In Jennie's Kitchen

lemon blueberry muffins + half white flour

There is a fine line between being a "know it all" and a confident learner. Life has too much to offer to think we can possibly consume, let alone understand it all before our physical time on this earth is done.

And yet, there is an exceeding pressure, on kids and adults alike, to be perfect. It's an unrealistic goal. And a boring one too. Heck, if we become perfect, what pleasure would there be in waking each morning?

Three years ago when I ventured out on a freelance career, I had one main goal in mind—never miss a school event, recital or bringing birthday cupcakes to my daughter's classroom ranked pretty high up there. I knew what kind of mother I wanted to be. I wanted to be active and involved. I wanted to pick her up from school each day and talk about her favorite part—always lunch and recess, and her least favorite—none to report so far, which is good, I think.

That idyllic situation seems like a fairytale most days. Two kids later, a mountain of homework and studying to be done—she's only in first grade for heaven's sake, sometimes the things I wanted to cherish just feel like a chore.

That is until bedtime. Yes, I'll admit, I'm excited come 7:30pm because it means I'm close to reclaiming some "me" time. But it's also the time we unwind and get lost in a book. Oh, the way the baby's fingers dance across the bookcase until she finds just the right one. She then backs up into my lap—or daddy's if he's home from work in time, and gets comfy for a story. Good Night Gorilla is a favorite right now, as are some French board books we bought to help her sister with school.

Once she goes to bed, it's Isabella's turn. She takes out her level books, and now that she's becoming an accomplished reader, she actually enjoys this part of the evening. Before it was a struggle, and honestly it used to drive me and the Mr. crazy. I mean, I'm a writer and we both have a fierce love of books. How could we possibly have birthed a non-reader? She had to come into reading on her own terms, as with every milestone she's reached so far.

Wondering how I'm going to connect this to those blueberry muffins, eh? Easy. Venturing into any unknown territory is always frightening to some degree. Whether it's worrying about decoding language or wondering if a recipe you have in mind will really work, it's a constant reminder that life is about taking chances. Think of it as the eternal search for the unknown—then hit rewind because after we crack one code, we inevitably move on to another quest.

But the muffins. What is so special about these blueberry muffins. You may also be asking why am I making blueberry muffins when berry season is long off. I went crazy buying them up at the farmers' market last year, and thankfully have a stash left in the freezer. I also bought a big bag of Wyman's frozen wild blueberries. And if you live in NYC, check your local Greenmarket. I've seen a few farmers selling some frozen ones from last year's harvest.

But I'm misleading you. After all, frozen blueberries are not that special to warrant this long-winded lesson on patience, learning and open-mindedness. I'm talking about the flour I used to make them. I came across it at the Grand Army Plaza Greenmarket. It's local organic "half-white" from Farmer Ground Flour. The label describes it as a medium protein bread flour, commonly referred to as brown flour in Europe, that "retains some of the bran and germ for nutrition and flavor".

Oh, one more thing. I should probably tell you I don't like whole wheat flour. It's too earthy for my palate. I love mushrooms, and that fresh dirt smell they impart when you get them fresh picked from the farmers' market, but please keep it out my baked goods. So, it was with a little apprehension that I bought a sack of this expensive flour—$6 for a two pound bag. Still, I was intrigued at the idea of tasting a locally milled flour. When I got home, a google search pointed me to this website for a Croatian product that looked similar, but that was about it. It seems to be relatively unknown, otherwise.

On first inspection, this flour looked and felt beautiful. It was quite soft in texture, almost like cake flour, and didn't have that strong scent of regular whole wheat flour. My mother-in-law was coming that evening for her 79th birthday celebration, so I decided to use it in a lemon-glazed raspberry cake. A risky, if not insane decision considering I'd never worked with this flour before and I was developing a new recipe.

Zucchini Potato Hash

The irony of being a food writer is that some days I forget to eat lunch. Crazy and seemingly impossible, I know, but especially true when I'm testing desserts all day. A few weeks back, the hunger started kicking in, so I went to my old standby and took out some eggs (you know they're a nutritional powerhouse, right?). Looking for a companion on the plate, I rummaged through the fridge and found some zucchini from the farmer's market. I also spied some new potatoes and onions, so they came along for the ride. I had the makings for what is now known in my house as zucchini potato hash. A fresh handful of basil from the backyard gave it a nice spicy kick. Just the boost I needed too to get on with the rest of my workday.

Panzanella + thoughts on the Northeast late blight

As you all know, I finally started a real vegetable garden this year. I've determined that while I'm quite adept at killing other plant life, the eggplant, snow peas, collard greens, basil, celery, and jalapenos have escaped my grim reaper thumb. Then this late blight hits the Northeast in astonishingly lightening speed. So far my plants look okay, but I'm watching them closely. Like many people this year, I'm a first time gardener. I never expected to grow enough to feed my family for the season. My real intent was to complete the farm to table cycle. I'd always respected farmers for the long hours and hard work. Some crops are naturals, like my snow peas. They grow fast and plentiful. Others you have to sit and patiently watch and wait. It really does humble you and deepen your respect for nature.

Peach Pie + Dorie's Perfect Crust

Apple pie may be part of the American dream but I bet it’s due to being in the right place at the right time. If it had been a few months earlier and peaches were in season, Thanksgiving tables across the country might look quite different come dessert time.

Or, maybe, it's because apples are easy. All you have to do is peel, core and slice. Peaches, on the other hand, take a bit more prep to make pie. I'm an avid baker and must admit it requires a certain mind set to commit the time. The best way to remove the skin is to cut an “X” on the bottom (also referred to as scoring), cooking them for 30 seconds in boiling water (called blanching), remove with a slotted spoon and then plunge in a cold water bath to stop the cooking process. The skins will slip off 1,2,3 at this point, and then you can slice them. I know this sounds likes a lot of work, but I’ve learned the active time is relatively short compared to trying to peel a peach with a pairing knife. 

    

Another fringe benefit was getting to spend some quality time with my daughter. For a kid who's always around food and cooking, you think she'd love it. In the early days I'd prop her on the counter and let her scoop, pour, sift or whatever was age appropriate. Lately, I think she sees the kitchen as competition for mommy's attention. On this particular day, though, she asked if she could help. Well, I was more than happy to have an extra hand peeling these slippery orbs. Turns out her tiny nimble fingers worked pretty well. It was also the first time she used a real knife (gulp), albeit a butter knife.

Many recipes call for cinnamon, nutmeg and some even cloves. I like to let the fruit shine, so a pinch of cinnamon is enough for me. The recipe below lists it “to taste” because it’s your pie and you should feel free to add as much, little or none if you like. The pie crust recipe is a gift from Dorie Greenspan, one of my treasured food writers and go to gal when I have a baking question. She tweeted this one to me from her cookbook Baking: From My Home to Yours. The original recipe calls for a combination of butter and shortening. I love butter, so the more the merrier for me. Come to think of it, the hardest thing about making peach pie is waiting for it to cool so I can have a slice (see, it oozes all over if you dig in too soon).

 

Peach Pie

Makes one 9-inch pie

In their native form, I’m the only one in my house who loves peaches—everyone else is turned off by their fuzzy skin. When I make pie, though, all bets are off, and it’s every man, woman and child for themselves in a race to eat the last piece.

6 cups peeled, sliced peaches

1/3 cup all purpose flour

1/2 cup sugar

cinnamon, to taste

Two uncooked rolled out 9-inch piecrusts (see recipe below)

2 tablespoons butter, divided into pieces

1. Preheat oven to 425ºF. In a medium bowl, toss the peaches with the flour and sugar to coat. Season with cinnamon and stir; set aside.

2. Gently press one piecrust into the bottom of a ceramic or glass pie plate. Spoon peach filling into the crust. Top with remaining piecrust. Cut excess overhang and crimp or flutes edges to seal and make a decorative edge. Use a sharp paring knife to cut a few slits in the top so steam can escape.

3. Bake at 425ºF for 15 minutes. Reduce oven temperature to 350ºF and bake for 30 more minutes, or until juices are bubbling and crust is golden. Let cool completely before serving.

 

Dorie's Pie Crust

Makes two 9-inch pie crusts

Adapted from Dorie Greenspan’s Baking: From My Home to Yours (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2006)

If you're new to rolling out piecrusts, then one of these pie crust makers might be helpful.

3 cups flour

1/4 cup sugar

1 1/2 tsp salt

12 ounces cold butter, cut into pieces

6 to 8 tablespoons, ice water*

 

1. Add flour, sugar and salt to the food processor bowl attachment on your Cuisinart Stand Mixer. Pulse for 1 to 2 seconds to combine. Scatter the butter pieces over the dry ingredients. Pulse, in one-second intervals, 8 to 10 times until it forms a sandy texture, with some pieces being about the size of a pea.

2. Sprinkle 6 tablespoons of ice water over the mixture. Pulse until it forms a rough ball (add additional water if needed, 1 tablespoon at a time). Turn dough onto a counter or cutting board. Divide and form each half into a disk. Wrap tightly with plastic wrap and refrigerate at least 30 minutes or overnight (be sure to take out a few minutes beforehand so it will be easier to roll out).

*I literally fill a small bowl with water and add some ice cubes, then spoon it out as needed.

Good Morning Garden

It's been almost three months since I ventured out into the wilderness. Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating, since the great outdoors is only a 400 square foot back yard in Brooklyn, but gardening and I have never been a perfect pair. While I can cook up anything that comes from the ground, most living plants suffer a deadly fate under my care. Things are looking up though. The vegetable garden I planted on Mother's Day (thanks to my in-laws for the generous check that got it all started) is doing better than I expected.

The eggplant is finally blooming, having started as beautiful lavendar flowers. The tiny white flowers on the jalapeno plant blossomed into spicy peppers that gave a kick to my pico de gallo last week. And even though it sounds like tomatoes have a doomed fate in the northeast, I've got some coming in. Look, there's even celery.

 

Our farm to table lessons have been realized at many a meal. Early in the season we enjoyed salads using red leaf and romaine lettuces—incredibly easy to grow. Dishes have been seasoned with parsley and basil. The first batch of collard greens were hot and smoky, after cooking down with a generous amount of Tabasco and bacon. My big fear is the tomatoes will be ready while we're away in Cape Cod for two weeks, but that'll just ensure our neighbors visit often to water the rest of the backyard.

Here's what didn't work. Brussel sprouts and broccoli. I'm sure the lackluster results for these crops were operator error. While the broccoli did bloom, the heads were so tiny, I would've needed to plant way too much to yield anything worthwhile. I'm guessing there are different varieties. I don't like to think of myself as a quitter, but next year I'm just going to use that space for extra collards.

 

Related Recipes

Backyard Basil Pesto

Farm to Table Lunch