Toast

Provencal Pine Nut Crescents

I understand from my mother that her cookie jar is empty, and that she would like something home made, please, to have with her tea. She does not much care for cake, so the Dorset Apple Cake I just made is not really a contender. And though I am committed to using up all my windfall apples, I don't think an apple cookie (should there be such a thing) sounds like her sort of treat at all. So I've put the apples aside for the moment, to fix something more suitable to take her after work tomorrow. I haven't made this recipe before, but I though she might like it, since it is not too sweet or too damp.

As it turns out, these cookies are very nice. The orange flower water, pine nuts and glaze of chestnut honey, give them a mildly exotic, resiny flavor. The recipe I used comes from an old and out of print paperback Sunset Cookbook, called Country French Cooking , from 1981. My copy has an entirely detached front cover, due to having been much used. The recipes in this little number have proved surprisingly reliable over time. I picked these cookies because I had a few pine nuts and a little bit of chestnut honey I wanted to use up. It doesn't call for chestnut honey specifically; you can use any kind of honey you happen to have. I did think the bitter quality of the small amount of chestnut honey worked well. I certainly wouldn't buy it just for the little bit here, though; it cost the earth.

You need: 1/2 lb butter
2/3 cup brown sugar, packed
3 egg yolks
1 tsp grated orange peel
1 tsp orange flour water (they say this is optional, but I'd get some. It's lovely and summery and makes your fruit salads taste Persian)
1/2 tsp vanilla
2 1/3 cups all purpose flour
1/2 cup pine nuts
2 tbsp honey, chestnut if you have it

Preheat oven to 325F, and prepare 2 baking sheets with parchment paper or silpats.
Beat the butter and sugar until creamy. Add egg yolks, one at a time, beating after each. Slip in peel, orangeflower water, and vanilla. Mix in flour until well blended.

For each cookie, roll about a tablespoon of the dough in to a ball. Then roll it into a 5" rope, bend it into a crescent shape, and set it on the sheet. Leave about 2" between the cookies. Press the pine nuts in randomly.

Warm the honey in a microwave, or in a small pan on a low heat. Brush the cookies carefully with the honey. Try not to get any on the pan, as it will burn. You may have to replace a few jostled pine nuts.

Bake 22 minutes, or until golden brown. Remove to a rack to cool.

I will take some of these in a package to my mother, and feed some to my friend Ilene with some fruit salad after she's had her dinner . It is also entirely possible that I will eat some myself. I've already had one, just to make sure they were alright. They are.

Three Ships Cocktails and Salted Almonds

I am not informed on the topic of cocktails, being mostly a wine and beer drinker. I am pretty much of an ignormamus about those too, now that I think about it. Though I am definitely enthusiastic about wine drinking, in a greedy and unconnoisseurish way.

Apart from Pimm's in the summer, and the occasional gin and tonic, I don't generally take to cocktails, martinis, highballs, manhattans, daquiris, and the like. For some reason, though, I was drawn to this one in the NY Times last year (under a different name, which I have forgotten, except that it had to do with Spain and was somehow nautical. I went with "Three Ships", for Columbus, but that's not it.)

Anyway, I tried it and have grown attached, I think because, despite the alcohol, it feels like having a light starter, along with your drink. Quite simple, it is Fino sherry and Clamato juice, with a squirt and slice of lemon. The ratio is up to you. I also like to sprinkle it with smoked spanish paprika. Tapas and fino in one, it goes nicely with nibbles of the olive and salted almond order.

This cocktail has not been universally adored. One person said something like, "Hey, there's something fishy in my drink." And it was true. The salted almonds, however, brook no argument. They are prepared according to the instructions given by Elizabeth David for salted almonds as made by Suleiman, who was her Sudanese cook, when she lived in Egypt.

I was attracted to this recipe, because of my fascination with the magic of toasting nuts. I find it amazing that there is such a dramatic enhancement of flavor in a freshly toasted nut, and always try to toast nuts first, when I am baking with them. It is, of course, ridiculous to paraphrase Ms. David, the mistress of perfect simplicity in food and words. I do recommend reading the original. If you do, you will not be sorry.

To make 8 oz. of these little treats, you will, of course, need half a pound of whole almonds, blanched, and some time at home. If, like me, you have a bunch of nice fresh whole almonds, but they still have their skins on, you will need to blanch them. As Ms. David points out, this is very easy, but it does take considerably longer than the "minute" she estimates. It is, nonetheless, less fiddly than I feared.

You just boil a pasta pot (with strainer basket) full of unsalted water, and drop in the almonds. Bring back to a boil, strain, and run a little cold water over the almonds, so you can touch them without screaming in pain and raising blisters. While they are still a little bit warm, slip the skins off. They pop off quite easily, and there you are. This part, and only this part, can be done ahead.

As to the rest of the process, you need to start about 6 or seven hours before you want to eat the almonds. Preheat your oven to 250F. For 8 oz of almonds, you need only a tiny bit of oil or butter- a tbsp at most. Ms. David suggests getting sweet almond oil from the "chemist". As I am quite sure none of the chain drugstores around here offer this product, I used tasteless and nonburning grapeseed oil, from the heathfood store, in a spray. I sprayed the baking sheet with the oil, spread out the nuts, sprayed the top lightly, and baked them for 45 minutes, until they were the color of light toast.

I then spread them on a sheet of parchment which I had sprinkled with coarse gray french sea salt from Penzey's. (Ms David says that regular free pouring table salt will not do.) I swished the almonds around in the salt, and then pulled up the 4 corners of the parchment, and twisted them into a little closed packet, which I tucked away in a dark cupboard for 5 hours- the optimal time for the salt/almond relationship to develop, as I understand it. This does give the feeling of a magical trick, but really, says Ms. David, serves a primary function of giving the almonds time to mix nicely with the salt while cooling. It also serves the secondary important function of keeping passers by-including the cook-from eating all the almonds before it is time to serve them. When you are ready to put them out, it is a good idea to dust off a bit of the extra salt and sprinkle them with a meagre amount of your favorite ground chili. I like to use a bit of ground chipotle.

There is nothing fishy about these almonds. The slow ritual makes a dandy treat evey time. They beat out the vacuum packed sort by a mile, in my view. I make these with the jordan type almonds I find around here. I'd like to try it with the delicious Marcona almonds I enjoyed in Spain. These are not easy to find in Pittsburgh, though.

Have some with your drink and a few olives if you like.

Lady Moon's Dorset Apple Cake

The two branches of my personal family tree have some striking similarities, particularly considering their surface differences. One side, my father's family, were jews from Lodz, in Poland who emigrated to the US in the late 1800's. My mother's family were originally londoners from the East End. My mother was a WWII war bride, who came to Pittsburgh on the QE I, with a boatload of other war brides, at the ripe old age of 21. It always made us laugh to hear my parents referred to as a "mixed" marriage. Of course there were lots of cultural differences, but so many of their basic standards and attitudes, and those of their families, were so very alike.

What has always amused me, though, are the weird little coincidental oddities which were inexplicably similar, or even identical in the two families. One great grandfather on each side was a shoemaker, for example. Then there was the sad fact that everyone was always fleeing. My mother's family included french hugenots, who fled to protestant England to escape persecution. My father's family purportedly fled Spain or Portugal to eastern europe during the Inquistion..not to mention the polish pogroms my grandparents fled.

An especially nonsensical similarity which I find amusing is this: Both of my grandmothers, when they felt their daughters were being la-di-da and pretentious, would say, "Oh, look at you, Lady Moon." Lady Moon. Where on earth (sorry, sorry), did that come from? As you can imagine, my mother has passed this gentle put-down along to me.

And what, you may well ask, does all of this have to do with the topic at hand? Not, perhaps , alot. But when I was mulling (har) over the possibilities for the green windfall apples left over from part one of my "pectin broth" plan, memories of two apple cakes emerged simultaneously from the muddle which is my subconscious. Each is a standard from one side of my family. They are both "plain", but rich, not very sweet, keep well, and are meant to be enjoyed with tea or coffee, more than as a dessert. They are also quite different.

I can see that if I'm going to make both cakes, I am going to have to present them, in a friendly manner, to other folks who can be counted on to consume the lion's share of each. Naturally, I will attempt to pick recipients who will offer me a taste of their cake gift. This will save me from the awkwardness involved in offering them cakes with missing slices.

I am going to make my Uncle Ted's Dorset Apple Cake first, because it is less elaborate, and easier to fix than Bubie's Apple Cake. My Uncle Ted lived with my Auntie Louie , her husband ( "Uncle Charles") and my grandmother ("Nanny" or "Big Nanny".) This was not a situation where the elderly parent moved in with her adult children. Rather, Louise and Ted, two of Nanny and Grandad's eight children, had simply never left home. By the time I knew them well, they were all retired, and had moved to a large pretty house with a beautiful big garden, in Eastbourne, on the south coast.

Uncle Ted, who retired rather young because he was having periodic "blackouts" or "spells", had been the head of all the catering for the Port of London Authority, responsible for both the ordinary meals, and galas for dignitaries and fancy types. Not a chef himself, he had always worked with professional cooks and chefs of many sorts, and paid close attention to their doings. On retirement, he became the chief cook of the household, specializing in very good "plain" cooking, often including the homegrown vegetables which Uncle Charles produced in the garden. Several times when we visited, Uncle Ted made a "Dorset Apple Cake", using the Bramley apples from the semi-dwarf apple trees in the garden. I thought it was particularly nice.

The internet and my English cookbooks are replete with recipes having the same name. Many of them are similar to this one, which I chose to try,after adapting it for american measurements and ordinary flour, because it seemed most like what I remembered. This version apparently comes, in its original form, from an odd (to me) magazine called Country Life, which seems to be aimed at people who like to imagine that they are rural gentry, and that WWII has not yet occured. This is how you make the cake:

2 cups flour
1 stick unsalted butter
4 oz sugar(use more, at your discretion, if using truly green, unripe apples)
1 tbsp baking powder
1 tsp salt
grated rind of one lemon or lime
1/2 pound apples, skinned, cored and diced
1 egg, beaten

Preheat oven to 375 F. Thoroughly butter an 8" cake pan. Put flour, salt, and baking soda in a bowl and whisk to mix. Using your fingers or a pastry blender, work the butter into the flour, until it has the texture of dry breadcrumbs. Work in the sugar. Add the apples and peel, mixing well, preferably with a light hand. Finally, add the egg and mix in until the dough clumps. Spoon into your pan, and smooth surface in an approximate way. Bake for about 40 minutes, until golden.

This is a moist, puddingy cake, and hence more forgiving than the sponge/genoise sort. You can adjust the amount of sugar, depending on the sugar in your apples. I actually like mine pretty tart. This cake is good with tea or coffee, or for breakfast if you are a bit decadent.Uncle Ted used to serve it with runny custard, which ups the richness ante. Bubie's apple cake, which I plan to do next, should use up the remaining green apples. That one, while also coffee cake-ish, is a bit fancier and slightly sweeter. Maybe I will offer to bring it for dessert for Friday night dinner. The Dorset Apple Cake may be coming to work with me.

Other Kitchens III: Galley Gallery

My friend Ilene is an excellent cook, and also a skilled surveyor of thrift shops . Furthermore, she favors, for her kitchen, things which are green, and things which are orange, as do I. Consequently, there are any number of objects in her kitchen which I envy, and would wish to steal.

It is delightful to have a friend who in addition to her other sterling qualities, has such a good idea of what you will like that she can call you on the phone to tell you she found something you want, and be correct 99% of the time. (We will not delve heavily into the other 1%, involving as it does her professed unshakable conviction that I collect Topo Gigio type ceramic mice. She finds my spluttering indignant denials very amusing.) It is also delightful to have a friend who makes you a tasty dinner every other thursday night, and is a companionable guest at your house on the other weeks. It is very pleasant to go to Ilene's and be well fed, and also to see what nifty item she has found this time.

This is a galley kitchen, and quite compact and well worked out visually and functionally. Besides looking, in my opinion, very cool, pretty much every clever and attractive item also has some kitchen purpose, storing something which should be on hand. Of course, it is an ever evolving design, as things are arranged to make way for others, or rotated elsewhere. Having cooked in both galley kitchens and a larger one, I personally favor a galley- with as much counterspace as possible, so that you can turn, and get what you are looking for. So this is a kind of kitchen I particularly like.

Ilene has an especially good eye for kitcheny paraphenalia of the thirties, forties, and fifties, some of which is appealing for its humor, as well as its good looks. She has a number of funky flour sifters. One I enjoy depicts a sparkly, happy 1950's mom, twinkling merrily at her tidy family. Her twinkle is actual, in an asterisk like shape. Like L. in Brighton, Ilene often has fresh flowers around, and arranges fruits and vegs to look fetching, while they are sitting around waiting to be cooked.

This is a cook who will go out of her way for exceptional ingredients, and appreciates a tree-ripened peach and brand new baby potatoes. Indeed, she is the very person who generously introduced me to the Honeycrisp Apple, when she could have kept them all for herself. (In case you did not know, this is simply the all time apple for eating out of hand. If you are fortunate enough to find some of these this autumn, do not waste your time or these apples cooking them. They are merely good, when used in cooking. Fresh, they have the snappiest snap, a fabulous honey-wine taste, and so much juice you will think you had a glass of cider. I'm not kidding. Just leave some for us.)

Ilene's kitchen also contains the twin of my beloved and ridiculous FrancisFrancis espresso machine. She found both of them at Williams Sonoma a few years ago-the last two, wildly on sale in a discontinued color, and gave me a call. They were madly expensive at full price then, and have gone even more crazy since, so this was a great good fortune. Any kitchen set up with one of these green babies is a step ahead, let me tell you. I love mine.

A decorative and charming element of Ilene's kitchen, and indeed her whole house, is Josie, a beautiful black and white Maine Coon cat of extraordinary grace. I would have taken her pretty picture, but she is terribly shy, and doesn't even wait until you get the camera out to run away and hide. So you will have to take my word for her, and picture her delicately muching on her special kind of turkey, from her bowl in the kitchen corner.

Farm Box VI: Apple Windfall

So why do I have all these little nobby green apples in a 1/2 bushel box? Well.... my daughter and I thought we would maybe plan to get together for a weekend in August, and collaborate on some jam. We had noticed that many alluring Christine Ferber recipes call for the use of green apple jelly. This purportedly boosts the jelling possibilities for various fruits which don't have much pectin of their own. We thought it might be a good idea to make some of this together, and then each use some making different jams later. Green apple jelly is made from very unripe apples, preferably, says Ms. Ferber, picked in July.

I thought I might get some windfall apples of this sort from Don Kreschmann, the farmer behind my weekly boxes of vegs. I consulted with Don, who said he was glad I asked. They were overwhelmed with windfalls from their earliest apples, to the point where they couldn't keep up with pie-baking. He was going to get back to me about offering some to subscribers. I was expecting a little more chit-chat on the topic, but what I got was a happy surprise with my veggies on Wednesday- an accompanying 1/2 bushel box of very green organic windfall apples with my name on it.

Since my busy child can't make it to Pittsburgh before August, I decided to make up some pectin jelly now, while the apples are fresh. Then, when we rendezvous, we can use the jelly to make ourselves some more glamourous conserves. Of course there is no way I'm making all these apples into pectin jelly. So apart from pie, I'll need to come up with some good ideas for green apples. Applesauce, as you will see, is a delightful byproduct of the jelly making process here, so that won't count as a separate idea. This is going to need some serious thinking out. Meanwhile, on to the green apple jelly fest. I decided to make a double batch of Ms. Ferber's recipe, in the hopes of getting 6-8 eight oz. jars of pectin jelly. (Each of her enticing conserve recipes uses 7oz. of the pectin jelly, so that will be some to play with together, and a couple for each of us for future doings.)

I put 13 cups of water into a big stockpot. Then I weighed out 7 pounds of the green little pellet apples, which I washed. I removed the stems, but not the skin, and cut them in quarters, or halves for the really tiny ones. Into the water with them, and then I brought the water to a near boil, turned it down to a simmer , and cooked them for for 30 minutes. The apples became very soft.

With somewhat different equipment from C.F., I tried to acheive the desired result, mainly getting the rendered liquid strained out of the pulp, without adding a whole lot of pureed pulp to it. So first, I poured all the moosh through a chinois, pressing just lightly on the apple pulp, but trying to let the juice run pretty freely through. Then I poured the results through a jelly bag, which I had on hand, rather than dampened cheesecloth, as I did not think I had enough cheesecloth to cope if things got messy.

This left me with nearly 2 quarts of nice, clear fresh smelling apple something. (About 1 cup less than I should have-I always wind up with less with anything to do with jam.) I put this in a ceramic container- a beanpot actually- and set it in the fridge overnight, to let any sediment do its thing. Then, faced with a big pile of apple pulp and a lot of equipment too big for the dishwasher to clean, I pulled myself together. Instead of flinging myself on the sofa with a book, I made applesauce.

Yes, I actually put all that pulp back through the chinois, ditched the seeds and skin, and got about a quart of pretty greeny looking applesauce, to which I just added a small pile of vanilla sugar. Then I cleaned up, mixed some of the still warm applesauce with some greek yogurt, and took my bowl, spoon, book and cats, and flung myself on the sofa, glowing with virtue.

The next morning I combined the apple juice with 8 cups of sugar, and the juice of one very big lemon, brought it to a boil, and skimmed it numerous times. I then cooked it all on a highish heat for ten minutes, brought it to a boil again, and stuck in the candy thermometer. When it hit 220F, I turned off the heat and skimmed it once more. I carefully (in bare feet, like an idiot) ladeled it into 8 one cup wide mouth ball jars, which I had sterilized in boiling water, and used a sterilized knife to bust up as many air bubbles as possible. I then topped them with the lids, and left on a towel overnight to cool and seal.

As I have said before, this is a european method for preserves, and is not the preferred and recommended US gov't method for safety in preserving. If you want to be assured of complete food safety, you should process these, and all your jams and jellies in a boiling water bath for at least 10 minutes. In either event you must check to see that the jars are sealed, with concave lids, and that they don't "boing" when you press on the top. If you are in doubt, refrigerate and use them up quickly.

I am very pleased because I am pretty sure these are jelling- it was difficult to wash the preserving pan, because the remaining bit was so jellied. Also, they are transparently amber and are quite tasty on their own. I think they would make a very nice fruit tart (or ham) glaze and may save a jar or two for such purposes. They have a lovely, clean taste. Stay tuned for future conserves made with this "pectin stock jelly." Ideas for the rest of the green apples would be appreciated.

Addendum: I have discovered that Christine Ferber will be conducting a two day master class at a place called The French Pastry School in Chicago, August 2-4. At first, I was upset that I discovered this too late to plan to go. However, having realized that it costs $825, plus travel to Chicago and a hotel, I probably couldn't have managed it anyway. But it certainly would have been worth the trip to see her at work. sigh.

Baguettes Bizarre

Now I know this bread doesn't look impressive. I was considering the idea of a post with no picture. Even I can do better than this at shaping a baguette the proper way, though I am far from an expert. . But there's a good reason for these aberrant loaves, and I'm going to tell you what that is, if you will be patient with me, while I take a little ride on a hobby horse.

There is no way that I am going to turn out an optimal loaf of bread in my kitchen. I know I don't have the oven for it, and even if I did, I wouldn't be at all confident that I could produce anything approaching my personal gold standard- the Acme rustic baguette. If I could buy anything close to this sort of thing here in town, I'd just go to that fine place, buy it and be done with it, and go home happy.

The problem is, I am a teeny bit obsessed with this kind of bread, and I don't get any. Ever. Now that my daughter no longer lives in Berkeley, I don't have much of an excuse to visit. (I did drag my English cousin to the bay area on a recent visit, but it wasn't for the bread, really.) I rejoice that my favorite family members are now in Cleveland, close to Pittsburgh; bread isn't everything,after all. But it is bread, and I think most folks would agree that bread is important.

I admire lots of different yeasty baked things,including seedy wholegrain sandwich breads, bialys, roti, paranthas, plezlach, and so on, but I would dearly love to have a ready supply of dark brown, snappy crusted, wheaty tasting bread, with slightly chewy, off-white innards, full of various different sized holes. And if it could be in a convenient baguette shape, that would be a plus.

A lot of people think I'm crazy on this subject, and that the bread from the Allegro Hearth Bakery, (expensive, fancy, located in my own Squirrel Hill neighborhood), or the Breadworks (located on the Northside, cheaper, better, available in many other outlets) is just dandy. I don't hate it or anything, but I think it is Pathetically Underdone and Pallid. Why don't they finish baking their bread, I wonder? Is it the fear that customers will reject anything too far from the factory bread or heat-and-serve model?

I don't think I'm entirely alone. Whenever I've been in New York, for example, I have found my preferred type bread in more than one place, without making a ridiculous effort. So when I've been desperate for the sort of bread I want, over the years, I've made a number of attempts at producing some approximation of it myself. The two Acme recipes in the Maggie Glezer book are pretty good. They don't taste like the original, at least as made by me, but I like them better than anything I can buy around here, and I've made them fairly frequently.

Recently though, I've been making an odd recipe that I really like, from a Peter Reinhart book that I got out of the library-I'm afraid I can't remember which one-he has alot. I had not been generally all that keen on his cookbooks; he seemed to me to incline a bit too much toward the school of putting extra stuff into your bread-like cheese and things- to make it taste different. (Not that I object to all additions to bread. Toasted walnuts in bread - so good to eat along with some good cheese that I can hardly stand it, for example.) I was sorry about this, since he sounds a particularly nice person. But this recipe is a favorite of mine. It does produce a funny looking baguette, as you see. Because the dough is extremely wet, you can't shape it by the usual crafty methods, but I don't mind the weirdness. Because to my mind, it tastes quite similar the real thing. And... it is uniquely easy to make and..ta!ta! smells great, even after cooling.

This is a recipe Reinhart got from a parisian baker, who calls it "Baguettes Ancienne", even though you can't make it without a fridge and an electric mixer, and he seems to have pulled the whole recipe..., well, you know.. This businessman probably knows his audience, his parisian customers would most likely not want to buy some newfangled idea of a baguette. No Baguettes Nouveau for them.

Presumably, the paris pro has some clever technique for making these look more presentable, too, or they would not be flying out his door. I can tell you that whatever that may be, it is not the usual bagette shaping deal. I have tried that, and you need to use so much extra flour that the bread texture is pretty much ruined.(Maybe he extrudes them from a machine or something, since they are so ancienne.)

If you are willing to put up with its homely appearance, you may find this a handy bread to make. For me, it is a great boon when when I get crazy for my favorite kind of bread. If you are a proficient bread maker, you probably don't need this recipe. But I love it. This is what you do:

Part I: Night before baking:
3 cups King Arthur's All Purpose Unbleached Flour
1/8 tsp sea salt*(see note below)
1 scant tsp instant yeast (not quick rising, instant)
1 1/2 cups ice water Make this by putting ice in 1 3/4 cups
water in a measuring cup for 3 minutes, remove ice, measure

Put flour salt and yeast in the bowl of a Kitchenaid type mixer, with the paddle attachment. On medium slow, slowly add the water. What you are going for here is a mixture that sticks to the bottom, but releases on the bowl sides. Correct with flour and/or icewater as needed, at some point switching to a dough hook. Knead 6 minutes with hook. Transfer to a floured bowl, covered. Refrigerate overnight.

Part II:Next day
Remove from fridge. Wait 3 hours. As you get near the end of the time turn on your oven. If it is an ordinary oven like mine, crank it up as high as it will go. Really. With a tile liner, if you have one- a pizza stone kind of thing. If not, I don't know if this will work, but you could try a cookie sheet, without sides.

Turn over another cookie sheet or jelly roll pan, and cover with a sheet of parchment. No, do not use your bread peel, unless it is huge, and you can fit all 3 loaves on at once, space between, with the parchment under them. Otherwise, it won't work , this stuff is really, really sticky, and you can't move it until it's baked some.

Plop dough onto a floured surface, and divide into 3 parts with a scissors or dough scraper. Here is the tricky bit. You wish to persuade each of these to take on an approximation of the baguette shape. Flour your hands. I find pulling and twisting is easiest- hence the corkscrew effect. Set these, as you make them, evenly spaced on the back of your lined cookie sheet, as you wish them to appear on your pizza stone, without danger of melding.

2nd tricky bit- slit each baguette diagonally several times with a very sharp knife. If they resist, being too sticky, cut diagonally with scissors. This creates a peaked effect which I prefer to view as a charming, rustic touch. Now, open your oven door and slide the shelf with the stone out as far as it will go without danger of toppling. Approach with your sheet of baguettes. Carefully slide the parchment and baguettes from the cookie sheet onto the stone. Slide in rack and close oven.

Turn down to 425 F.
Open oven door and toss in a few ice cubes on to the oven floor. (Little shot o' steam) After 10 minutes, open oven and slip out the parchment, leaving the bread behind on the tile, of course. You may have to rearrange the bread slightly, possibly scalding your fingers. (You may have already done this sliding the parchment and breads onto the stone. I certainly have.) Cook about 25 minutes altogether, but don't take it out until it is dark brown,please. It is very difficult to overcook this type of bread. Cool on rack.

Consume after cooling. Do wait until it cools completely. Hard, but necessary.

I am very contented when I have a nice hunk of this with my soup and/or cheese. Nothing against country style round loaves, which I love. When I was in Paris for a few days a couple of years ago, I failed to convince my friend that a side trip to the Poilane boulangerie was an urgent matter, and never got to try any of that fabled bread. If I get another chance, I will be more independent, and head for the bread with single-minded resolve.

*Note:A reader has pointed out that the original recipe calls for 1 1/8 tsp salt. I don't have the book, but he is no doubt right. The 1/8 tsp was the way I copied it a long time ago-it's how I make it and always have. He thought my way was bland though, so you might prefer it with the original measurement.

Crabby Little Souffles

It was too hot to go shopping today. Besides, I took my mother out for a walk , I'm beat and I'm conserving my energy for the coming week's "vacation", which I took to paint the apartment, and (ugh) go to the dentist.

But I want a little treat for supper , and I also want to play with (and show off) my little green ramekins. There are 8 of them, and they match, and I am very tickled about this. Formerly, if I served lttle custards, or mousses or anything, they appeared in an odd assortment of not-quite-ramekins: small bowls, mugs, one proper le creuset "flame" custard cup and the like. So I feel quite elegant with my matching lime colored 6oz babies. The refrigerator is fairly bare, since I haven't replenished after my work trip last week. I want to wait to shop until Wednesday, which is farmbox day, so I can see what I have and won't buy duplicates of anything. Anyhow, I want something that feels a bit dainty, to offset my general sweatiness, what with prepainting prep, and all that.

My search of the pared down fridge revealed a 6oz vacuum packed foil sack of "claw" crabmeat, not yet approaching its stamped expiration date. There were also eggs, milk and butter. I had picked up the crab with just such an occasion in mind, although I had not actually considered what I was going to make with it. Obviously, anything seriously showcasing the crab might be a letdown. But hey, if I had beautiful freshly picked crabmeat, I'd make a really simple salad, or plainish crabcakes, and let it speak for itself.

So I settled upon this recipe, clipped, I believe, from an old Food and Wine magazine, judging from the typeface, etc. It caught my eye, as I rummaged, because of the lemon thyme, which is growing exuberently in a pot on my porch stairs. I also thought it would be nice to do a small souffle, to show off my new little dishes. It is adapted to make four 6 oz. starter or lunch servings, rather than six, as in the original. If you want to have this for a supper, which would be very nice on a hot day, it would serve 2, in 8 oz ramekins, should you have some.

This is what you do:

Separate 4 eggs, putting 2 yolks in a cup, the 4 whites in your clean mixer bowl, and 2 yolks in the fridge.

Melt 2 Tbsps of butter in a small saucepan, and whisk in 2 tbsps flour. Whisking away, slowly add 2/3 cup of milk. When it is combined and thick and smooth, remove from heat. Add the 2 yolks from the cup, and whisk it up with a pinch of sea salt. If it is not thick, put it back on a low heat, and whisk away until it is. Transfer to a large bowl, cover with plastic wrap and cool.

Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. Arrange your ramekins in a roasting pan, or some pan with reasonably high sides (i.e. not a cookie sheet). Fold 6 oz of crabmeat into the cooled souffle base, along with a dash of tabasco type sauce. This last is not in the recipe, but you want it, believe me. Beat your (now room temperature) egg whites until they hold a firm peak. Stir about 1/3 of the egg whites into the base mix to lighten it. Then gently fold in the rest. Fill the ramekins to within 1/4 " of the top. Wipe rims with damp cloth. Pour enough hot water into the roasting pan to come about halfway up the ramekins. Bake about 30 minutes, or until lightly browned. Serve at once for maximal prettiness. If you like, you can serve these each with a small pitcher of melted butter mixed with a squirt of lemon or lime, smoked spanish paprika and minced parsley or lemon thyme. If you are having it for supper, it would be nice to have a crusty bread and a plain tomato and basil salad along with your souffle.

I hope you have not forgotten the 2 egg yolks still in the fridge. Does the responsibility for these stranded, lonely yolks weigh heavily upon you? Better make a two crust fruit pie, so you can brush the top with a yolk glaze. Nectarine/blueberry would be seasonal and tasty. It's my favorite american style pie. I'd do it myself, but I've got all this painting to do.

Branston Variations

I have a taste for Branston Pickle, the spicy brown condiment sometimes found adding a nice touch to a "ploughman's lunch", involving a crusty roll, a hunk of good cheese, a bit of salad, and a beer. It is also good on cold meat sandwiches, grilled cheese, with cream cheese on crackers, and so on.

This is not a hoity toity sort of thing, it seems to be widely available in the U.K. in supermarkets, and is about as fancy as say, ketchup, or Pickapeppa Sauce, as far as I can tell. For some reason, though, it is treated around here like a gourmet item, which is to say, it is hard to find, and pricey. For this reason, I have been known to bring it back in my suitcase, wrapped in a sock. My last personally imported bottle is down to scrapings, so I thought I'd try my hand at making some of my own.

My first thought was to check my newly acquired tatty used copy of Better Than Store Bought . There was nothing on point, but I did consult the chutney sections, since on consideration, this pickle really is a sort of chutney. The ultimate conconction, currently cooling in 3 squat 1/2 pint ball jars, is a combination of that guidance, the bottle label from my last Crosse and Blackwell jar, and an internet search.

I was loathe to include the universally recommended "caramel coloring" or "Kitchen Bouquet." Going to the trouble of making a pickle from the ground up, it just didn't appeal. (I have no real objection to eating this in the bottled stuff, but somehow I didn't want to add either here.) So I used pressed dates instead of chopped dates, carmelized red onions instead of yellow onions, and added some nice dark sherry vinegar to the cider vinegar, instead of lemon juice. I also used the darkest brown sugar, because I like that browny branston color.

Also, I made a special effort to cut up everything into very small (1/8") cubes, for spreadibility. I do tend to chop chunky style, out of a combination of laziness and a liking for rustic things, where every bite you get is a little different. But giant pickle chunks could be a real deterrent to sandwich use, so I was quite strict with myself. The result is that this pickle looks like it was made by someone else, and is a bit of an alien presence on the preserves shelf. I hope in a good way, though.

I started with:
1 medium red onion, chopped
I cooked this slowly in a tiny little bit of canola oil, for 20 minutes until it started to brown. I then added 1/2 cup of cider vinegar
1/8 cup dark sherry vinegar
1/2 lb of dark brown sugar

I continued to cook this mix, with a pinch of salt, slowly, while I chopped up (tiny, tiny) and added all of the following, in this order:

2 cloves garlic
3 good sized cauliflower florets
1/4 pkg pressed dates
a carrot
1 medium turnip
1 medium zucchini
1 medium unwaxed cucumber

This took awhile, due to the laborious chopping, so that the harder veggies
got somewhat cooked as I went along . Then I cooked all it down until the syrupy liquid was almost absorbed into the solids, packed it in my clean jars, and processed the jars for 10 minutes in a boiling water bath.

I have saved some out in the fridge to taste in a little while. This is not as richly brown as the prototype; it's a bit redder, for some reason, but I have high hopes for taste and texture. I will add an addendum when I've tried it, once I've let it settle and blend a week in the fridge.

Addendum: New kitten Sidney decided she would look good in the jampot. Archie, my older cat , unpictured, looks on in disgust at this blatant pandering to human tastes. You may be able to see his reflection in the pan.
No more cat pictures, I promise.

Other Kitchens II: House with a View

When D and E came to live in my attic "temporarily" 8 or 9 years ago, they did not cook. They bought the groceries and I generally cooked for us all. They did not appear, at that time, likely to spend much time in any kitchen, let alone a particularly nice one. They were, however, great, easy going , entertaining and thoroughly nice roommates.

They had no view at all, except for the rooftop view you get from the tiny little triangular window visible when bathing in the old, clawfoot tub in the attic bathroom. They lived in the space my daughter had occupied before she went away to college. It was kind of squished, and the room retained its tossed-around, adolescent look. Some of their furniture, including a remarkable eclectic unintentional collection of end tables they had somehow accumulated, lived in the garage. Their temporary stay lasted several years, until I sold the house, and we all moved.

That's when they bought their wonderful, amazing house in the Schenley Terrace section of Pittsburgh, situated between the posh Schenley Farms, and the "Sugar Top" section of the Hill District. This place has a beautiful view of the city, looking out over Oakland, and it is really big. It is also an arts and crafts period house with virtually untouched original glass and woodwork. There is a ton of built in arts and crafts furniture. This includes, for example, an oak buffet, with leaded windows depicting squirrels toting tiny acorns. There is a sun room, with double leaded glass doors. Deep windowseats and a wide stairway... On and On. I will not even tell you about the deal they got on the place, because unless you live in Pittsburgh, you won't believe me. I doubt if there is another actual city where ordinary people (like say, a schoolteacher and a photographer/student/part-time techie) could manage a place like this. Even for Pittsburgh it was an astonishing (and richly deserved) find.

Anyhow, when they first moved in, they dealt with the roof problems, and had to replace some iffy windows. They have been furnishing, painting etc, slowly, as they can, and the place is looking awfully good. Their kitchen is the original, with some added countertops and a dishwasher. I think the gas stove grew out of the floor, it is so old. But it is cool, simple and still works. It is nicer than the one that came with my apartment, sturdier, without gimmicky bits.

They have some really tall original oak kitchen cabinets, and their kitchen now has utensils, and pots and pans, and knives and things, even cookbooks, because they now cook. And they cook well. They have some specialities, including a mean pasta wheels and asparagus dish. They have had big dinners for D's huge family- last time there was family from out of town they made giant pots of real Gumbo. I had some too, and it was excellent. They also make a fine Pimm's cup, and invented a starter involving haloummi and sundried tomatoes. Yum.

I am proud of them, and I love their kitchen. (Why, you may well ask, am I proud? I don't know, do I some how deserve credit for having clever friends? Nevertheless, an irrational feeling of pride persists.)

This kitchen is a fine place to stand around drinking beer and meddling in the food preparations. I hope they will maybe save a section of their astonishingly well preserved funky kitchen wallpaper as they continue with their refurbishing. Personally, I'd have a hard time giving up that stove, too.

Here is how you make a Pimm's Cup, which is a very refreshing sort of summer drink. It has a lttle bit of a garden party, "tennis anyone?", 1930's air about it. It also tastes terrific and slightly bitter, in a nice way:

Fill a tumbler 1/2 full of ice cubes. Fill glass to 1/3 full with Pimm's #1, which you can get at the liquor store. Add a round slice of cucumber and a round slice of orange. Fill to top with ginger ale. Stir.

Here is how you make haloummi starters: Haloummi, as you probably already know, is a lovely salty cheese which comes from Cyprus. It comes in an oblong block from which you cut thinish oblong slices. You then brown the slices of cheese in a saute or frying pan. Haloummi is more suited to this treatment than other cheeses, as it maintains its shape while browning up nicely. You put each browned slice on a slice of toasted baguette or oblong sesame cracker. Top with a bit of oil packed sundried tomato. Serve, possibly with a Pimms.

I first had haloummi in Cyprus two summers ago. I came home prepared to show off what I thought was an exotic find, and before I could even mention it , D and E had served it up at their house, having discovered it around the corner in the union-busting, pocketbook squeezing, at times annoyingly alluring market known, among other things, as "Toll Foods."

Picture credit: Picture by E.-a real photographer (using my beloved, but decidedly unfancy Canon Powershot. Note ability to depict foreground and background simultaneously, a feat entirely beyond me. Also note how the Pimmses glow fetchingly.)

Postscript to Pie: Drowning in Brandy, Still Not Stoned

Some people just don't know when to stop. With the help of a very tall neighbor, who happened to be taking out his garbage when I was emptying mine, I got a few more of the tiny wild stoney cherries I used in my pie. I cannot tell a lie-
I made the bottle of baby brandied cherries, which you see here. They are wearing my recently acquired, embarrassingly marthaesque jam vanity plates. My excuse is that the computer labels I had been using were hard to wash off when reusing jars. Real reason: fit of cuteness.

I cooked the cherries briefly in a sugar and water mix, put some cognac in a pint jar, and added the cherries, which I took from the syrup with a slotted spoon. Then I boiled down the syrup, poured it over the cherries, and topped it up with more cognac. What will I use these for? Decorating the top of a cake, maybe?

The part of my brain that went to law school says the cake would need a warning label.

Addendum: The instructions for these brandied cherries come from Better Than Storebought which I found at a nice used bookstore/coffee shop in State College, PA, while strolling around after work meetings. I was delighted to find it and to pay $7 for it, even though the hard binding is semi-unglued. I have had this out of print item from the library so often that they will probably ban me from further consults. It is very cool, and worth looking for.