In Jennie's Kitchen

toasted vanilla bean muesli {day 149}

I'm sitting here, pounding away at the keyboard when I should be sleeping. It's not too late, just shy of 11:00pm, but I had two back-to-back baking flops, and don't take defeat lightly.

I've also had muesli on my mind, and figured I could go out on a high note with a no-cook recipe before showering and tucking in.

But then I decided to toast the muesli, so there went the no-cook idea. Truth is I tried to like muesli a year ago, last January in fact. I decided to start 2011 on a healthy note. It was more about listening to my body—it was in need of a makeover. I decided to get more daring with whole grains thanks to inspiration from galleys of Heidi's Super Natural Everyday (that cookbook, by the way, is a must own). I began with an oat soda bread, wet my feet more using whole wheat pastry flour in these brown butter pear and meyer lemon muffins, oat ricotta pancakes, and cheddar rye muffins. I even started an affair with kale which is going strong to this day (this soup is still one of my favorites, and the girls love it too).

I spent the first quarter of 2011 eating vegetarian. I simply no longer craved meat, and lord did it drive Isabella crazy. The girl's first love, next to her daddy, is bacon. I still cooked meat, and bacon, for Mikey and the girls, I just made sure to include lots of vegetables and sides to satisfy my own tastes.

I also started waking up early to meditate and go running. In order to do that daily, it meant going to bed early, long before my night owl Mikey lay his head to rest beside me. I felt really good then, I remember it so clearly. It's as though someone had stuck a bobby pin into the reset button hidden in the recesses of my mind and body.

I've had this nagging feeling lately, and I know I need a jumpstart like that again.

Except everything is different now.

And yet I can still stay in control, right? I just have to shed the "all or nothing" attitude. I need to accept just because things are fundamentally different, I don't have to give up on that energizing, centering feeling I captured a year ago, albeit with a much heavier heart.

I know the meditation will be good for me. My nerves are a mess these days, and I often feel like I will burst at the seams. There is a lot going on right now, more than I want to share or burden your thoughts with. Some of it not so great, but the truth is some of it is really amazing. The only way I can manage it all is to take deep breaths—it's meditation my body is craving. My inner core needs to find a place of peacefulness since it was plunged into the unimaginable on August 7th.

For now, I'm not going to beat myself up for staying up too late, again. I'm going to give myself a break because writing here offers me so much peace and solace. You may not realize it, but if I had more hours in the day I would answer every one of your emails and comments personally. It pains me to see how you all take the time to care and check in, yet I don't have the moments needed to say two simple words personally: thank you.

I can see a glimmer of my old self peeking out in this post, as I've completely digressed from I what I set out to do—share a new recipe, so back to the muesli!

Tried as I might last January, I couldn't fall hard and fast for muesli—it was meh, compared to granola or poached eggs. But still, it's been on my mind, and as I was reading through some of Heidi's older posts, I came across one with a recipe for toasted muesli. The recipe was from Michele Cranston's The Essential Guide to the Kitchen, and while it sounded intriguing it had too many ingredients.

I need simple right now, and my mind needs easy. The recipe did give me an idea, though, on how I could change my muesli from meh to magical—toast the oats and nuts, well seeds in this case. It was an easy step, but I had a very good feeling about it.

Hard to believe, but my pantry is in need of restocking, so there was no fancy dried fruit to use. My choices were a pitiful amount of dried cherries, which would've been my first choice, cranberries or raisins. Since I love a bowl of hot oatmeal with plump raisins, I figured they'd make a nice pairing with my muesli—I fully intended to add some steamed milk to it in the morning.

On first glance, this seems like a humble bowl of oats, pumpkin seeds and raisins, an oddball combination really. A little flare in the form of vanilla bean, cinnamon and fleur de sel, give this muesli street cred, though, and in my book it's a good first step for finding the old me under the new circumstances.

Toasted Vanilla Bean Muesli

makes 4 cups

made on Tuesday, January 3, 2011—day 148

Feel free to make this based on what you have on hand or like. Swap in an equal amount of your favorite nut or seed for the pumpkin seeds, and same goes for the raisins. Next time, I plan on adding a tablespoon of flax seed too, and sesame seeds would no doubt add a nice crunch.

Oh, if you wondering how muesli is different from granola, it wasn't obvious to me at first either. Then I realized a key difference is sweetener. Granola is usually sweetened with syrup, honey or sugar. Muesli relies on the sweetness from the dried fruit and a little drizzle of maple syrup or honey when you serve it, usually with milk or yogurt. Most muesli recipes don't toast the oats either, but we already know how I feel about that approach.

One last note, if you want to make this dairy free or vegan, then try swapping in canola or grapeseed oil for the butter, and skip the melting step. While I haven't tried it this way, I'm pretty confident it'll work well (and leave a comment if you do, so we can all learn together!).

4 tablespoons (2 ounces) unsalted butter

3 cups (319 grams) old fashioned oats (not quick cooking)

1 cup (141 grams) raw pumpkin seeds

1 vanilla bean, split lengthwise and seeds scraped

1/4 teaspoon (1 gram) fleur de sel

1/2 teaspoon (2 grams) ground cinnamon

1 cup (130 grams) raisins

Turn the oven on to 300ºF. Place the butter into an oven-safe ramekin or small pot and place in the oven to melt while it preheats; remove and set aside.

In a deep bowl, combine the oats, pumpkin seeds, vanilla bean seeds, fleur de sel and cinnamon. Stir to mix well. Pour the melted butter over the mixture, and stir until well coated. Spread the oat mixture onto an 11" X 17" rimmed baking sheet.

Bake for 25 minutes, stirring once halfway through. Remove from oven, stir in the raisins, and set pan on a wire rack until completely cooled. Store in a tightly sealed jar for up to one week.

finding my mojo {apple allspice muffins}

I wish I could tell you I baked that muffin up above. I did some time ago, two years to be precise. That's when I first developed the recipe. It's a good muffin, that much I promise you. I think it even has the power to break me from this malaise I feel every time I glance around the kitchen these days.

I wouldn't exactly call what I've been doing cooking lately. It's more surviving, making the same few things I can practically prepare with my eyes closed. It's all homemade stuff—marinara sauce and mac n' cheese have been staples. We've also been ordering-in once a week, which is huge considering before Mikey died, we barely had takeout once a month.

Right now it feels like I'm in limbo. The house is littered with moving boxes, each room a little done, but not quite complete. The first box was the hardest—it was our cds. Music was as vital to Mikey as oxygen, and knowing he wouldn't be listening to them anymore, or taking his guitar off the wall to play for us had me in tears almost instantly.

All these boxes piling up has me antsy, and are a reminder of the greatest gift Mikey ever gave me—a sense of home. A real home, one I could grow some roots in. I didn't have this as a kid. My parents moved every year or two, and by time I met Michael, at 21 years old, I'd already moved a dozen times.

This little nest we created here in Brooklyn, is the only place that ever felt like home.

And now it doesn't.

The surroundings look familiar, but the essence is gone. So as I pack, and wonder how I'm supposed to move forward, how I'm supposed to do this without him, I fight the lump that wells up in my throat. I try to stifle back the hot tears in the corner of my eyes. The hardest part of grief, for me at least, is the inexplicable pain and feeling that this hole in my heart will never heal. I'm a realist, and don't spend a lot of time on the "why".

I accepted a long time ago that certain things just are, but this one has me stumped. I know it's only Day 79, and honestly when people tell me to go easy on myself, it's drives me crazy. Unless you've experienced a loss like this you can't understand that missing someone so immensely is not being hard on yourself—it's simply grief, and going through it is not easy. My best advice for anyone trying to comfort someone grieving is just be there with a smile and shoulder, but wait for a cue.

Don't try to fix what is out of your control. It will only push the person further away.

But I'm here right now to talk about muffins, so let tell you what made me think of them. I went to the farmers' market for the first time in 17 days. Yes, 17 days folks. I couldn't believe it myself when I did the math.

I was on my way to the train station in Brooklyn Heights, and before I popped down into the subway, I remembered it was Tuesday and there was the market at Borough Hall. I wasn't going to visit at first. With the move in just nine days, I know there won't be a lot of cooking right now. Still, I was curious to see the fall bounty.

As I walked towards the Red Jacket Orchards stand, I felt the tears begin to trickle. The first apple season without Mikey. I almost turned and walked away. The thought of seeing all those apples was too overwhelming, a reminder of what used to be.

What will never be again.

Such emotion, over an apple. And that's when it hit me. Those apples could still bring me joy. Baking the recipes he loved eating and breathing in the warm spice scent as it fills the house could keep me connected to him. The memories are reminders of good times we shared together. So, as I prepare to celebrate our first Halloween without Mikey, I'm going to share a homemade treat he loved at Isabella and Virginia's class parties this week. I even scored some cute holiday muffin liners and toothpicks on sale at Sur La Table.

I'm not going to be afraid of any ghosts this year, In fact, I wouldn't mind if one of them came for a special visit.

Apple Allspice Muffins

makes 12

The original post gives some back story about this recipe. If you're curious why I choose to grate the apples, then it's definitely worth a read.

For the crumb topping:

2 tablespoons butter, melted

1 tablespoon granulated sugar

2 tablespoons brown sugar

1/2 cup all purpose flour

For the muffins:

3 cups all purpose flour

1 tablespoon baking powder

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon allspice

8 tablespoons butter, softened

1/2 cup granulated sugar

2 large eggs

1 cup sour cream

2 cups peeled, shredded apples

Preheat oven to 375º.  Grease or line a 12-cup muffin tin with liners.  For the topping, mix all the ingredients together in small bowl with a fork  until it forms a wet, sandy mixture; set aside.

For the muffins, mix the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt and all pice in a medium bowl; set aside. In a separate medium-sized bowl, beat the butter and sugar on medium-high speed until light and fluffy, about three minutes.  Add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each one.

Beat in one third of the dry ingredients, then add one-third of the sour cream. Alternating between dry ingredients and sour cream, repeat until all ingredients have been incorporated.  Using a wooden spoon or rubber spatula, stir in the apples. 

Evenly spoon the batter into the prepared muffin tins.  Sprinkle each muffin even with en equal amount of the crumb topping.  Bake for 20 to 25 minutes, or until golden brown and a toothpick inserted comes out mostly clean—it's okay if there are a few dry crumbs.

how to make french press coffee

I have a drinking problem.

Not that kind, though it's no secret I do enjoy a cocktail or nice glass of wine.

It goes beyond the actual beverage. Perhaps we should call it a glass fetish—or obession. I don't know if one is really better than the other.

I'm a stickler for stemware, and have certain preferences for pretty much everything I drink. I hate mammoth martini glasses. Six ounces is way too much for a cocktail. A perfectly balanced blend of spirits is more suited to an old-fashioned three ounce cocktail glass.

Quality over quantity.

The same goes for non-alcoholic beverages. I love juice glasses! Yes, I used an exclamation point for juice glasses. Before you think me crazy, try it sometime. You'll see what I mean.

Beverages stay cold, just long enough for you to finish them. And they're darn cute, I tell you.

In fact, I find them irresistible.

But wait, I know what you're thinking. Get to the coffee already, lady.

Well, my glass issues also extend to coffee and tea. They also apply to the time of day they're served.

My morning coffee or tea must be served in this mug. No other will do.

I prefer my evening tea in this mug—yes, it's really a White Castle cup! I see the irony in this. The girl who spends $8 a pound on grass-fed, local beef, drinking out a "buy 'em by the sack" mug. I've never even tasted a White Castle burger, but do have memories of their french fries and onion rings as a kid.

Now, this leads to my afternoon tea or coffee. All bets are off, and the host mug is usually a rotating cast of characters. Lately, I've fallen in love with big, bulbous mugs, gripped by a handle wide enough to snugly fit three fingers—my pointer, middle and ring finger, the thumb resting comfortably on top and pinky resting under the handle.

I warned you I had an obsession, and if you're still tuned in, then you probably deserve an award (or are contemplating an intervention).

Sooo, this leads me to a new acquisition. This pretty little mug you see above from Anthropologie. I bought juice glasses too.

Overcome with a coffee urge after talking at length about it with Sean over lunch, I came home like an excited child, eager to give my new mug a test drive. My intention was to disguise it as a selfless act and lesson on how to brew a perfect pot of French press coffee. I failed miserably, as evidenced in the inner thoughts of my neurosis spilled across the screen. If anyone knows of a support group, I'm all ears.

But first, I need to go wash my other new mug.

French Press Coffee

makes 10 ounces of medium-strong brewed coffee

Like coffee mugs, I have mutliple ways for making java—a coffee maker, two stovetop pots, two demitasse pots, one chemex and two French presses. My obsessions obviously extended beyond ceramics and glassware. This formula is based on my smaller press. Regardless of the size of your pot, the ratio is basically 1 tablespoon (6 grams) of medium-ground coffee (see slide show below) per 3 1/2 ounces (49 ml) of boiling water.

3 tablespoons (18 grams) medium-coarse ground coffee

10 ounces boiling water

Add ground coffee to a French press pot. Pour boiling water over coffee, cover with the plunger but do not press down. Let grinds brew for 5 to 7 minutes, depending on how strong you like it. Press plunger down and serve immediately. Steamed milk and sugar are optional.

lemon poppy scones

Funny how after spending so much time with someone, you start to think like one being. This holds true for the partners you choose in both life and crime.

Often, I talk to Olga and find we're on the same wavelength in the kitchen. Still, I chuckled a bit when I read her blog this morning to see she posted about scones just yesterday. Orange poppy scones, to be exact.

Our worlds collide, in a delicious way, yet again.

I know the scones she's talking about too. I had the great fortune to taste them, hot from the oven in the Everyday Food test kitchens earlier this week. It was as amazing as you can imagine, and like Olga, I want to live in the prop closet, amidst the rows of cake stands. I'd also like someone to organize my life as neatly as that closet. Yes, I'm jealous of a prop closet. Go figure.

But back to the scones. I've been on my own scone kick lately. Last Friday, I found myself waking up at 4:30am to make these cream scones. Those were an homage to a more tradional scone for my English friends. A few days later, I decided to lean more towards the American side of scone making, and made these lemon poppy ones.

asparagus & creme fraiche "crepe"

As I reached into the pots and pans drawer for a skillet, my hand took hold of the crepe pan. Good sense stepped aside momentarily, and I knew this would not create a traditional omelet as I'd set out to make. I knew the eggs would quickly roll to the edges, creating a paper-thin sheet, more akin to a flourless crepe than the fluffy texture of an omelet one would expect from a recipe titled as such.

Still, I moved forward, unable to control myself. I was curious, and that is always good in the kitchen. It is what moves us to create something new. The disasters and flops are the pitfalls and rights of passage as a recipe developer.

So to create the best possible image as we talk about this, let's agree to call it an egg crepe, okay? Before I set out to make my egg crepe, I prepped the asparagus. See, that's really how this all started. I bought my first bunch of the season at the farmers' market a few days ago, and was eager to do something with it—just a few spears to tide me over until I could use them more substantially.

A few drops of water in a ceramic dish and 60 seconds in the microwave were all it took to cook three pencil-thin spears. No boiling water. No extra pots to clean. No strainer. They were done before I had time to crack and beat the eggs.

As expected the egg scurried to the edges of the pan as soon it hit the hot buttered surface. I placed the asparagus on top, added a few dollops of creme fraiche and at the last minute decided a pinch of smoky paprika would add some oomph. I folded my omelet, ahem, crepe, then left the pan on the heat a few seconds longer than I should've.

At least longer than I thought I should've.

As the creme fraiche started to ooze out I decided it would need more tweaking before it I could share it with all of you. It was not what I had visualized as the dish came to life seconds earlier in my mind.

Then I tasted it, and the corners of my mouth began to curl upwards, a smile coaxed by the creamy, spice-flecked mistake I'd happened upon. Turns out the delicate creme fraiche sauce, as it shall now be known from this moment forward, was an elegant touch to a seemingly simple breakfast.

Asparagus & Creme Fraiche "Crepe"

serves one

Good quality ingredients always make the difference, but especially so here. Farm fresh eggs, homemade creme fraiche—if you have it, and pencil thin asparagus, just coming into season right now really elevate such a humble sounding dish.

You can prepare the asparagus two ways. Either roast a big batch, and keep it in the fridge to use throughout the week, or simply steam what you need for this recipe. I did the latter since this was a spur of the moment breakfast, and placed a few spears in a ceramic dish, then cooked them in the microwave for one minute.

2 eggs

Sea salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste

Butter, to coat the pan

3 spears pencil asparagus, steamed or roasted

2 dollops of creme fraiche

Generous pinch of smoked paprika

Beat the eggs lightly in a small bowl. Season with salt and pepper; set aside.

Melt a thin pat of butter in a 9-inch crepe pan over medium heat. Add the eggs, and swirl the pan, lifting edges with the tip of a butter knife so any uncooked egg can "fall" underneath. When the top of the eggs look mostly cooked, add the dollops of creme fraiche, sprinkle with the parika, and place the asparagus on top and. Fold the right third of the egg over the filling, then fold the left third of the egg on top to close the omelet (kind of like the way you would fold a sheet of paper in thirds). Let cook for 30 to 60 seconds more, just until the creme fraiche starts to ooze out.

Transfer to a dish and serve immediately.

traditional cream scones

There's this wedding tomorrow, and I hear it's going to be a fancy affair. Instead of donning my Sunday best, though, I plan to arrive in my jammies.

I'm not even putting in contacts. My specs will have to do.

As for make-up—ha! Not so much as under eye concealer.

I think the Queen, prince and princess-to-be will understand. They have staff to attend to their needs, while I tend to play staff to my own princesses-in-waiting.

Yes, I'll be one of those dorks waking while darkness still covers New York City, to watch the Royal Wedding. There are lots of naysayers, perhaps even a few of you, who roll their eyes at this thought.

A tragedy happened in Alabama, hundreds of lives lost from a natural disaster, yet it's no match for the wedding of the century when it comes to media coverage.

Happily ever after trumps a tornado.

Yes, that saddens me, but I'm not surprised. News is not what it was when David Brinkley and Walter Cronkite cast their gazes upon us.

But here's the thing. We can't control natural disasters. Okay, the way we abuse our planet has an effect, yes, but this isn't a discussion about global warming.

Tomorrow I'll be tuning in to see what I hope is a bit of closure for a young man who grew up in the spotlight and lost his mother all too soon to a man-made tornado, the paparazzi who still stalk his every move.

As I wake, and pop a fresh batch of scones into the oven tomorrow morning, I'll do so not as a spectator. I'll rise as a mother, hoping the best for own children.

Happy endings aren't the neat stories we read to them at bedtime. They are simply the hope that one day we find peace, resolution and can move beyond the pain of the past. That's something even a blue blood could relate to, I imagine.

English Cream Scones

Makes 10

Unlike American scone recipes, which produce a wet, shaggy-looking dough, this one is more sturdy and easier to press out. The scones are what I like to think of as a sweeter, more structured, version of Southern biscuits.

1/2 cup (125 ml) plus 2 teaspoons heavy cream

1 large egg

1 cup (128 grams) whole wheat pastry flour

1 cup (135 grams) all purpose flour, plus more sprinkling

1/4 cup (47 grams) natural cane sugar

1 tablespoon (14 grams) baking powder

1/4 teaspoon (2 grams) fine sea salt

5 tablespoons (2.5 ounces) very cold unsalted butter, cut into 10 pieces

Preheat the oven to 425ºF. Line a rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper, and set aside.

Using a fork, lightly beat the cream and egg together in a small bowl; set aside.

Add the flours, sugar, baking powder and salt to a deep medium-sized bowl. Whisk to combine. Add the butter and rub together quickly with your fingers, until it forms a sandy-looking texture with some pebble-sized pieces. Pour in the cream-egg mixture, and use a wooden spoon to stir together until it forms a crumbly-looking dough.

Knead the dough in the bowl a few times until it forms a solid piece. It will seem more dry than other scone recipes if you've made them before—don't worry. Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured counter. Knead it once or twice to give the dough a smoother appearance. Using your fingertips, press the dough out into a 1/2-inch thick circle. Dip a 2 1/2-inch round cutter into flour, and cut out the scones—it’s okay to re-roll and press the dough out again once if you need to.

Place the scones on the prepared baking sheet, and bake for 10 minutes, until bottoms are deep golden and the tops are barely tanned-looking. Remove from oven and rest tray on a wire rack and let cool 10 minutes before serving. Leftovers may be stored in an air-tight container and heated in the toaster the next day.

Wondering what to serve on your scones? I love double cream, but the process to make it seems involved, time-wise, so that project is on the back burner. For now, I'm happy with a dollop of creme fraiche and strawberry preserves. My friend John can show you how to make your own creme fraiche—mine is in a jar on the counter "doing it's thing" as I type.

Italian easter bread

Last night I hosted a Passover seder for my in-laws. Today my Easter Bread recipe is featured on The Washington Post. It's a poetic juxtaposition of the two worlds I float between.

But I have Kim in my head, whispering "be happy for the moment". So I will let my quandry of how to raise the girls with a spiritual guidance rest for just a few minutes.

I will push that feeling of limbo, my wonders of what really happens in the afterlife—if there is an afterlife, to the recesses of my brain for a few moments and enjoy what I have worked hard to achieve.

Sure, I've been published before, but this Washington Post article is something special. When I was in college, I subscribed to the paper. I figured what better way for a local gal, studying journalism at Brooklyn College, to start taking her craft seriously.

Why did the Washington Post feel more important than the gospel of my hometown, The New York Times?

Maybe it was because it represented a wider world, someplace further from where I grew up and settled for college—my mom and I knew nothing about scholarships back then.

I took courses day and night to fit in three jobs so I could pay for college. Between classes I was a nanny to a child model and actress, tutored ESL students at the campus language lab and was a stock girl at the Gap on nights and weekends. I even pushed a popcorn cart at the local movie theater during one summer.

There were no silver spoons. While it may seem easy now, looking in on my daily life, peeking to see what simmers and stirs in my kitchen, my story is truly one made from scratch. The memories of my past serve as sustenance to keep me working towards my dreams for tomorrow.

And little bursts of sunshine like this one in The Washington Post are an important reminder.

Almost 20 years later, after a very winding, and sometimes uncertain path, it looks like I really am gonna make it after all.

Italian Easter Bread

Makes one 12-inch ring

I've noted the ingredients here by weight, so everyone can enjoy this recipe. For the full directions and to read my article, please visit The Washington Post All We Can Eat blog.

4 teaspoons (17 grams) active dry yeast

6 cups (900 grams) all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon (4 grams) kosher salt

1 cup scalded milk, cooled to 110º

8 ounces butter, softened

1/2 cup (4 ounces) sugar

4 egg yolks

1 teaspoon lemon extract

4 to 6 eggs, optional

1 egg white beaten with a splash of cold water

1/4 cup simple syrup, to glaze

Multi-colored nonpareils, to decorate

lemon thyme & hummus egg salad

If you had asked me a few weeks ago about egg salad, I probably would've smiled politely, then let my mind wander to thoughts of something I actually enjoy eating.

By now, you've probably realized I'm not finicky about my food choices. During my years at Gramercy Tavern and Alain Ducasse, I ate many foods I wouldn't have ordered on my own. Some I enjoyed more than expected, and others I wish to never eat again—sweetbreads rank high on this list (please take note if I'm ever invited to dinner. I can't even be polite and force a swallow).

I've tasted bear, at a diner in upstate New York no less—and pretty much every part of a lamb, except the genitals (vegetarians, my apologies if you're feeling faint). I didn't like lamb before that, and am finally coming forward to say I still don't.

Compared to a lamb heart, egg salad should be a no brainer right?

Not exactly.

Mayonnaise terrifies me. I'd eat lamb heart before ever ordering egg salad in a restaurant.

This has been a problem my whole life because BLTs, done right, are my favorite sandwich. I always stress no mayo when ordering, and my heart quickens as I see the dish make its way to the table. The dreaded moment when I look down crestfallen, to see white goopy stuff spilling out the sides. What's worse is when I remind the server I ordered it without mayo and my sandwich returns with just new bread, the remnants of mayo clinging to the top layer of the filling, sullied forever and destined to never touch my tongue.

At this point there's no sense in returning said sandwich. Lord only knows what kind of revenge the cook might exact. This isn't a problem at a Gramercy Tavern, but at your local diner I'm not taking any chances. I'll just avoid the BLT.

I should mention I will eat my own homemade mayo. I even have a recipe for homemade egg-white mayonnaise—it's quite good too!

But, enough about bacon, lettuce, tomato and mayo.

Last week, I received a copy of You Can Trust a Skinny Cook. I'd tell you how happy this book has made me, but after this post on Simple Scratch, I'm worried Allison might send a virtual restraining order my way.

See, I have a girl crush on Allison Fishman. Once you pick up her new book, you will understand why.

Allison has a recipe for crisp bread with egg and avocado in You Can Trust a Skinny Cook. It's insanely simple—take a hard boiled egg, mash it with some lime juice and salt, top a multigrain crisp bread with avocado slices, smear on the egg "salad" and eat.

Before reading this I'd never thought to make an egg salad without mayonnaise.

Please stop rolling your eyes. My life has been busy with a rough childhood, and now two kiddies of my own. I haven't committed any food crimes. I've just been too preoccupied with life to give egg salad any real thought.

Allison's book arrived the day before I set out to make some Italian Easter Bread. I decided to cook it with eggs this time, which meant I'd be left with four hard-cooked ones. I usually add them chopped up to tuna salad, made with olive oil and red wine vinegar, not mayo.

After reading Allison's recipe, though, I decided to venture out on my own.

See what I'd been missing all these years.

I just so happened to have some of that white bean hummus in the fridge too. It's white and creamy, so I thought it would make a nice binder to hold the egg salad together. I snipped a sprig of lemon thyme too—why not?

I'll confess, I half-expected to take one bite, shrug my shoulders and look for something else to satisfy my hunger.

What happened next was as surprising as the Grinch's heart growing three sizes that day.

It turns out I do love egg salad.

I will eat it on a bus, in a plane and on a train.

I'd eat in on a sunny day, cloudy and in the rain.

Please just hold the mayo, and give me white bean hummus once again.

lemon thyme & hummus egg salad

serves one

print this recipe

1 hard boiled egg, peeled and cut into pieces

2 teaspoons white bean hummus

Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste

1 spring of lemon thyme, leaves removed and stem discarded

1 slice toasted country bread

Add the egg to a small bowl and mash it with the back of a fork. Add the hummus, salt, pepper and lemon thyme, then use the fork to stir it together, until mixed well.

To serve, spread the egg salad on the bread and eat immediately.

 

 

pistachio, sesame seed & dried cherry granola

You know those movies that make you stop in your tracks? The ones that beckon you to stay up later than you should if the television happens to land on it just before bedtime. The movies that speak to you, striking a chord, so perfectly that you just have to stop what you're doing.

I was ready to tuck in—my reward for finally finishing tax preparations. My receipts all tallied. Bundles rubberbanded and neatly tucked in an envelope for the next seven years.

Away We Go happened to be on the channel with which my remote landed, and now here I am.

When the Mr. and I first met, parenthod was one of our early conversations. Neither of us ever expected to be a mother or father, but we had definite opinions about the brevity of the job. I was struck when he said all those years ago that parenthood should require a test first.

I understood exactly what he meant.

The idea that when a child comes into the world, it is just that—they are part of a larger force. The lives with which parents are entrusted to care for have an impact on the greater good. Each child born is like a little domino in the world, and with thought, love and guidance the hope is that their actions will create a place better than the one they were born into.

We are by no means perfect in our approach.

Both of us are still peeling away the layers of our own childhood in an effort to create the lives we wanted for ourselves. It's like a recipe, and we're constantly tinkering with the ingredients and formula trying to get it right.

New on Simple Scratch Cooking: 15-Minute Homemade Granola Bars.

oat ricotta pancakes

A little birdy told me that today was National Pancake Day. Since I'm convinced Isabella could live on pancakes if given the chance, it seemed fitting to dedicate a special post to her favorite breakfast food.

There’s an ongoing joke during mealtimes. Once a plate hits the table Isabella asks “is there ricotta in here mom?”. Growing up it was relegated to baked ziti, lasagna and sometimes a dollop on a bowl of pasta. Nowadays you'll find me spreading it on toasted bread with marmalade for a late night snack, adding a spoonful of warm, creamy curds to oatmeal, in lentil "meatballs" and waffles.

I’ve never been a sneaky chef, so the goal of these pancakes is not to fool anyone. It serves a dual-purpose, feeding my addiction to homemade ricotta while fulfilling her favorite breakfast request. It's also a recipe born of thrift since I first started adding ricotta to pancakes and waffles to use up any extra hanging around the fridge.

I was pleasantly surprised how it adds a delicate lightness to them—you'd think it would have the opposite effect, right? They also make pancakes more exciting in my eyes—I find them a rather dull start to the day compared to say poached eggs on a bed of lemon Parmesan flecked kale salad, the runny yolk gliding across creating a creamy, comforting dressing.

For those days when I’ve finished up all the ricotta, then I can still satisfy Isabella’s craving with this equally yum whole wheat pancake recipe—with luck I’ll have kale on hand to indulge my own urges.

Here are a few more ideas and recipes to celebrate National Pancake Day:

• Homemade Buttermilk Pancake Mix (with notes for making a dairy-free & egg-free version)

• Sweet Potato Pancakes

• These butterfly pancakes are cute and easy to make without any special molds.

• I love serving these quick maple syrup poached peaches with pancakes.

Book Picks of the Day: Pancakes, Pancakes by Eric Carle and If You Give a Pig a Pancake by Laura Joffe Numeroff

What’s new at Simple Scratch Cooking: crisp thin crust pizza + beef bolognese