake his mother baked at home, an ugly chocolate affair with a sunken middle and crusty sides. She wrapped him a piece every morning, and when his uncles gave him a break from kneading, he sat on flour sacks in the back and ate cake with his hands.

I imagine they were proud to see him succeed, to work as a great chef and teacher, speeding through perfection and showing us the same. As his student I thought of him that way, wholly efficient, but now I consider his drive home, and remember that we were surprised to hear his wife was the dinner cook, roasting chicken and mashing potatoes, simple things he liked. I think of him pouring a glass of wine and hugging five small children, some at his leg, some in his arms, all hunting for the little cakes and treats I knew he toted home in white bags. And now I think at the end of the day he loved the housewife, and messy hours, and the sly disorder of long, lazy strokes.

This is not new to me, missing the view, especially in the kitchen. Mostly I see cookies through a camera, or sauce on the back of a spoon. I whip meringue peering into a mixer by the second, watching for the right curve to appear on the right shiny peak. Details follow me out of the kitchen, too, as they did last summer when we tripped up to the North Woods for our annual beloved cooling-off. I brought my camera and also an unfortunate new habit, the blogger’s eye, which I turned first on breakfast.

We love to start the day in Lutsen Resort’s rustic dining room. There’s a hearty breakfast buffet, no tepid Sunday brunch but a much-loved, locally fresh, rush-the-table buffet. Now, we are people who drink coffee – for breakfast. We like to eat properly on Sunday, but nothing in our daily routine suggests even toast, let alone heaped plates of cheddar and wild rice eggs, smoked sausage, buttermilk biscuits and peppered rivers of gravy. And because you’re breathing brisk pine air and are certain you’ll hike it off, how about those pastries? Lemon custard squares, cinnamon bear claws, airy chocolate croissants. Wild blueberry danish.

It’s all tremendous – the glittering lake, fresh-baked danish, healthy air and caution to the wind. Feeling good, and a camera near the fork. Why not some pictures for the blog?

So I snapped away while they ate, aiming for special breakfast sunlight on special danish glaze. When Josie saw the pictures she said “Too much close-up or something.”

Too close? “I don’t know, the bacon. You made bacon look…gross?”  She was right. How did the smokiest bacon lose its looks? What’s with that blueberry? I backed the lens off the breakfast.

Out by the lake I tried pondering the horizon but wound up sifting tiny rocks, lake treasure. Cold waves rushed my feet and I tumbled sandy jasper, granite and maybe-agates through my hands. I brought the camera.

Further down the shore Greg and Josie were skipping rocks, the same rocks. Like shell seekers, the three of us like to wander the lake beach, sometimes separate, sometimes in all directions, somehow together. This time I sat in the sand, and told them I’d catch up.

I played with my camera, closer and closer to the rocks, mesmerized by green stripes and egg shapes and fossil dings.

Just around the time I found the zoom could capture jean fibers, I looked over, and up.

My husband loves to skip rocks. Lake Superior rock-skipping is art and sport, a thousand smooth chances to both relax and get it right. For a man who uses his brain all day – or perhaps precisely because of it – Greg is surprisingly devoted to throwing rocks into water. He’s as good at this no-brainer as it is good for him, nothing but bounces over waves. “Five,” he’ll say, “did you see that? Five.”

Josie’s been working at it for years too, with each summer using longer arms to best the master. When I looked up from my rocks that day, I saw this:


If I were still sifting rocks I’d have missed it, and if I’d followed them, I’d be in it.

We frequently wish to be where we’re not, always why am I here and should have been there, but for a few minutes in July I was right where I was supposed to be, wet feet and sandy rolled jeans, windy hair and heart bouncing down the shore, seeing what we’ve wrought and for once saying yes, here and now. Oh, yes to the wide view.

Today our refrigerator pal is onion-soup onions. Scanning your shelves, you think, what? This is not a leftover I have. Dear friends it’s October, and time to simmer soup. If you haven’t yet done so you should, and you can start with my favorite French Onion-Cider Soup, here. If like me you’re heavy-handed with the onions, you can enjoy a few rounds of soup and still have plenty left over – a translucent golden heap, steeped in loving wine-kissed soup. I look forward to this heap, because soup-smooched onions are a bonus, an ingredient so prized there should be onion soup-onion-hunting pigs. Now – if you can resist caramelized snacking by the spoonful, here are five easy ways to use them:

1. Croque Monsieur Football Edition The Parisians would literally croak seeing their beloved snack all faux’ed up and served to screaming Chiefs fans. But can they argue with greatness? To make these open-faced sandwiches, start with slices of thick, eggy bread like challah or brioche. Swipe on a dab of grainy mustard, then add Black Forest ham and onion soup-onions. Top with sliced Gruyere (or Fontina, or Jarlsberg) cheese, and sprinkle top with a dash of cayenne pepper. Lay sandwiches on sheet pan and place under hot broiler, just until cheese bubbled and browns. Serve (to viewers) immediately.

2. French Onion Omelet I made one of these for Josie earlier today, a rolled yellow omelet stuffed with spinach leaves, soup onions, melting Gruyere and nutmeg, and when asked how it was she could not answer, just a sound. To use onion soup-onions in omelets, first make sure they’re drained. Although your soup is ostensibly gone, the onions still hold liquid – so before using, let onions rest briefly on a paper towel to dry. On to the omelets: for wonderful fillings, try combining onions with fresh spinach, Swiss cheese and a dash of nutmeg, or mixed wild mushrooms with onions and goat cheese.

3. Maple-Onion Roast Butternut Squash Preheat oven to 400 F. Halve, peel, and remove seeds from a large (approx 3 lbs) butternut squash. Cut into 3/4″ chunks, then toss squash pieces in bowl with 1 cup onion soup-onions, 1/4 cup maple syrup, and 2 tablespoons olive oil. Season to taste with sea salt, ground pepper and dried thyme. Spread squash mixture on sheet pan and bake approximately 40 minutes, or until squash pieces are lightly browned on sides, and softened. Stir and turn squash pieces every 12-15 minutes to better caramelize and avoid burning.

4. Onion-Dill Cream Cheese Not your average spread. In food processor fitted with metal blade, place 8 oz softened cream cheese, one large scoop onion soup-onions, and a few large sprigs of fresh dill.  Process to almost smooth, leaving a few onion pieces, occasionally stopping processor to scrape down sides. Turn mixture into bowl and stir in sea salt and ground pepper to taste. Try serving with bagels and marinated cucumbers, or pumpernickel and smoked salmon.

5. Pecan, Brie and French Onion Quesadillas Here I borrow (and mess around with ) a great idea from Gwen Ashley Walters, a marvelous blogging chef who first shared these quesadillas in her July 2009 Tell Simmer. Take 2 (8-inch) flour tortillas and spread each with a heaping tablespoon of chopped onion soup-onions.  Divide 3 tablespoons chopped, toasted pecans and sprinkle each half over onions. Add 3 ounces (about 1/2 cup) chopped Brie cheese over one half of each tortilla.  Sprinkle pinch of sea salt and dash each of nutmeg and cayenne pepper over cheese on each tortilla. Fold tortillas in half, pressing gently. Cook quesadillas on a preheated griddle (or in a skillet) until tortilla browns and cheese starts to melt, about 2 to 3 minutes, flip and brown the other side. Cut each tortilla into four wedges before serving.

So there we have it – onion soup, the gift that keeps giving. Any leftover love ideas to share?

Isn’t that nice? But before my mother objects, let’s rephrase: one sweaty Chicago summer, my brother and I nearly killed each other nailing two boards into a tree. We pounded rows of crooked nails into little boards for steps, and as high as we could get, two larger boards for seats. It wasn’t much, but it was up in the leaves, perfect for neighborhood spying and perfect for summer reading. I would make two separate climbs before settling in: one toting a snack-filled Partridge Family lunchbox, and another dragging a library bag full of books.

It won’t surprise you to hear that many of my favorite reads, both then and now, feature food. But what I really love are books that don’t announce they’re about food – they just are: Heidi toasting cheese in her Alps, Jo March eating apples in the garret, Mary and Laura pouring maple in the snow. These were the bits I read and reread, and then snacked and read again. Don’t even get me started on The Bobbsey Twins’s luau and the pig roast. Now that was a page-turner.

Lucky for me – or no accident at all – my daughter tasted books the same way. Here’s a list we compiled together of great culinary reads for kids, all so good and so timeless, this adult likes to sample them now. They run from picture books to young adult (or 41-year old adult.) Do you have a favorite food read, or a great food scene you never forgot? Add yours to the list. Happy (and Hungry) Reading.

Fanny at Chez Panisse Alice Waters, 1997

Truly charming story-plus-cookbook by a culinary royal. Alice Waters describes how her young daughter, Fanny, spends her days at mom’s famous Berkeley restaurant, sorting tiny eggplants, hiding in stock pots and watching chefs at work.

Bread and Jam for Frances Russell Hoban, 1964

Frances will only eat bread and jam, so her mother gives it to her for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I would like to reenact this as “Deep Dish Pizza for Marilyn.”

Blueberries for Sal Robert McCloskey, 1948

The classic picture book of blueberry picking, a bear cub, mothers and life in Maine.

Amelia Bedelia Peggy Parish, 1963

I always liked the many good qualities of free-spirited Amelia Bedelia: she was a tall, skinny smiler, and she cheerfully screwed up everything. I particularly admired the way she could neutralize any angry person by feeding them lemon meringue pie.

In the Night Kitchen Maurice Sendak, 1970

Though there was controversy over the depiction of a nearly baked-in-a-cake naked boy, all I saw was a fantastical look at how a bakery worked overnight. Sendak’s illustrated world – especially with flour and sugar – never fails to stop me in my tracks.

The Very Hungry Caterpillar Eric Carle, 1969

The classic caterpillar eats every food in sight, until he finds all he really needs is one plain and perfect green leaf. Truth? I didn’t want him to eat the leaf. I wanted him to keep eating salami and ice cream.

Eloise in Paris Kay Thompson, 1957

I was lucky to inherit a stack of 60′s-era Eloise books, and Paris was my favorite. Her champagne cork necklace! Baguettes! Dinner at Maxim’s! It was all rawther delicious.

Little House in the Big Woods Laura Ingalls Wilder, 1932

I could blog every day for a year about the Ingalls family and how they rest in the mind of most every woman I know – but for now I’ll just serve highlights: maple syrup snow, sideboard of pies, sour pickles, a crackling pig’s tail. Onion wreaths in the root cellar. So memorable were Laura’s food passages that they eventually filled The Little House Cookbook, as noted in this lovely post by Paige Smith Orloff.

Strega Nona Tomie DePaola, 1979

A wise Italian witch with the power to conjure up pasta. What’s not to love?

Heidi Johanna Spyri, 1880

One of my all-time favorites, the story of a Swiss girl and her grandfather in the Alps is really about toasting golden cheese, curing sausages, warm goat’s milk, and soft white bakery rolls. Do not be fooled by the jacket copy. It’s all about the food.

Anatole Eve Titus, 1956

And here is where Simmer readers fall down. Yes indeed, I love a book about a mouse, a mouse who wears a beret and tastes cheese in the cheese factory. When I first read it – decades before the pear incident – I was dazzled by his little scarf, and all those Bries and bleus.

Strawberry Girl Lois Lenski, 1945

A terrific book I never forgot – Lois Lenski’s story of hard living for rural Florida “crackers,” a detailed, often sad picture of Birdie Boyer and the tough world around her. Strawberries are everywhere, all about growing them, picking them, eating them. A classic for 9-12 readers.

James and the Giant Peach Roald Dahl, 1961

This book made me dream of waking up, rolling over and eating chunks of peach from the wall. Enough said.

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone J.K. Rowling, 1997

Oh sure, there’s dueling and wands and danger, but what thrills me at Hogwarts is dessert. I mean, Dumbledore claps his hands and profiteroles fill the hall. Magic, or what?

Because the owner friend was a guy, a special brand of chill out guy, he gave the guy cooks a pass. Guys who, while slapping out breakfast, enjoyed vodka and orange Crush. In that light it was difficult to wield authority, impossible really, when a red-rimmed dude could come in three days late and get promoted. What I could do was focus on pastry, which desperately needed attention. The bakers had no set morning menu, browning whatever came to mind any sunrise of the week. There might be cherry chocolate scones for three days, no scones for two days, and a creative burst of pistachio-pineapple-something toward the end of the week.

This would not do. I wanted to see a schedule. Schedules with headings, and attached pens, and clipboards.  I wanted staff and customers to know what to expect, sure that if flour, sugar and order prevailed, the line would be out the door. I held a staff meeting to discuss the impending change.

“Why do we need a scone schedule?”

“Because when you get here at five a.m., I don’t want you to have to think.”

They were looking at me, at their phones. What am I saying? They don’t think about anything now.

I proposed doing a plain scone every day – a traditional Cream scone – in addition to a variation, say, Blueberry Oatmeal on Monday, Apricot Pecan on Tuesday, and so on. They cast suspicious looks at the typed lists I passed around, as if I were an uptight mayor cracking down on deviant art.

“Does anyone have questions?”

One agitated look. “Yeah…what’s a cream scone. Don’t we put cream in all the scones?”

“Yes…but that’s just a traditional name, Cream scone. Something we can call the everyday one.”

Dead air.

“So customers know what the everyday scone is called.”

“But…it’s just, you know like, cream. It’s one word.”

“Yes. Yes it is.”

“All your other ones have two things in them, like two names.”

“Yes. But this is a CREAM scone. Our flagship scone!”

“Customers want two names for everything.”

“Fine. We’ll call it Cream and Sugar Scones. Two things.”

Grumbling, shifting of car keys, and one confounded cook.

“I just…that just sounds weird, Cream and Sugar.”

“It does.”

“Yeah…I mean, one word sounds plain, and two words sound stupid, and…whatever.”

I took the sheet from his hand and pulled a pencil from my apron.

“Well, I’ll tell you what. I will take care of the menu, and I will make the scones, and you guys just come in late and drink heavily and clean the grease traps. Okay?”

This threw them. One elbowed another.

“Yeah. So I guess Cream and Sugar is fine.”

“Good.” I scratched out Cream and wrote Cream AND Sugar, then handed back the lists. “Meeting adjourned.”

DOUBLE CHOCOLATE GINGER SCONES

The slacker boys got this much right: people do love combination scones. This might be my all-time favorite, a signature flavor from my old Scone on the Range frozen scone business. I am happy to bring it back for your chocolate (and ginger!) enjoyment.

makes about 1 dozen large or 24 small scones

3 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup cocoa powder
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon sea salt
6 oz. cold butter, cubed (12 tablespoons)
1/4 cup sugar
4 large eggs
1 cup heavy whipping cream
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1/2 cup semi-sweet (or darker) chocolate chips
1/2 cup roughly chopped crystallized ginger, in chunks

extra sugar for sprinkling

———————

Preheat the oven to 400 F.

Whisk together flour, cocoa powder, baking powder, baking soda and salt in large mixing bowl or stand mixer bowl.

Cut in butter. You can do this one of two ways:

Electric stand mixer With the flour mixture in the stand mixer bowl and the paddle blade attached, turn on the slowest speed and slowly add butter chunks, mixing to a coarse meal texture, with only a few remaining large flour-butter crumbs.

(or)

By hand Using a sharp-bladed pastry cutter tool, or two knives, “cut” the butter pieces into the flour mixture until you have a coarse meal texture.

In a separate bowl, whisk together eggs, cream, and vanilla.

Add liquid mixture to dry ingredients by hand or with stand mixer on low, using “on-off” mixing. Stop just long enough to add sugar, chocolate chips, and crystallized ginger, then continue mixing briefly to form a soft and sticky dough. Scrape dough onto lightly floured surface and turn over a few times to combine, adding flour if necessary.

Form scones You can divide dough in half, form each piece to a 1″ thick round, and cut into equal wedges, or you can pat to 1″ thick and use floured cutters for rounds or triangles.

Transfer scones to cookie sheet pan, preferably lined with parchment paper.

If desired, brush the top of each scone with a small amount of milk or cream. Sprinkle the extra white sugar thickly over tops. Bake 15-18 minutes, or until set and tops are golden brown. For the chocolate-ginger variety, watch the bottom of the scones for darkened color. Cool on baking sheet a few minutes, then transfer to racks, and serve.

* For a look at scone-mixing process (same method) visit this post: Scone, Scone on the Range

Note: use the best cocoa powder you can find for a rich chocolate dough. Cocoa tends to dry out baked goods; these hold very well for several days wrapped at room temperature, but after 1-2 days are best briefly reheated in a microwave, for just a few seconds. This also gives you the added, insanely pleasurable bonus of gooey chocolate chips.

“I don’t know,” he said, and I gaped at him. “It just seems pointless.” Ah. There we are, that’s why, the point. My husband the attorney, the arrow thinker, does not like needless complication. He cannot grasp a situation that doesn’t have a point. I too like hitting the right note, but that’s not always been the case. There was a time, pre-culinary school-discipline-makeover, when I complicated all sorts of things. I frequently made simple things much harder than they had to be, things like:

That Medieval Times birthday cake: I’d already built battlements from a two-ton carrot cake. Did it really need that working gingerbread drawbridge and chocolate moat?

That six-tier wedding cake for the rabbit lovers: I agreed to carve bride and groom rabbits – they asked for black rabbits, a specific breed – out of Sculpey. Did she need that tiny strand of pearls, did he really need a rabbit tux? With a hole for his tail?

That banana tart for the Cuban-themed restaurant audition: did it really need rum, caramel, coconut, lime, white chocolate and a little umbrella? Perhaps I should have dressed it in a little marzipan t-shirt stamped “TROPICS?”

The overdoing went on a long time, until chef training beat it out of me. By necessity, I learned to create lovely things with speed and efficiency, things that didn’t stray. Lesson learned: if you don’t have two extra hours, don’t make a chocolate moat.

By now I should know, should know better. An unadorned tomato is best, but even in August I wanted to crank up the oven and bake – with tomatoes. The fact that it’s time for quick, cold and easy would, apparently, keep me from mixing bread dough, spreading filling, rolling and chopping and waiting for dough to rise. Twice.

Summer’s almost over, so a little side trip, one foot in the garden and one eye toward woolly fall, is no waste of time. Not the most efficient recipe, but so strong was the savory bread in my mind, a sort of deep dish-flavored sticky bun, that I bucked the heat to make it anyway and hope you will, too. It’s needlessly complicated, too true, but when you serve this edible centerpiece to oohs and ahhs, when they are reeling in tomato-steam and pulling apart crusty rolls, you might think: not complicated. Simply good, and worth it.

Summer Fest bounded through the season with a fabulous group of bloggers. What’s everyone cooked up for the finale?

♥ Margaret Roach at A Way to Garden has troubled tomatoes, but is still Making Quick Tomato Sauce, Ever so Slowly

♥ Matt Armendariz at MattBites features not one, not two, but an incredible Tomatoes Ten Ways, including Roasted Tomato Bloody Mary and cold Heirloom & Fennel Soup.

♥ Jaden Hair at Steamy Kitchen stacks a beautiful Caprese Salad with Basil Vinaigrette.

♥ Diane & Todd at White on Rice Couple are showing off gorgeous Tomato Jam Recipes and tales of Kiddie Tomato Thieves

♥ Shauna & Daniel Ahern at Gluten-Free Girl making I-want-it-right-now Smoked Tomato Salsa

♥ Paige Smith Orloff at The Sister Project is dishing up “the Greatest” – Curried Carrot & Tomato Soup.

And also you! Summer Fest is a great way to explore new voices, get new ideas and contribute your own. Hopscotch around the blogs, find what you like and please leave something to share, like recipes, links or tips. Do you grow great tomatoes, have the perfect summer recipe? Introduce yourself, and comment away.  Readers have exchanged so many delicious ideas – so swing by the blogs, and enjoy the best of summer.

UPSIDE-DOWN TOMATO BASIL BREAD

serves 12-16

Dough

2 1/2 teaspoons (or 1 package) active dry yeast
1 cup plus 3 tablespoons warm water
4 tablespoons plus 1 teaspoon olive oil
3 3/4 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
1/2 cup shredded Parmesan cheese
2 teaspoons sea salt
1 teaspoon coarsely ground black pepper (or three-pepper mix)

cornmeal, for sprinkling

Filling

4 – 5 tablespoons fresh basil, finely chopped (basil from store produce pkg, about 1 oz)
1 cup shredded Parmesan cheese
1/4 cup olive oil
1 teaspoon sea salt
1 teaspoon coarsely ground black pepper (or three-pepper mix)
fresh-ground red pepper flakes, to your more hot/less hot taste -or- 1/2 teaspoon hot red pepper flakes

Tomato Topping

3 large or 4 small-medium tomatoes

optional for sprinkling: 1/4 teaspoon each: sea salt, sugar, red pepper flakes

Make Bread Dough:

Using mixer: Stir the yeast into warm water in mixer bowl; let stand about 10 minutes, until yeast looks bubbled and creamy. Fit mixer with dough hook. Stir in olive oil first, combining with yeast, then mix in flour, Parmesan cheese, sea salt, ground black pepper and hot pepper flakes. Start mixing on low and increase to medium speed, kneading about 5 minutes, until dough is combined, soft and elastic.

If dough looks too dry: add water while mixer kneads, few drops at a time, until dough just combines. If dough looks too wet: add tiny dashes of flour while mixer kneads, sparingly, until sides of bowl look clean and dough combines.

Place dough in lightly oiled bowl; cover loosely with plastic wrap, then dish towel. Set aside and let rise until doubled, about 2 hours. Dough should feel very smooth, moist and soft.

While dough rises, make filling & tomato topping.

Make Filling:

In small bowl, place chopped fresh basil, Parmesan cheese, olive oil, sea salt, ground pepper and red pepper flakes. Stir to combine well, and set aside.

Tomato Topping:

Remove cores and chop tomatoes to small, rough pieces. Place in bowl (without accumulated liquid) and set aside.

Assemble Tomato Basil Bread

Preheat oven to 400 degrees F

Lightly oil (with olive oil) bottom and sides of 10″ round cake or springform pan (can also use 9 x 13 metal pan, Pyrex dish, or similar). Drain any excess juices from chopped tomatoes, then spread evenly over bottom of pan. Set aside.

Turn risen bread dough out on lightly floured surface. Gently pull and stretch dough to a rough rectangle, approximately 11″ x 24″. Using spatula, gently spread Filling evenly across dough to cover, reaching edges. Starting at long edge, roll dough up jelly roll style, as for cinnamon rolls. Try to roll evenly and without air gaps. With seam side facing down, make sure filled roll is solid and combined by patting sides and edges.

Using a thin, sharp knife (serrated is best) cut 1″ slices from dough roll. Arrange slices, spiral side down, on top of chopped tomatoes in prepared pan. In a 10″ round pan, you will have little to no room between slices (if using a larger pan, arrange slices barely touching, with small amounts of space between them.) Cover lightly with plastic wrap and allow to rise slightly, about 20 minutes.

Place filled pan on wider sheet pan or foil (important – to catch drips!) Bake on lower rack 40 – 45 minutes, until top rolls are medium brown, feel hollow when tapped, and tomato juices have bubbled and thickened. Remove from oven and cool on rack for 5 minutes.

To unmold & serve: Have a platter or cake stand ready that is wider than the bread pan. Cover browned top of rolls with platter or stand (pan will still be warm, use oven mitt.) Holding platter to pan together, turn over in one motion until pan is upside down. Use a knife to carefully lift pan from bread, releasing steam slowly. After releasing initial steam, lift pan off completely, revealing tomato-topped bread. Serve immediately.

If you’d like darker edges and more caramelization - it’s beautiful and delicious that way – preheat the broiler. When hot, mix together optional sea salt, sugar and red pepper flakes. Slide whole bread onto a sheet pan, then sprinkle salt mixture over tomato topping. Place under broiler for 1 – 2 minutes, watching carefully, until tomatoes sizzle and edges blacken. Remove and serve.

bread dough inspired by Carol Field, The Italian Baker

What’s Summer Fest? The wonderful Margaret Roach, she of A Way to Garden and The Sister Project, invited me to participate in Summer Fest 2009, a regular cross-blogging party: every week a new food-from-the-garden theme meets several well-known bloggers, including Margaret, Matt Armendariz, Jaden Hair, and White on Rice Couple’s Todd and Diane. Also popping up: Shauna and Daniel Ahern from Gluten-Free Girl, Paige Smith Orloff of The Sister Project, and, for the love of pie crust, me.

Summer Fest 2009 Schedule

Tuesday, July 28: HERBS

Tuesday, August 4: FRUITS from TREES

Tuesday, August 11: BEANS-AND-GREENS WEEK

Tuesday, August 18: TOMATO WEEK

It’s Tomato Week! Drop by the blogs to share your own links, recipes, and ideas.

Very funny. Yes, it’s called Pandowdy, and yes, Ginger Peach sounds like she’s waiting tables at Dollywood, and yes, it’s the finest reward of summer. We’ll make it – but first, let me tell you about that tomato up there, and what it’s got to do with Ginger.

The wonderful Margaret Roach, she of A Way to Garden and The Sister Project, invited me to participate in Summer Fest 2009. The Fest is a regular cross-blogging party: every week a new food-from-the-garden theme gets turned over to several stellar bloggers, including Margaret, Matt Armendariz of Mattbites, Jaden Hair of Steamy Kitchen, and Todd and Diane of White on Rice Couple. Also popping up: Shauna and Daniel Ahern from Gluten-Free Girl, Paige Smith Orloff of The Sister Project, and, for the love of pie crust, me.

And also you! Summer Fest is a great way to find new blogs, get new ideas and contribute a few of your own.

Summer Fest 2009

Tuesday, July 28: HERBS

Tuesday, August 4: FRUITS from TREES

Visit all of these terrific bloggers for amazing recipes, gorgeous photos, funny stories, and to share your own tips!

• Margaret Roach @ A Way to Garden: Peach Clafoutis
• Paige Smith Orloff @ The Sister Project: Plum Tarte Tatin
• Jaden Hair @ Steamy Kitchen: Chanterelle, Bacon and Plum Salad with Blue Cheese
• Diane & Todd @ White on Rice Couple: Refreshing Peach Coolers
• Matt Armendariz @ Mattbites: Apricot Ice Cream
  

Tuesday, August 11: BEANS-AND-GREENS WEEK (either or both, your choice).

Tuesday, August 18: TOMATO WEEK

Hopscotch around these great blogs, find what you like and please leave something to share, like recipes, links or tips. Do you have great tomato plants, a super apricot dessert? Introduce yourself, and comment away.  If you’ve got a blog, grab the juicy red Summer Fest badge (created by Matt) and create a post of your own. You can swing by every breezy, delicious week – it’s summer. It’s a Fest. And all are welcome.

Now let’s return to our heroine, Ginger Peach. For my Fest guest spot this week, we’re making Ginger Peach Pandowdy, and we already know it’s hilarious, a cross between long-legged Daisy Duke and pale old Aunt Em. Oh, Auntie Em. When you live in Kansas, there’s no escaping Oz talk. Not here, of course – I mean the Oz talk waiting for luggage at JFK, or at a party in Santa Monica or on a boat down the Amazon, for that matter. If a rainforest tribesman heard you were from Kansas, I’ve no doubt he’d thump his stick and say, “Dorothy! Toto too.”

I moved here from Chicago and Greg hails from suburban Kansas City, suburbs like any other. Our university town, Lawrence, is full of artisan ales and sushi, scholars and lawyers and Kobe burgers. So what’s the matter with Kansas? Well, you can love the place – we do – but because it’s Kansas you’ll be on the defensive, for the rest of your sensible Midwestern life.  You will, at some point, be confronted by guffawing conventioneers on one coast or another, slapping you on the back and demanding your ruby slippers.

C’est la vie Kansan.

And I’m sharing all this because? Well, I’d originally planned a different dessert, Ginger-Peach Empanadas, but then my mother called, and Josie required a chauffeur, and then a house fell on my head and there were little people. No, it did not work out at all. But I did salvage the peaches and the dough, and used them to make something else.  I must say it was a masterful repurposing, in line with my beloved chef-mentor’s mantra, “We don’t eat our mistakes. We fix them.”

I loved this ginger-kissed bottomless pie, and suddenly full of can-do spirit, I envisioned a philosophical post about beating obstacles, and silver linings. I photographed the dish, sugared and sparkling, but as I breathed in peachy steam through the lens, I realized what I’d actually baked: a Pandowdy.

Now, there are cobblers, crisps, Bettys, buckles, grunts and even slumps – and then, there is the truly old-fashioned Pandowdy: a dessert of fresh fruit baked under pie crust shapes. But Pandowdy did not sound like Ginger-Peach Empanadas. “Empanada did sound more exciting,” said Josie. “Cobbler. Can’t it be a cobbler?”

“No,” I told her, with a heavy blogger’s heart, “it’s a Pandowdy.”

And no matter. We accept the names of things and look for what lies beneath, striving to never judge dessert by its topping. Besides, that Ginger Peach – she’s a swell girl, not dowdy at all, and proud to be who she is: homey, sweet, a few piercings. And more than a little bit spicy.

GINGER PEACH PANDOWDY

Pie Dough

3 cups unsifted all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon powdered ginger
4 oz (1 stick) cold unsalted butter, cut in chunks
4 oz shortening, cold, in chunks
2 tablespoons granulated sugar
2 extra-large egg yolks, cold
4 tablespoons ice water, or more as needed

To make dough by hand: Stir flour, salt and powdered ginger together in large bowl. Scatter butter and shortening chunks over flour mixture. Using pastry blender or two knives, “cut” the butter/shortening into the flour, crumbling with hands as necessary, until mixture resembles coarse cornmeal. Sprinkle sugar over mixture and stir in quickly. Blend egg yolks and water in small bowl, then pour over flour mixture. Combine everything (using hands) to make a smooth, firm dough. If dough seems dry, add ice water in drops, mixing to combine. Turn out dough onto parchment, wax paper or lightly floured surface, pressing to form a smooth, flat round. Cut dough in half, wrap each half, and chill until ready to use.

To make dough in food processor: Place flour, salt and powdered ginger in work bowl of processor fitted with steel blade. Pulse a few times just to combine. Add butter/shortening chunks over flour and process, using on-off pulses, until fat is reduced to large flakes. Sprinkle with sugar, and pulse 1-2 seconds to blend. Beat egg yolk and ice water in small bowl, then pour over flour mixture. Pulse mixture to combine, using on-off pulses, just until a rough dough begins to come together. If dough seems too dry, add extra drops of water and pulse just until dough combines. Turn out dough onto parchment, wax paper or lightly floured surface, pressing to form a smooth, flat round. Cut dough in half, wrap each half, and chill until ready to use.

Ginger Peach Filling

2 tablespoons cornstarch
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
pinch sea salt
7 large peaches, peeled, pitted, cubed and tossed with 2 teaspoons lemon juice
finely grated zest of 1 small lemon
1/2 cup (approx. 3 oz.) crystallized ginger, chopped in small dice
1/4 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

1 tablespoon milk or half-and-half
1 tablespoon water
Demerara (turbinado, raw cane) sugar for sprinkling (or granulated)

Preheat oven to 400 degrees F.

Whisk together cornstarch, granulated sugar, nutmeg, cinnamon and sea salt in large bowl. Add the peaches, lemon zest, crystallized ginger and vanilla, and toss well to combine. Pour filling into deep oval or rectangular baking dish, and set aside while you roll pie dough. (A lower, wider rectangular dish, like a 9 x 13 pan, will work but will result in a shorter layer of fruit.)

Assemble and bake pandowdy:

Roll out both chilled dough halves on a lightly floured surface, 1/4 – 1/2″ thick. Using a 2 – 3″ round cookie cutter, stamp circles from dough, gathering scraps and re-rolling until done. Set aside a small amount of dough for fluted rim and top decorations, if desired.

Now, starting on one side of peach-filled baking dish, top fruit with rows of dough circles, overlapping to form a “fish scale” pattern. Repeat until all fruit is is covered, pinching edges to sides of dish.

Fluted rim and decorations, optional: using both hands, roll reserved pie dough into long rope pieces. Press ropes around top edges of dish, pinching to join with dough circles. When finished, pinch rope edge down so that short triangles stick up, working around rim until done. Decorations: roll and cut “peach,” leaf or heart shapes, as desired. Brush back of decorations with water, and arrange atop dough circles.

Mix milk (or half-and-half) with water in small dish, then brush mixture over top of pandowdy. Sprinkle liberally with demerara (or granulated) sugar.

Place baking dish on cookie sheet (to catch drips) and bake in center of preheated oven for 20 – 30 minutes, until top crust browns and fruit juices bubble through. Serve warm, with ice cream.