Turns out pumpkin, in addition to filling pies, soups, and being eminently carve-able, works a certain enzyme magic on stomach irritation. Does it work on people?  I don’t know.  My job was to get it into the dog. “Feed her a tablespoon of pumpkin,” he said, “mixed in her food. Or right from the spoon – if she’ll take it.”

Would she? Her first move was to stuff her mouth with Ducky, thus avoiding whatever was on the spoon. Take it?

No.

And no.

And no way.

So I mixed it with her food – and for a time, she snubbed the food. She finally ate it, never making the connection that snacking on shrubs, or snail shells, or used Kleenex would earn her dinner a pumpkin garnish.  Now, I have cared for and loved three dogs. I have seen a lot of 3 a.m’s, a lot of snowy, moonlit grass. I wanted a better pumpkin delivery system, and for me, baking something “in” is an easy answer – especially for Cleo, who is sweet and trusting, and not bright enough to suspect a biscuit.

Rolling dough got her attention…

…and while they cooled on the counter, she even forgot the edible bits in the yard. Dogs love these simple biscuits and sick or not sick, they make great treats. They’re delightful – but my best advice? Buy wastebaskets with lids. Don’t plant poisonous shrubs, shut bathroom doors, avoid the tastiest pens. And by all means, keep a handy can of pumpkin.

Cleo’s Pumpkin Dog Biscuits

2 eggs
1/2 cup canned pumpkin
2 tablespoons dry milk
1/4 teaspoon sea salt
2 1/2 cups brown rice flour *
1 teaspoon dried parsley (optional)

Preheat oven to 350.

In large bowl, whisk together eggs and pumpkin to smooth. Stir in dry milk, sea salt, and dried parsley (if using, optional). Add brown rice flour gradually, combining with spatula or hands to form a stiff, dry dough. Turn out onto lightly floured surface (can use the brown rice flour) and if dough is still rough, briefly knead and press to combine.

Roll dough between 1/4 – 1/2″ – depending on your dog’s chew preferences, ask first – and use biscuit or other shape cutter to punch shapes, gathering and re-rolling scraps as you go. Place shapes on cookie sheet, no greasing or paper necessary. If desired, press fork pattern on biscuits before baking, a quick up-and-down movement with fork, lightly pressing down halfway through dough. Bake 20 minutes. Remove from oven and carefully turn biscuits over, then bake additional 20 minutes. Allow to cool completely on rack before feeding to dog.

* Brown rice flour gives the biscuits crunch and promotes better dog digestion. Many dogs have touchy stomachs or allergies, and do not, like many people I know, tolerate wheat.

Makes up to 75 small (1″) biscuits or 50 medium biscuits

Please note: This is not professional medical advice. These biscuits are a healthy everyday treat, and useful for a dog with a sensitive stomach, or minor digestion issues. If your dog is showing any signs of serious distress, remove all food and contact your veterinarian immediately.

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.

The blog bugs, they still plague us here at Simmer, determined to keep me from bringing you new nonsense. On the plus side, it’s inspiring a rerun you’ll love, Zucchini-Ginger Bread. As baked goods go it’s simple, addictive and, if your counter currently sports heaps of rolling garden green, right on time. From August 21, 2008, please enjoy the recipe and its little coffee shop tale; I’ll be making some myself this week, and setting aside one small loaf as burnt offering to the Internet gods. I mean, whatever it takes.

———————-

Once upon a time my daughter was not a big-shot junior high kid in the know. She was just a toddling moppet – keen on alphabet games, wild for all things A to Z, and this was handy in grocery lines and waiting rooms and 600-mile drives. We played color alphabet (azure), color-animal-alphabet (azure aardvark), color-animal-place-alphabet (azure aardvark in Alabama) and of course, color-animal-place-oh-my-god-please-kill-me alphabet.

But before it came to that we played eating alphabet. All you had to do was name foods from A to Z – simple, but with three people in rotation, some letters could get tough. There are very few “I” foods, for instance, and a notoriously scarce supply of “U’s.” And then there is “Z.” If you had first crack at Z, you were golden – “zucchini” was yours. If you didn’t, there were twenty miles of silence and praying she’d fall asleep.

We never used “zucchini bread,” and – smack! – even now I don’t know why. It’s not my favorite quick bread – easily, banana nut – but it shines as a home-baked savior come the summer garden’s end. Today – true-life, I swear on a stack of candied walnuts – I overheard this conversation at the coffee shop:

(During the busy morning rush, a customer leans on the counter, waiting for her triple soy half-caf, perusing baked goods. There is a line behind her.)

Latte Lady: I don’t know…

Barista Girl: (pulling shots) would you like something else?

LL: I don’t know…I don’t want a scone. (holds up baked good) What’s this?

BG: zucchini bread. Like some?

LL: no….no…I don’t like zucchini. Bread, I don’t like zucchini bread.

BG: really? It’s so good, it’s like the American mom thing, everybody loves it.

LL: um…I don’t know. I’ve never had zucchini bread.

BG: you’ve never had it?

LL: no…

BG: so…how do you know you don’t like it?

LL: um…I just. I just can’t get past it. Zucchini.

(the line is mounting; people are checking watches, shifting feet)

BG: do you like banana bread?

LL: yes.

BG: carrot cake?

LL: oh, yes.

BG: then you’ll like zucchini bread.

(Customers shoot laser glances at her head. I am not even in line – I already have my coffee, and still want to kill her.)

LL: you know, I think it’s Z.

BG: what?

LL: I just don’t like foods that begin with Z.

BG: okay.

(plunks latte on counter)

Then I guess you won’t like zebra bread.

LL: zebra bread?

BG. oh, yeah – it’s a little chunky, and all that black and white fur. It’s totally an acquired taste.

LL: oh my god.

BG: can I get you a scone?

LL: peach is fine.

Zucchini-Ginger Bread

This fine-textured zucchini bread has a gentle ginger bite. I’d planned to top this with a little lemon icing, but one bite told me it didn’t need it. Cold milk – or a triple soy half-caf whatever – will do just fine.

2 cups sugar
1 cup vegetable oil
3 eggs
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1 tablespoon powdered ginger

1 ounce fresh ginger, peeled and grated fine (about 1 – 1 1/2 tablespoons)*
2 cups finely shredded, unpeeled zucchini, packed*
optional: 1 cup finely chopped nuts
1 tablespoon vanilla

* I use a fine-holed grater to both shred the zucchini and grate the ginger, for the smallest bits possible. When grating the ginger, be sure to use only the “puree” you’ve scraped from under the grater, and discard the fibrous parts left in your hand.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Use baking spray (and parchment paper, if desired) to prepare at 9 x 5 loaf pan or a 10-inch tube pan. If you make the 9 x 5 loaf, you will have a small amount of batter left over: make a mini-loaf or a few zucchini muffins.

Using an electric mixer, beat the sugar, oil and eggs together for a few minutes, until thick and a slight yellow ribbon falls from beaters.

In a separate bowl, sift the flour, baking soda, salt, cinnamon and powdered ginger together.

Fold the zucchini, fresh ginger and optional nuts into the sugar-egg mixture. Fold in the flour mixture and vanilla until thoroughly combined.

Pour batter into prepared pan (or pans), filling large loaf pan 2/3 full.

Bake on a center oven rack for about 1 hour (check smaller items sooner), or until tester comes out sticky but mostly dry. Store, wrapped in plastic, for several days at room temperature.

And speaking of blurry, I only wish I had a coded excuse for what happened the other day – but I don’t. It was late afternoon and I was alone in the kitchen, putting away produce. Cucumbers here, tomatoes there, bananas in the bowl, onions and shallots over there. Done. Wearing a spit-spot Mary Poppins smile, I turned around and saw this:

And then I screamed like a banshee, and ran in circles and waved my arms and swore and just about died.

It took me a full 30 seconds (plus a few cautious paring knife pokes) to realize I was screaming at a shallot. With a tail. What can I say? I was up late the night before, my glasses were in my purse, and, well – I do have a rather well-documented thing about mice. Luckily this was a fake, a mirage created by my poor vision and, quite possibly, one sick-in-the-head shallot farmer.

Once I recovered, the thing had to go.  I immediately chopped that squeaky shallot into a variation on Caprese Salad, substituting a savory, chunky berry dressing for traditional tomatoes. These are strong flavors, they are – wine vinegar, cracked pepper, charred shallots and juiced berries make for seriously tart bites between creamy mozzarella. Of course, you can add or reduce vinegar/pepper to scale the flavor up or down, but whatever you do, be vigilant: in shallot season, you just might need a vinaigrette trap.

Raspberry Basil Caprese

1 shallot
1 teaspoon olive oil
6 oz fresh raspberries
1 tablespoon honey
3 oz red wine vinegar
1 1/2 teaspoons roughly cracked or ground black pepper
dash sea salt

1 lb fresh mozzarella cheese
5 large basil leaves (4 for assembly, 1 to chop for garnish)

Make Raspberry-Shallot Dressing

Peel the shallot and slice thin, forming rings. Heat olive oil in small frying pan to hot, but not sizzling; add shallot rings and saute 1 – 2 minutes, until barely softened and edges are lightly charred. Remove from heat and set aside.

Place 4 oz of raspberries in medium mixing bowl, and save remaining 2 oz for garnish. Use a spatula to lightly press berries and release juices, leaving several whole and half berries in mix. Add honey, red wine vinegar, cracked pepper and cooked shallots. Gently stir with spatula to blend. Test flavor, and adjust to your taste with sea salt, or more pepper. Dressing can be made up to 24 hours before serving; flavors will intensify as it rests.

Assemble Raspberry Basil Caprese

Slice thick pieces of fresh mozzarella, 2 per person (8 slices to serve 4).

Lay one slice of mozzarella on plate. Top cheese with 1 teaspoon Raspberry-Shallot Dressing, then one large basil leaf. Lay second slice of mozzarella over the basil, and finish with another heaping teaspoon of dressing. Garnish plates with a few fresh raspberries, chopped basil, and a small extra splash of dressing, if desired.

Serves 4 as a first course.

“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.

This is a flurry of activity, it is, after what we’ve called The Summer of Nothing. It seemed she did not want to do classes, or camps, nor any effort that required organization, even forming a line.  No, she wanted to swim, and hang with friends, scoop blueberry sundaes and climb rocks with old mom and dad in the cold waves of Lutsen, Minnesota. We let her, and now it’s back to the books.  Will her head be empty as the berry bowl, or charged by summer’s fruit? We’ll see.

———

Berries, sugar, water

Minnesota-toted blueberry jam

simmer

spoon

sauce remembers.

Easy Blueberry Sauce: simmer 1-2 pints blueberries with dash of sugar and splash of water. When warm and sugar has dissolved, add about 1 cup good-quality blueberry jam or preserves. Stir to melt and combine. Optional: add a squeeze of lemon or pinch of nutmeg for extra flavor. Serve warm over pancakes, waffles, ice cream. May also spoon directly into mouth.

For even more zing try adding another fresh summer fruit, like sliced peaches, plums or nectarines.

So – do you have a few words on berries? Pancakes, waffles, pound cakes or cobblers? Is there a pandowdy in the house? Tell me how you like your blueberries – and please, keep it to ten, and make it juicy.

Oh, that Donald. In our house he’s come to symbolize little tortures – ultimately the spoon will bring comfort, but first the miserable gauze, and pain, and that fixed orange smile! My oral surgery wish for you: may all your teeth show themselves, and remain useful, and may you enjoy soft Banana French Toast without ever, ever having to sit in that chair.

from January 6, 2009 (original post here)

Here’s the thing: I don’t love Jell-O, and most of America does. I’d bet that even foodie elite, people who’d never be caught with a two-tone wiggler, dig strawberry banana when no one’s looking – I believe it. There are a few distinct groups of Jell-O lovers – 50′s kids who grew up with it, like my parents; crafty cooks who make projects of rainbow parfaits; and the rest, like my daughter, who just plain like its slippery cool. And in there, there we have it. The only time I like Jell-O is when I’m sick – when I’m good and sick and low, those unnatural tones look like comfort, and taste easy. A delightful slide down, and too smooth to refuse.

Josie had some oral surgery done last weekend, the poor thing. Whenever she’s legitimately sick or injured – antibiotics or 100 degrees, whichever comes first – she will get tucked into our bed with quilts, movies, and the dog, and luxuriate in being The Poor Thing. A diminished state will also make her The Nice Thing – a fever or post-anesthetic haze will do that to a kid, I guess. She lays positively docile, sipping Gatorade and following orders, her parents stroking hair or bringing treats. What – a – trouper.

Can we get you something, something soft? Jell-O? Okay. The lime kind, and Donald? Sure. You just wait right there.

That’s right. When in need of true comfort, dental or otherwise, we call on The Donald. Promise not to tell her friends; she’d kill me. With the spoon.

Anyway, as soon as you could say Tylenol 3, the two full days of Jell-O, soup and yogurt made her bored with movies, sick of codeine, restless and newly charged as The Crabby, Hungry Thing. She was starving, she said, we were starving her. I believe that’s called taking care of you, I said. You wanted Jell-O. Well yeah, but now – now she was just mad to have missed the whole weekend, sure that she was wasting away, and maybe she would like a large steak. Or a dozen buffalo hot wings. And celery. The dog leaped off the bed, and the spell was broken. She was feeling better.

Not wishing to undo the surgeon’s work, I nixed the chewing, but offered real food. How about…French toast?

Eh.

I looked around the kitchen. A banana in the fruit bowl straightened, hopeful.

Okay. How about French toast…with caramelized bananas?

Ooh.

Aha! Soft for the mouth and sweet on the tongue. Now we were talking, and even better, healing. There’s still Jell-O in the fridge, and sore mouth or not, she’ll eat it. Me, I’ll wait for the fever.

Caramelized Banana French Toast

This method lets you use one pan for both the French toast and the bananas; just make sure it’s good and non-stick.

8 slices bread (I like to use stale baguette bread, cut on a thick angle)
4-5 eggs *
1/4 cup milk or cream
splash orange juice (optional)
dash of cinnamon
dash of nutmeg

1 tablespoon canola oil, or butter, for frying

1-2 bananas, in thick slices
1 tablespoon butter
1 1/2 tablespoon sugar
splash orange juice

In a large bowl, whisk the eggs, milk or cream, orange juice, cinnamon and nutmeg until smooth. Add bread slices to bowl, turning pieces to coat with egg mixture. Leave slices in the egg mixture 5-15 minutes (thick, dry bread can take longer) or until bread is soaked through, but not falling apart.

Using a large, non-stick frying pan, melt oil or butter over medium-high heat. Add soaked bread slices and cook 1-2 minutes per side, turning, until evenly browned. Remove French toast from pan and set on a paper-towel lined plate.

Leaving heat at medium-high, immediately add sliced bananas and tablespoon of butter to the same non-stick pan, shaking pan as you add to keep bananas moving. Sprinkle sugar over bananas, then the splash of orange juice. Keep the pan moving as they cook, using a heatproof spatula to help turn bananas fast. Both sides of bananas should brown quickly, melting the sugar and juice together, about one minute total cooking time.

Set French toast on plates, spoon warm bananas over the top, and serve.

* so, what’s with “4-5 eggs?” Well, eggs will vary in size, volume, and how long they’ve been in your fridge. Start by whisking up four – if there’s enough liquid to generously cover the bread, stop there, and if not, add another.

serves 3-4, depending on your own Hungry Things

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.

Moments after finishing my first pot of caramel sauce – first melted sugar, first caramel anything – I pulled up an apron corner, wrapped the burning handle and carried it down twenty-seven steps, past an audience of snickering older students, past my teachers, not breathing until the pot finally reached the hands of a famous West coast chef standing onstage, waiting with a microphone and tapping a plate.

At twenty-three I cooked more than most and baked swell pound cake, but the fact remained that I’d been in culinary school just 32 days. Famous Chef was visiting to perform a cooking demo, his advance food prep so demanding that a scroll-length memo was issued to teachers, lists and diagrams attached.

Shari was my bench partner, and we were deep in earnest chopping, piles of 1/4-inch carrot dice, when our teacher, Chef Karmin, pulled my jacket from behind. “You two,” he said, handing us a stapled sheaf, “I have a job for you. Make sure your knives are sharp.”

He turned to leave, and I glanced at the list.  Searing tuna, burning sugar, chopping exotics. “Um. Chef,” I said, “it’s just…Chef, we haven’t done any of this. This stuff.”

He talked out the door as he left. “It’s not too bad,” he said, “and you’ve got oh, two hours. You can do it.”

We gaped. Shari looked sick. I regretted those gobbled croissants off the sheet rack, now rising as we grabbed steels and began frantically honing knives. I finished quick but Shari kept sawing, blade flying like a mad violinist. Back and forth, back and forth, five minutes gone and the list untouched.

My assigned partner was ambitious but nervous, moved slow in the kitchen as she thought before moving. Shari asked permission to peel potatoes, carried tiny handwritten points on scaling fish. She measured the carrots. Now she ground knives while I studied the list, bobbing her tiny head and huge dark brows. It would be a long two hours.

The list gave her fits. We were to prepare complete versions of Famous Chef’s dishes, all requiring various first-try skills: searing tuna with lavender and peppercorns, shaving priceless deep woods fungi, braising eggplant he’d carried in-flight.  I flinched at the clock, flabbergasted. Why would the powers entrust rookies, one more neurotic and green than the next, with their crucially high-priced plans? The last task was dessert, a bread pudding. Soak currants in rum, okay, bake brioche, I don’t think so, and make caramel sauce.  Caramel sauce from scratch. Melting sugar. I looked up and saw Shari across the room, hunting for books about tuna.

The brioche was mercifully baked by advanced students who, delivering bread and surveying our challenged kitchen, got the best laugh of their day. We struggled down the list, producing a string of near-disasters until there was fifteen minutes left, and we’d finally reached the caramel. A little butter, some sugar, how hard could it be? While Shari mulled the perfect pan, I dumped sugar in the pan we had. She returned to the stove and saw me cranking the heat.

“We can’t do this,” she said. “We don’t know what what we’re doing. I don’t want to do this.”

I told her me either. I have no idea, but we have twelve minutes left. They are waiting for us.

“What, we have to go in there?” Good god, I’d met someone crazier than me. Stirring water into sugar, I was lifted by this thought.

“Okay,” I said, “let’s watch it. It’s supposed to bubble, then turn colors.”

“Someone set a pan on fire last week,” she said. “They walked away and it caught fire.”

“Uh-huh,” and I looked at the clock. “It’s bubbling.”

“Take it off,” Shari said, “it’s turning!”

“Not yet,” I said. It doesn’t look right. I had no idea how it was supposed to look. But not yet.

The clock ticked and the color inched forward with each second, now gold, now golden.

“TAKE IT OFF,” Shari begged, “we’ll get it wrong. It’s wrong.”

I swirled the pan, by now pleasantly deviant, blind but going for broke.  I didn’t know anything but knew enough to keep going, despite Shari yelping and the hot breath of time. Better too much than too little, better mahogany than beige, trust whatever it takes to get this thing done.

Now the color was toffee and it smelled like caramel, only better. I showed Shari. “What do you think?”

“OH MY GOD they are in the auditorium.”

“Okay…now.”

We yanked it off, whisked in the butter, the vanilla and cream. Shari! I think we made sauce.

She nodded her brows – well, I guess – but would not walk in there.  So I ran across the hall clutching an apron-wrapped handle, running as fast as any person who is late with scalding liquid. The sauce shimmered left to right as I wobbled down the aisles, passing students step by step. Most had already interned, already worked the line, and here’s me with unsupervised caramel, not breathing, feeling naked but getting it done. Finally, I climbed three stairs to the stage and gently set the pot on the table. Empty-handed, I stepped back to leave.

“Let us thank our little helper,” Famous Chef boomed, and while the students were roaring, he glanced at the sauce and whispered to me. “Color could have gone longer.”

My face burned. Hey – if it was up to my partner, you might have been looking at clear.

Still, I was grateful it hadn’t been said at the mike. Chef isn’t too bad, I thought, everyone has to fly blind sometime, he must know. The Chef motioned for me to stay, stay up there; things seemed to be working out.  Then he drizzled our sauce on the plate, and held it up to show the crowd. “It should not look like this.” 

Okay. Maybe not.

He paused and raised it higher, so caramel stripes dripped off the rim. “But alas, this is how it looks today.”

Josie’s sundae: vanilla bean ice cream, caramel sauce and fresh cherries

Make your own caramel sauce – it’s taste years away from jarred and the perfect pair for ice cream. Think you can’t? Of course you can. As in all caramel matters, I recommend not thinking at all. Run sweet and blind. It comes out better that way.

Classic Caramel Sauce

1 cup granulated sugar

1/4 cup water

1 cup heavy cream

5 tablespoons unsalted butter

2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

pinch sea salt (optional)

Put the sugar in a medium-sized heavy saucepan. Pour water over the sugar, swirling until sugar is “moisturized.” Cook over high heat until sugar dissolves. Dip a pastry brush in hot water and use it to brush down any crystals from side of pan – OR – cover pan with tight-fitting lid to steam off crystals, then remove to continue cooking.

Continue cooking over high heat, watching closely, until mixture starts to turn a rich amber color, but does not smell burned. Remove pan from heat and carefully add the heavy cream, whisking. Mixture will puff and steam, and some sugar might harden. Return pan to heat and cook, whisking, until mixture appears smooth. Remove from heat and add butter, stirring to smooth. Finish by whisking in vanilla and, if desired, generous pinch of sea salt.

Serving: serve sauce hot, first cooling to desired thickness. May be refrigerated for several weeks and reheated in microwave or on stovetop as needed.

Makes 2 cups, enough for several ice cream bowls and more than a few spoonful snacks.

adapted from Favorite Old-Fashioned Desserts, by Pat Bailey

In anther lifetime I lugged hundred-pound bags of flour, I hadn’t met hair-smoothing heat tools and I ran a business called Scone on the Range.  Scone opinions may vary – but for tastefully sentimental reasons, these will always be my choice. Original post, from April 2008, found here.
—————

It seems like I’ve been around scones forever, but for years I only read about them, in lacy novels and high-tea books, until I was twenty-two. I went to work for a very gourmet food shop, answering phones and typing menus, and I did it two steps from a busy kitchen door.

When that door swung toward my desk, I could catch another world, and when I wasn’t confirming the luncheon for trophy wives, I began to sneak small bites: salty prosciutto and runny brie, streaky pancetta and French green beans, currant butter and fresh-baked scones - melting sugar that was never too sweet, glorious buttery bread that oh my god was not bread at all.

I stopped going out for subs and started lunching at my desk, crumbly scone-currant butter-prosciutto sandwiches, munched on napkins with sips of Orangina. After the first scone I was hooked, and instead of trying to beat them, I’d spend the next twenty years trying to join them.

Now scones are an everyday thing, and they inspire strong feelings; more exotic than a biscuit, more homey than cake, always utterly delicious. We didn’t invent them, but there they are in our coffee shops, our groceries, our airports and kitchens. Are they ours? The British would hmph and the Scots would say they are not even scones, but what of it? Holding a tray from the oven, arguments disappear and the scones do too.

I should tell you that the gourmet shop fired me, and I’d never been fired before, or since, and when that swinging door kicked me it broke my hungry heart. But it also pushed me into the kitchen for good, and eventually I would spin that first taste into a business called Scone on the Range.

And that is a story for another day.

Hmph…now I’m all worked up. Let’s make some scones.

Scones aren’t a perfect science, so don’t fret about all the steps – after a few rounds of mixing, cutting and eating, it’s like riding a bike. A very warm, buttered bike.

We’re making Orange Chocolate Chip Scones, and to get them truly orang-ey, we need orange zest.

You can finely chop thin strips of orange peel, or use a fine-holed cheese grater, or spend seven hours with a shmancy zester. But if you’re an extremely zesty girl – like me – consider investing in a Microplaner. It is a heavenly efficient tool.

Whisk together the eggs, heavy cream and vanilla.

Mmm. I’m thinking eggnog.

Put the dry ingredients (except the sugar) in a mixer bowl, and add the cubed butter. Yes, you can make perfectly good scones without a stand mixer – but this leaves me one hand to push Cleo off the counter.

Cutting in Butter Like biscuits, you want the butter to disappear into the flour. Here, we do it by running the mixer on low – and I mean low, or it’s hello, white volcano - until the butter is reduced to large floury crumbs.

Grab those lovely whisked eggs. With the mixer on low, slowly pour in the liquid…

…turning the mixer on and off, on and off, like the ‘pulsing’ of a food processor.
Before the dough comes together, add the sugar, chocolate chips, and orange zest.

Keep mixing on low, on and off, until it just comes together…

…like so. Is it slightly wet and sticky, is there flour at the bottom? Does it look shaggy and uneven and not done? Good – you made scone dough!

Turn the dough onto a lightly floured surface. Using floured hands or a bench scraper – a metal pancake turner works, too – turn it over a few times, pressing lightly but not kneading, until it just comes together, soft, thick, and smooth.

Beware of lurking labs. They are a scone’s natural predator.

Pat dough 1/2″ to 1″ thick (thicker = higher, but fewer scones) and cut as desired. You can cut wedges or use a floured cookie cutter to stamp out rounds. Below, I’ve cut fluted triangles…

…because the tall wavy edges make me happy. Can you spot the lucky butter chunk?

For a ‘browner’ scone, brush lightly with cream or milk. Then sprinkle the remaining sugar in a thick layer over the tops. See that imperfect scone in the corner? That’s for Josie. She can spot an earmarked leftover blob a mile away.

It’s the homeliest, the tastiest, and the first one gone.

—————————–

Scone on the Range Scones, Orange Chocolate Chip

(click here for a printable recipe)

makes about 1 dozen large scones

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

1 1/2 cups semi-sweet chocolate chips
finely grated zest of one orange

extra sugar for sprinkling

———————

Preheat the oven to 400 F.

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

Cut in butter – you can do this 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 and only a few floury crumbs of butter remain.

(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 orange zest, 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. Cool on baking sheet a few minutes, then transfer to racks, and serve.