I’ve blogged about my lemon cake recipe before. It is one of my favourites. This time, I baked it as cupcakes, and I dressed it up a little. I added a cup of coconut (stirred in before the egg whites) and a dollop of red currant jam on top.
The coconut and lemon flavours go well together, and the tart jam on top adds colour and zing.
An excellent combination!
I bought cream earlier this week, thinking I’d make pumpkin pie this weekend—you can’t possibly eat pumpkin pie without whipped cream, right?
But my husband wondered whether pumpkin pie would be even better with cinnamon ice cream, so he and my daughter used the cream to make cinnamon ice cream.
The ice cream is quite nice, and the pie is delicious.
But for my part, I still think plain old whipped cream is best.
As I head into spring, I always try to bear in mind my list of garden don’ts…
Today was the day—the day to finally crack open one of the parmesan cheeses from last October. Eleven months in the fridge, and they were every bit as disgusting as they always are. Covered in mould, in spite of my efforts to avoid it, and with a hard, dry rind.
And as usual, once the rind was cut off, the cheese underneath was the most divine, flavourful cheese ever.
My parmesan is drier than the standard commercial block, a bit less salty, and with twice the flavour punch. It takes at least ten months to reach full ripeness, but it’s worth the wait. We put commercial parmesan on pasta, in risotto, and in pesto. My parmesan, we also sneak onto our sandwiches for lunch, or onto crackers for an after school snack.
Of all the cheeses I’ve learned to make, it is one of the most rewarding for its sheer over-the-top gourmet decadence. I’d say we live like kings, but I wonder if even kings get cheese this good on a daily basis.
Definitely hygge
It was way too warm this evening to need a fire, but I lit one anyway. After two brutal days in the garden, I just wanted warmth and comfort.
Apparently, it’s very trendy. Just two days ago, they were discussing this very thing on National Radio—hygge—a Danish term (pronounced hooga) that means comfort, well-being, cosiness, and contentment all wrapped up in one word.
Taking care of yourself. Doing those things that bring happiness and comfort—a picnic on the beach, curling up with a good book and a cup of tea, enjoying a glass of wine with friends.
For me, curling up with a good book by the fire is hygge, and that’s what I’ll be doing this evening.
But hygge for me is also an evening stroll in the garden, after the day’s work is done. It’s half an hour at the piano. Lunch outdoors in the sun. Scones on Sunday morning. Milking in the dark at 5am under a sky full of stars. Morning coffee among the tassling corn in mid-summer.
What is hygge for you?
I’ve been making oven fries for 25 years, and the only thing I don’t like about them is that they stick to the pan, and it takes an overnight soak to clean it.
It’s because I’ve been doing it wrong.
I only learned this a few weeks ago. I was making fries for dinner, and had just slipped the tray into the oven when my daughter asked me to play a game of Bananagrams with her.
I can’t possibly turn down Bananagrams (we usually play two games every evening), and I had the time…
Half an hour and two games of Bananagrams later, I remembered my fries. Whoops! I usually stir them after about 15 minutes to ensure they bake properly and stick less.
I opened the oven to find a tray of perfectly baked fries.
They’ll stick badly, I thought.
Nope. They popped right off the tray—much easier than usual.
Well, you learn something new every day. Since then, I’ve made them several more times, “forgetting” to stir them, and tweaking the technique until I’ve got the best oven fries ever. Here it is…
Cut your potatoes into fries or wedges, however thick you’d like. Toss them generously with olive oil and salt on an oiled baking sheet (I use a jelly roll pan).
Bake on fan-assist at 210°C (400°F) for about 40 minutes, until the fries are nicely browned. Enjoy a glass of wine or a game while they bake—no need to do anything to them!
I don’t need the calendar to tell me it’s spring. I know it’s spring because…
The daffodils are blooming.
The office is full of plants.
The fruit trees are budding up.
Artichokes!
The grass needs mowing.
The weeds are out of control.
The wind blows hard from the northwest.
The dandelions are blooming.
Oh, little seed
Barely a speck.
Germ and cotyledon armoured
In seed coat.
You hold such potential–
A pea, a bean, a sprawling melon
Waits inside your humble shell.
Such modest desires you possess–
Soil, sun, water, warmth.
It is my pleasure to provide for you
Knowing you, someday, will provide for me–
Succulent tomatoes, crisp lettuce, spicy radishes.
I can taste your future.
Grow, little seed.
You are my sun, my life, my lunch.
You are spring itself.
I made up this recipe this morning because I had a hankering for cranberry and orange, but was too lazy to search for a recipe. They were so good I thought I’d share.
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup whole wheat flour
1 ½ Tbsp baking powder
Âľ tsp baking soda
½ tsp salt
3 eggs
zest and juice of 1 orange
approx 1 ÂĽ cup plain yogurt (see instructions below)
½ cup brown sugar
8 Tbsp melted butter
1 cup dried cranberries
Combine the dry ingredients in a large bowl. In a medium bowl, whisk together the eggs, orange zest, orange juice, yogurt, and butter. To measure the yogurt, squeeze the orange juice into a measuring cup, and add enough yogurt to make 1 ½ cups.
Combine wet and dry ingredients, plus cranberries in a few swift strokes.
Fill greased muffin tins, and bake at 210°C (400°F) for 15 minutes. Makes about 21 muffins.
See no evil–list it instead.
It’s about this time of year when I look around and see how shabby the garden looks. Through the depths of winter, I didn’t notice. I wasn’t outside enough. The days were short. I didn’t want to work outdoors.
But even if the lengthening days and singing magpies weren’t enough to tell me, the calendar is screaming that it’s just two weeks to spring.
So I’m paying more attention to the yard and garden. I’m taking a second glance at what I thought was my herbs beginning to resprout…and finding that the green I saw was actually a giant, aggressively spreading vetch. I’m walking through the vegetable garden to assess what needs to be done…and finding that though the chickens did a lovely job on some weeds, they didn’t touch the most difficult ones. I’m checking the bird netting over the strawberries, and finding hole after hole that needs repairing. I’m inspecting irrigation pipes, and finding ice-cracked valves. I’m walking the rows of currants and raspberries, and finding enough thistles to make me want to cry.
In short, I’m finding so many things to do, I begin to think I can’t possibly do them all.
And so, to maintain my sanity, I make lists.
A list of things to do this weekend.
A list of things to do in the evenings during the week.
A list of things to purchase in town.
A list of things to do next weekend.
A list of things to do the weekend after that.
A list of things that need to go on a list…
By mid-September, I’ll have every weekend through late-November planned in detail—exactly what needs to be done in order to have everything under control and planted out at the right time.
It sounds crazy, but it keeps me sane. Once a task is on a list, I can ignore it. I can walk past that aggressive vetch plant every day, knowing that if I just keep to my lists, I will eventually get to it. I can be completely blind to the holes in the bird netting, because I know that fixing it is on the list the week before the strawberries should start to ripen.
Without my lists, I’d be overwhelmed by the mountain of tasks to get done between now and December.
But the lists aren’t just good for making me get my work done. They also help me get my play in, too. Fun stuff goes on the lists, too. A weekend tramping trip, a day at the beach—I can schedule these things in alongside my work, and then actually enjoy them, because I know I’ve got time to do them. It says so, right on my lists.
Robinne Weiss 