In Jennie's Kitchen

new beginnings, and scrambled eggs

I've been wanting to write about scrambled eggs for a few weeks now. They seem to have so much in common with my life these days. I mean, you crack a few eggs into a bowl, beat them with a fork, pour them into a pan and somehow they become a nourishing meal. I know I will come out of this a changed woman. My husband is dead. Half my heart is gone, the other half throbbing out in the open, strewn across these pages.

There is no doubt I will be a changed woman by all of this. The important thing to keep in mind is to try and come out of changed for the better in some way.

Will I be stronger?

Will I be more inclined to love again?

Will I be less inclined to love again?

Will someone want to love me again?

I've always been a glass-half-full sort of gal. I remember back in my Gramery Tavern days a co-worker said I was always cheery, and wondered how I maintained such a sunny outlook. The way I've always figured it is takes a lot more energy to meditate on the bad stuff swirling around the universe. Waking up and deciding to actively seek out happiness, well for me that has always been the more sensible option.

I'll admit, these days though, it's pretty damn easy to want to wallow in the self-pity. I'm pretty sure I'd get a pass if I decided to not shower every day. Surely no one expects me to even take a brush to my hair, let alone make sure my shoes match. Yet these simple acts, these rituals of life are important to me. They offer a sense of control in a very insteady, unsure time of my life.

Right now at this moment in time, it takes a lot more energy to savor the sunshine. It takes a tremendous amount of guts to put myself out there every day. Literally. I step outside my door, and I feel the eyes on me. The looks, that remind me I'm the girl with the dead husband. I know the sad feelings come from a genuine place, but that doesn't make the looks any easier to bear.

But still, I wake, I sometimes even apply mascara, and get dressed. I am deciding to live, not simply exist every morning I wake to a new day.

How does this have anything to do with scrambled eggs? Well, we all have to start somewhere, right? For me, it means learning a new kind of normal, one that doesn't involve my Mikey. For beginner cooks, the ones who say they can't boil water, but at least have the interest to learn, well, I say start by scrambling yourself some eggs.

As I made them for breakfast a few weeks on Cape Cod, I stared down at the pan and felt mesmerized at what those eggs represented. As I poured them into the hot, buttery skillet, I decided scrambled eggs would be the first "recipe" I wrote about since August 7th.

It requires butter, of course. Life is short, use the damn butter. I implore you. Melt some butter in skillet over low heat.

You'll also need patience. Resist the urge to cook your eggs with a quick blast of fire. The proteins will toughen, and you'll end up with rubbery eggs. Low and slow is the key to creamy scrambled eggs.

And take them off the heat when they still look wet. I promise they'll finish cooking up from the residual heat in the pan before you scoop them onto your fork and into your mouth.

I don't have all the answers right now. Heaven knows I never will. All I can say is don't tell me you can't cook—the only thing you need is the "will" to do it. The rest will fall into place with time and practice. You just have to to be patient.

why i cook

My relationship with homemade ice cream is a love-hate one. Part of it has to do with the incessant hum of the ice cream machine. If you've never made it before, imagine a power drill going non-stop for 20 minutes.

Yet, here I sit, trying to concentrate and string words together as it whirs in the background. There weren't originally plans to make ice cream today, but you know what they say about drastic times. I was at the Time Warner Center staring at a shiny new refrigerator Vanessa Williams unveiled for Samsung when I saw I missed a call from Mikey.

Then came a text—his mother had fallen at home and he was rushing to catch the express bus to the Bronx. It felt like the worst case scenario we'd planning for, traveling in midday traffic to the Northeast Bronx. She'd apparently taken a fall while City Meals on Wheels was making their daily delivery. When EMS came she refused to go to the hospital. When the social worker tried calling, there was no answer. This went on for 20 minutes until they called Mikey, him being their only child and their emergency contact.

All the alarms were for naught. Halfway into his bus ride, the social worker called to say his mother was okay. She'd gone to the basement of their building right after the incident to finish the laundry. While we prepped ourselves for the worst, she was folding clothing.

There's more to this story, but as I typed the words, I realized it is not mine to tell. This is Mikey's story, and my role is the one I've been playing for the last 16 years. I'm here to be his best friend and confidant. I'm here for him to lean on. To help carry the weight when it becomes unbearable.

To hold him in my arms, stroke his head and say it will be okay.

We will be okay.

My Bronx boy and this here Brooklyn girl, we're made of strong stuff.

Knowing he'd need a big hug on coming home today, I also decided to brighten his evening with that chocolate chess pie I mentioned last time. While it was in the oven, I decided to make some deep chocolate frozen yogurt with toffee bits and a peanut butter ribbon—just in case we need heavy artillery to combat the swirling emotions.

I hate the sound of that damn ice cream maker, but I love him more. Twenty minutes of that headache inducing motor were worth it. The frozen yogurt tastes amazing. An intense chocolate flavor only valrhona cocoa can deliver, studded with milk chocolate covered bits of toffee and swirls of creamy peanut butter. I'll share the recipe soon.

The pizza you see above is for another love in my life—my mom.

As I thought all the worst thoughts before we found out Mikey's mom was fine, I started thinking of my own mom and how we've been trying to get together for weeks now. She's on her way down as I write, and we're going to surprise the girls at school pick up.

I'm surprising her with homemade pizza. I was going to just order a pie tonight, but wanted something more special for the woman who has always been my biggest fan. For her I will turn my oven to 500 degrees on this sultry first day of summer.

And that is why I cook.

The nourishment and cost-saving reality are often an afterthought. It's really about giving a piece of myself to the people I love most in this world.

Continue to get the recipe for grilled pizza.

 

grill-roasted artichoke leaves

Last week Olga wrote about artichokes and falling in love with cooking them. Like so many before her, she'd been intimidated.  It's easy to understand why, with their gnarly look, tough exterior and those darn pointy thorns atop each leaf. They truly are nature's example of survival of the fittest.

Well, in the words of Maya Angelou, life doesn't scare me—and neither do artichokes. I was lucky enough to grow up with them at our Thanksgiving table every year. They were prepared with a homemade breadcrumb filling, then braised until the roots of the leaves were tender and succulent, the sauce requiring a crusty loaf of bread to sop it all up. Still, artichokes were reserved for holidays. I mean who has time to sit and linger over an item that yields such a small return? I'd rush through the leaves, then slowly let my teeth sink into each morsel of the heart, trying to savor the buttery flavor.

I was walking home yesterday and impulse bought a few. Surely I'm not the first to buy artichokes on a whim. Cleaning them can be daunting at first, but after you've done it once or twice, you get faster and the time actually passes rather quickly. Olga also recommends watching this video by Melissa Clark for a quick tutorial that demystifies cleaning artichokes. It really does show the simplicity and ease of prepping them.

I did chuckle at one of part though, when Melissa says the leaves aren't worth saving if you've stripped your artichokes to just cook the hearts. I was confronted with the same frugal thought as I cleaned my chokes yesterday, and wondered why would I throw these leaves away if I'd grown up my whole life eating them? It seemed silly and wasteful, so I took care while prepping my artichokes.

I spent a few extra minutes trimming the tips with a pair of kitchen shears to remove the pointy thorns as if I was going to steam them whole. Then I carefully plucked each leaf off and placed them in a bowl. My yield was a mountain of leaves when I was done. The hearts went into a pan of olive oil, salt and pepper to braise—an ingredient to be eaten up later in the week.

Since I was planning to grill a bunch of veggies for the week—fava beans and spring onions were in the works too, I decided to make foil packets to steam the leaves. I added a drizzle of olive oil, a few pats of butter—okay maybe I went a little Paula Deen with the butter, and a sprinkle of sea salt and freshly ground black pepper. The reward was a bounty of tender leaves that make a perfect summer appetizer—if company is coming make sure they're close friends. You know the kind who won't mind you slurping the meat from the leaves, then licking your salty, butter and olive oil-slicked fingers. Definitely worth the time and effort in my opinion.

Continue to get the recipe for grill-roasted artichoke leaves.

Blast from the Past:  June 2010 roasted chicken salad.

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.

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.

white bean hummus

Would you think me totally crazy if I said hummus has become a comfort food?

The simplicity of homemade flatbread and a creamy bowl of hummus quickly cures hunger pains when I'm in the midst of a crazy work day.

In the early evening, a smear along with some cut up carrots curbs my pre-dinner snacking (I recently tacked a photo on the fridge from my skinny days for swimsuit season inspiration).

And the kids finally love it too. I've written lots of articles about snack foods for kids, and hummus inevitably makes its way into them, but until a few weeks ago Isabella would dab her finger in the bowl, then wrinkle her nose.

What's so different about my hummus now?

I've been cooking beans from scratch, and no matter what anyone says about brands, when it comes to beans the best ones will always be the simple pot you put up on your own stovetop.

I avoided cooking with dry beans for years. Something about the "soak overnight" instructions felt like too much planning. And when I did try making them, the cooking time always took twice as long as any instructions I'd come across.

Then I discovered the problem. The first person to ever write the recipe must have slept for 10 hours. I mean, don't we all interpret "soak overnight" to be during our sleepy time?

I average six hours a night, sometimes less. So my overnight isn't nearly enough time for the soaking to have any real effect. That's when I decided to skip it all together and just increase the cooking time.

The other secret I learned recently is not to take the cooking liquid for granted. Melissa wrote about her bean technique a few weeks ago, but it wasn't until Olga reminded me about the olive oil trick that I remembered to tinker around with my own method.

Well, that pot of navy beans I made last week yielded the creamiest, most tender beans I've ever eaten. I wouldn't add the oil to my pinto beans because I prefer a sturdier structure for those guys, but for a tiny white bean, or their heftier cousin, cannellini, a little bit of olive oil offers infinite potential.

Ok, maybe it wasn't a tiny bit.

Perhaps it was more like 1/4 cup.

Yes, that's what it was—plus 1 cup of dry white beans, 4 cups of cold water, 2 cloves of garlic, along with a generous pinch of sea salt and fresh, finely ground black pepper. I tossed it all into a 4-quart pot, brought it to a boil, then reduced to a simmer and cooked them until tender, about an hour.

That is how I made my navy beans last week, and I'll make them the same way today.

Monday is bean day around here. I put up a few pots while I set about cleaning the house. Virginia is home on Mondays, so I don't feel the stress most people do to start the work week. I accept what gets done, gets done—the rest can wait until my week officially starts on Tuesday, when she goes to daycare.

Since I usually make a few pots without a thought or plan of what I'll do with them during the week, there's always the worry some will go to waste.

Last week I had a hummus craving, but was fresh out of chickpeas. I looked at the silky white beans in the fridge, with a thick slick of olive oil on top and thought "why not". I didn't dare rinse and drain them like most recipes tell you to do.

I simply spooned out a cup's worth, letting the cooking liquid cling to the beans, and followed my regular recipe for hummus. The result was rich, creamy and lead to a surprising discovery over the weekend. You'll have to wait before I share that one with you.

First, go put up a pot of beans.

Then go make this hummus, and be sure to save a few spoonfuls. I'll be back in a few days to let you know why you need them.

A Not So Simple Pot of Beans

Don't let the title of this recipe fool you. There's nothing fussy or difficult about cooking beans from scratch. It's what you add to the pot that elevates them from humble peasant food to culinary excellence. The cooking liquid is quite flavorful too, so feel free to stir it into soups and sauces in which you plan to use the beans too.

1 cup dry navy beans, picked over and rinsed

4 cups cold water

1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil

2 cloves garlic, peeled

Generous pinch of sea salt and finely ground black pepper

Combine all of the ingredients in a 4-quart pot. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat, then reduce flame to lowest setting. Cover pot and let the beans cook at a gentle simmer until tender, about an hour.

Remove the pot from heat and let the beans cool. Transfer to a container with the cooking liquid, cover and store in the refrigerator for up to one week, or freeze for up to two months.

What the heck are navy beans? I wondered the same thing for a long time. Since my mom doesn't like beans, my exposure to them was non-existent as a kid. I'm pretty sure I didn't have my first taste of them until my teen years. I tend to be a literal person and assumed all along that navy beans were, well, darker hued, like black beans. They're actually tiny white beans, and lucky for me I can get them at the farmers' market from Cayuga Organics.

Note: if you plan to add the beans to a soup or other recipe in which they will cook longer, then reduce the simmering time to 25 to 30 minutes, for a more al dente bean. This way they won't get mushy when you cook them again the second time.

 

cheddar rye muffins

People often ask how I create recipes. I take baking and cooking very seriously as an art form. For years I felt saddened that I didn't inherit my father's ability as an artist. Although having the talent and doing something with it are two entirely different things. It turns out instead of pencils and paper, skillets became my canvas and ingredients my palette.

Many people are too frightened to make the leap, afraid of the unknown, especially in the kitchen. Food is expensive these days whether shopping at a farmers' market or the supermarket, so it's understandable that the thought of wasted ingredients affects how bold and creative we dare to become in our cooking habits.

Remember my post about pattern recipes? It may seem baked goods are in their own category, relying on science and reactions to yield the expected outcome, but that isn't necessarily the case. A year ago I started working with my own pattern recipe, except I hadn't categorized it as such in my mind. To me, it was simply the best muffin recipe I'd ever created.

A tender, light crumb.

Adaptable to both savory and sweet.

The fact that it's egg-free is a bonus for those with food allergies and from a cost perspective—the eggs I choose to buy are rather expensive at the farmers' market.

But back to how I approach recipe development. The moment I taste a new finished recipe, two things happen. First I decide if the recipe as-is yielded the results I wanted. Second, my mind fills with thoughts of how I could make it different, into something new.

So, for those still needing the comfort zone of a recipe, this one is all ready to go. Enjoy.

And if you're ready to start adapting, and feel comfortable flexing your skills in the kitchen, I've made some suggestions on what you can do to put your own spin on this perfect little muffin. Think of it more as a base recipe for whole-grain muffins, and let your creative juices flow from there. I should preface that these are not tested suggestions, rather just the thoughts that popped into my head as I inhaled the scent wafting through the kitchen as I waited for them to cool. Having done this for quite some time now, though, I'm very confident they're all very workable theories.

New on Simple Scratch Cooking: crisp thin crust pizza.

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sauteed kale & white beans {how to prepare winter greens)

This article irked me recently. Perhaps it was my defense system kicking in. After all, my livelihood is creating recipes. It is also a source of immense pleasure. I go to sleep dreaming about ingredients and flavor combinations.

I totally agree with the merit of pattern recipes. Yes, "learn to cook a few basic meals and you'll be set" holds much truth. Until you get bored with those same three meals. Then you need inspiration, and while walking through the farmers' market is what works for me, I understand it doesn't come that easy for others. For many people, recipes are not the crutch or burden Ms. Buzzell makes them out to be. They actually make life easier.

For others, recipes are a means to learn how to cook. To learn technique. How to chop an onion, for instance. Without recipes and cookbooks, I wouldn't be the proficient cook I am today. My formal training consists of shelves of cookbooks, spattered with stains and notes written in the margin.

These days it seems the only news or information that gets attention is the type tinged with controversy. I get that is why Ms. Buzzell's article likely ran on The Huffington Post, but that doesn't mean it was worth digesting.

And with that, I offer you my twist on a pattern recipe for preparing winter greens. I'm not sure if Ms. Buzzell or myself is getting the last laugh here.

vanilla bean syrup + homemade yogurt

 

On any given week, there's a slew of cookbooks and box of gadgets outside our front stoop for people to help themselves. This makes me quite popular with the neighbors and passersby. After years of accruing appliances and gadgets, I'm learning to only hold onto the things I really use. Much of what I receive these days, comes way of samples sent for work, so parting with them really isn't with sweet sorrow. Either I test them and move on, or an item is so exceptional it makes the cut and gets much coveted countertop space. It's been my experience that anything not sitting right in my eye's view will idle away and collect dust.

Since we renovated our kitchen three years ago, I promised anything that didn't get play time within the last six months had to go, and I do a purge every few months to stick to that rule. Which brings me back to needing my essentials out on the countertop. Except for taking down the pasta maker which sits right above the stove or hauling out the pressure cooker which sits happily on a shelf in the pantry, I find it completely annoying to go digging for an appliance just to make a recipe. Time has taught me there's usually more than one way to get equally successful results.

And time is really all you need to make your own yogurt, assuming you have an oven with a light inside. It's incredibly easy, and I can't believe I let not owning a yogurt maker stop me from doing this for years. After my first taste, I knew I'd never go back to the store-bought stuff. My girls, however, felt a little differently. Try as I might with fruit fresh fruit purees, they stand firm in their love for vanilla yogurt.

My dilemma was partially fixed a few weeks ago while cleaning out the baking pantry. I came across a jar of Nielsen-Massey vanilla bean paste. I added some to my homemade yogurt and problem was solved. Almost.

I'm a big fan of Nielsen-Massey products, but that vanilla bean paste, well it's pricey. I just knew there had to be a less-expensive way to making homemade yogurt. And so, this recipe for vanilla bean syrup was born. You can adjust the flavor to your preference—I find a few drops is all my yogurt needs to satisfy the girls. A dollop does wonders to elevate homemade muesli. And don't forget I drizzled it over those maple syrup poached peaches too.

Ready for one more sweet surprise? Mix some syrup with seltzer, add a drop or two of fresh squeezed lemon juice and you've got homemade cream soda. Of course now the Mr. wants me to make root beer, so it's back to the cutting board, yet again.