The Way Around It

Remember how you don't make biscuits very often?

Remember how you actually have a very good reason, which is that it's quite a complete pain?

Remember how it makes your eyes roll to even hear someone talking about making biscuits?

But remember how much you LOVE biscuits? With gravy! With butter! With jam! With honey! Oh, the magical biscuit carries condiments so well!

But. It's a little tough, this biscuit-making thing. You know, working that cold, hard butter into the flour, getting it to just the right consistency -- all that business? Well, I'm going to tell you something: times are a-changin', everybody! Biscuits just got way more flexible, way more kind, and way less ornery. As it turns out, you don't even NEED butter. In fact, you don't really need much of anything to make the loveliest biscuit you've ever had. All you need, truly, is two ingredients and approximately 10 minutes. Yes! Consider your life changed!


Clever Biscuits
2 cups self-rising flour*
1 cup whipping cream

Preheat oven to 450F. Combine flour and whipping cream in a bowl. Stir just until blended. (The dough will be a little bit stiff.) Transfer dough to a lightly floured surface and knead 10 times. (That's it! Ten times!) Roll out to 1/2" thickness and cut with a 2-inch cutter. Place biscuits close together ona lightly grease baking sheet or a Silpat. Bake 10 minutes. Makes 12. Eat them all up right away! (We all know how miserable biscuits are when you try to save them.)

*About this whole self-rising flour thing: I don't always have this on hand, so I science-d my way into it. Combine 1 cup flour, 1 1/2 t baking powder, and 1/4 t salt and...presto! Self-rising flour! Granted, you no longer used two ingredients to make these biscuits, but let's pretend, shall we? Good!

Milk Capital of the World

He drinks milk.

"All kinds!" he tells me enthusiastically. "I love all kinds of milk. Give me your cow! All the percentages of cow! Your soy! Your almond! Your coconut! Your rice! I like it all!" And he wasn't kidding. It's all true. He drinks milk.

I found out about it the first time I made dinner for him. A seemingly banal question yielded quite the unexpected response:

Me (looking into the refrigerator and yelling from the kitchen into the
living room):  
What do you want to drink?

Him (not yelling, because, as it turns out, he was actually in the kitchen):
Do you have any milk?

Milk...milk...milk. My eyebrows raised. My eyes squinted. I cocked my head to the side.

Me (turning to look at him, confirming politely that I heard him correctly):
Milk?

Him (a bit sheepish, but, indeed, completely serious):
Milk. Any kind will do.

The answer was yes. Yes, I had milk. But I was confused. I think my reply was something like this: Like, to drink? You want a drink of milk?

And, of course, you know the rest. Of course he did. He drinks milk!

Now, to clarify, cow milk is his favorite, but he will indeed drink all varieties very happily. He is a living, breathing milk council ad. The dairy industry should be paying him at this point. They should really know how much he's done for the milk business. It's substantial.

As you can imagine, he was given milk that evening, and pretty much every other evening since then, too. No matter what the meal, milk. The exception to this is breakfast, which is when he is busy either drinking the milk at the bottom of his cereal bowl, or consuming his other favorite breakfast "food" called Carnation Instant Breakfast (which actually nowadays goes by a different, more idiotic name, but that's neither here nor there). Now, it's not a hard and fast rule, this milk drinking thing. It's just the ideal thing. He is relatively flexible when it comes to consumption of foods and drinks, so he will sometimes be found drinking other things at dinner, like beer or water. But, if given his druthers, it's milk. When we toast, it's his milk glass clinking against my non-milk glass, and it makes me incredibly happy.

My experience with milk as a drink has to do with a fair amount of required milk drinking at dinners throughout my childhood. The gallon of 2% milk, blue cap and all, was a common thread in every dinner during my childhood. Granted, I am grateful for the nutrition and, of course, wickedly strong bones (thanks, Mom and Dad!) but I'm not sure I actually ever loved milk as a drink. Here's the thing. Milk doesn't pair well with many foods, in my (humble, folks, very humble) opinion. It seems to wash out the flavors of foods, which is, of course, why it's such a perfect antidote to viciously spicy foods. I remember thinking that I would prefer to drink the milk either all at the end of the meal or all at the beginning of the meal, rather than taking sips in between bites. I never actually did this, because, as a child, I determined that this could possibly be construed by the cook as rudeness, which was a great fear I had. (I'm still overly conscious of my actions around someone who has cooked for me -- never season the food unless the cook offers the salt or pepper, always accept homemade food if it is offered to you, remember to compliment with specific description at the beginning and end and even sometimes in the middle of the meal, never ask for something that isn't already at the table, and so on. Mainly this is because, well, I have this gigantic fear of offending the cook. The sort-of-funny thing is that, in other areas of my life, I have no problem being a bit rude or obnoxious, but there's something about the sanctity of the table, about the rules of dining. It's sacred.)

Ah, look at me digress! Back to milk. It's kind of like the 50-watt paging horn of palate cleansers. It's going to do the job a little too well. This, though, is why milk is the perfect thing to consume with something sticky or extremely sweet, like cake or peanut butter or a box of Oreos. (Um, I don't even think Oreos come in a box. I don't get out very much, as you can tell.) You've gotta wash down your powerful food with a powerful drink so that you can keep on consuming it. Plus! It's so filling. Like drinking Guinness. It's seems like much more of a liquid meal than a drink.

I was just so excited to hurry up and get older so I could stop drinking milk at meals! Suddenly, it happened. I was eventually able to have water or iced tea if I preferred (which I most certainly did) and I was relieved beyond reason. This way, milk in a glass could be saved for times when I really needed it, like when there were doughnuts to be had, or cookies, or cereal, or a peanut butter sandwich. Plus, I could finally focus on putting milk where it truly belonged, like as an ingredient in pudding or a sauce or, of course, in coffee. Milk as an ingredient, is vital, I think, and this is why there is always, always milk in my refrigerator. As a cook, I always somehow have managed to plow through loads of milk, which means that my house is quite the haven for people who, you know, see it as the most important drink.

Babies! Kittens! Milkmen! Boyfriends! Come one, come all. This is your safe place!


Really Thick Milk (AKA Pudding)

As you can imagine, he also loves pudding, which makes me like him even more. This is the pudding I made last week. He asked for seconds, which means it must be pretty good -- considering he isn't much of a seconds kind of guy because he just doesn't eat very much in general. (I know! Weird!)

You can do anything with this pudding. I often turn it into coconut or banana pudding, and it's the base I used for cream pie filling. It is crazy easy, and, as you can see from its name, it's kind of like drinking really thick milk (if you're into that kind of thing).

2 C cow milk (I prefer 2%, but any kind will do)
3 egg yolks
1/3 C sugar
3 T cornstarch
1/4 t salt
1 T butter
1 t vanilla or vanilla bean paste

Combine first 5 ingredients. Whisk (somewhat constantly) over medium heat until thick. Try not to leave it unattended for very long, as it will love to stick to the bottom of the pan and turn into a gross mess. Turn down the heat if it seems like it is getting to bubbly or violent. When it looks almost thick enough to eat, turn off the heat and add the vanilla and butter. Whisk until butter is melted. Pour into a glass or ceramic dish, cover, and place in the fridge until it's the temperature you like. (It will thicken as it cools and sets.)

You can also put the pudding in individual cups, of course, and it'll make approximately four servings. Sometimes I like to hide bananas or berries under the pudding for a nice surprise. For a nice non-surprise, toasted coconut or almonds are a good addition for the top.

President of the Coconut Club

 

After discovering that a certain someone loves coconut with all his might, I decided it was time to finally figure out the macaroon mystery. It's like this, you see: I've never been able to get them right. Ever. 

Here's the thing. A macaroon is so stunningly simple. And yet, there are so many lousy ones out there. And the ones I make? Well, they aren't terrible, they aren't inedible, but they're just not amazing. Just not perfect. That is, until now! A-ha!

After all these years, I have finally (finally!) found the perfect macaroon recipe. Praise to you, coconut! You're finally getting the treatment you deserve. (And apologies for all those times I basically ruined you by swaddling you in unnecessary ingredients, like sweetened condensed milk and other such nonsense ingredients). 

 

Let's just clarify, first of all. Here's what I want in a macaroon: crisp exterior, creamy interior. I want them to be this way when they come out of the oven, and I want them to be this way when I am eating them for dinner, three days later, instead of my vegetables. I want them a bit sweet, but definitely not too sweet. I don't want to wince from sugar overload when I take my first bite, because I sometimes want to be able to eat one for breakfast. I want them to look good too -- golden brown wisps on top with crisp golden-brown bottom. Really...is this too much to ask? It can't be. And it's not! Hurrah!

When you read this recipe, you will maybe roll your eyes. You will say, cake flour? I'm not buying cake flour just for these silly macaroons! You will say, room temperature egg whites? I don't have the time! And you will say, Refrigerate two hours?! Absurd! But. But! Hear me out. You must do these things. They are important! And you will thank me later, preferably by swinging by my house with a basket of sample macaroons, so I can see just how well you did with your coconut project.

Macaroons

makes about 2 dozen

3 cups shredded, sweetened coconut

4 egg whites, room temperature

1 t vanilla (use good vanilla is you can -- preferably vanilla bean paste)

1 cup sugar

1/2 cup cake flour

1/4 t salt

In a heatproof bowl placed over a saucepan of simmering water, whisk together the egg whites, sugar, and salt. When this mixture is warm to the touch and looking creamy, remove from heat and whisk in the vanilla extract and flour. Stir in coconut. Cover and refrigerate for about two hours, or until firm.  

Preheat oven to 325 degrees F and line two baking sheets with parchment paper (or use a Silpat, which I highly recommend for this project). Place small mounds (use heaping tablespoons or a cookie scoop) of the batter on the baking sheets, spacing several inches apart.  Bake for about 16 to 20 minutes or until golden brown.  Remove from oven and let cool on the baking sheet for about 10 minutes and then place on a wire rack to cool. Store in an airtight container. Eat frequently.

The Architecture of Love

There are so many important things for you to know about him! You've been asking, and I want to tell you everything immediately!

I'm keeping pages of notes about him, as though he's a science experiment -- which is quite appropriate, considering that he is a very science-y sort of person. So I'm pretty sure he doesn't mind the data collection. Sure, it's a little creepy...but how else am I going to figure out the best way to love him? This is an important process, folks!

So.

Clearly, we like to make forts. The first time he asked me to make a fort (as in, a human-sized fort), I fell for him. Hard. Okay, so I had already fallen for him, but this really sealed the deal. Do I want to make a fort? Um, let's see. Do I want AIR to breathe? Do I want food and sleep and water?

Yes. Yes! Of course! Yes!

It's certainly not everyday that someone asks you to build a fort with them. In fact, I have absolutely no idea why there aren't more adults out there building forts. It's a sad state of affairs out there! Growing up, my brother and I used to build forts with the pillows and cushions in the living room, and we were pretty good at it, although I seem to recall that we usually ended up trying to squash each other with the biggest cushions while giggling hysterically. There wasn't a lot of time spent in the actual fort, though, because building it and taking it down were the best parts. (I'll admit, I was always a little distraught by the deconstruction of the furniture, and was a little anxious until the living room was returned to its normal, organized, non-forted state.) And all of that was good for then. But now?

Well, fort-making has advanced to a whole new level. See, I am (just to remind you, in case you'd forgotten) a real adult, which means that, for me specifically, I have processes and strategies and a very linear organizational pattern. Not just any fort will do, you see. Playing isn't as easy as it used to be!

After drawing up several diagrams and painstakingly strategizing the structure using elaborate blueprints (okay, so they're not all that elaborate, but they at least suggest forethought), I was ready. I will lightly brush past the bit about us not even using any of the ideas I had, because for some ridiculous reason, I did not even consider for one second that the dining room table would make the best fort ever. Let's also not mention how I was SITTING at the table when I was drawing the fort blueprints, and yet my plans included complicated objects that lacked stability and/or promoted danger once one was inside the structure, like a t-square, a gigantic ladder, and stacked-up chairs. Sheesh.

Well, I was eventually guided in the proper direction (thank goodness I wasn't left alone to build this fort!), and the next thing I knew, we had (and still have) a tremendous fort in the dining room. Stable, precise, and very secretive -- just how I like it. See? I told you he had good ideas! Granted, adults over 3 feet tall pretty much will all whack their heads on the fort ceiling, but these are the kinds of adjustments we need to make in real life.

I think I'm getting a bit off track here, since really the purpose of all this is to tell you that he likes Triscuits, which also happens to be my brother's favorite cracker. (Do you see it?? I already have the perfect date arranged for him and my brother! Triscuits + fort building = best friends forever!) So. He likes Triscuits as his favorite cracker, although he also enjoys Wheat Thins (just like my mom!).

Anyway. When my mom and I were on vacation a few weeks ago, I spied a new invention on the shelf at the grocery store: Triscuit babies, aka Triscuit minis! And I think you know what happens next. Triscuit babies came home with me, Triscuit babies were eaten,  and Triscuit babies were discussed at great length (Why did it take them so long to think of this idea? Do other crackers come in baby sizes? Why do they taste so much better than big Triscuits? Are they one-quarter of the size of a regular Triscuit? Will we ever be able to eat a big Triscuit again? How much more equipment did the Triscuit factory need in order to produce these? They aren't as poky! They aren't as dangerous to eat! They are really fun! And...Hey! These would make a really great fort!).

And then we built fort #2. A miniature fort, a quaint fort, convenient for all the small creatures of our imaginations, and all of it very structurally sound, as you can tell. And, most importantly, all extremely delicious. Not to mention, the start of something quite grand.