Cherry Scones at 7,000 feet

I spent last week in Santa Fe with the Boss Lady and Baby. We stayed in a pueblo style house up in the mountains, with vibrant lavender burgeoning in the front garden and an endless sky stretching on and on out the back door. Oh! it was beautiful.

Some days I could have sworn the sky was flirting with me. I mean, honestly, what am I supposed to make of this view?

Obviously take as many picture as humanly possible.

I took roughly 700 pictures that week, and most of them were of clouds.
I also took pictures of antique cars until my camera battery failed me (posting those in the future).
And I took pictures of these scones.

I think it's pretty clear what interests me; pretty clouds, pretty cars, and pretty food.

Baking at 7,000 feet above sea level is a different experience from the usual for this bayou city girl. Living that high in the clouds was a whole other adjustment.
The air was dry. I was thirsty all the time and my skin was uncontrollably thirsty too. My hands soaked up lotion; I would rub on two pumps worth of the stuff and in an hour I would need another dosing. The bottoms of my feet felt like Velcro sticking to the blankets when I got in bed. I was drinking water constantly
The air was thin. Dancing and running left me gasping and lightheaded. If I stood up too quickly after stretching, my head would feel like it would float away.
But that all made the fluffiest baked goods known to man. So it was a pretty even trade-off if you ask me.

Of course, there are ways to adjust for altitude in baking so that your end results maintain a certain standard no matter where you bake. I found a great little table chart from Pie in the Sky and High Altitude Baking.
I studied it well. Then I ignored it.
I had full intentions of following the chart, I swear. But when I got to the kitchen and found- after a good stint of exploring, searching, and nearly spelunking- there was no teaspoon, I gave up trying to exactly measure anything smaller than 2 tablespoons. The smallest measure that could be found was a 2 tablespoon measure. Anything smaller would have to be estimated.
So, I started my high altitude experiment with pancakes, estimating the measurements and not adjusting for altitude. I ended up with pancakes puffed high that melted in the mouth.
Then I moved onto scones.

Cherries were on sale at the grocery store, so we picked up a bag. I chose this recipe for fresh cherry scones from the Table for Two blog, but made up a different glaze from the top of my head.

Again, I had to estimate all amounts smaller than 2 tablespoons and did not adjust for altitude.
And, omaigoodness, these were good.

I'm sure they're great at other, lesser elevations, but at 7000 feet they were scone-clouds. Yum.
Julie from Table for Two uses an almond glaze for her scones, but I just can't bring myself to conform. That, and I couldn't find any almond extract (or almond anything) in the Santa Fe kitchen- even after spelunking in the pantry. I did find ground ginger and a couple cases of shockingly pungent ginger ale, though. Ginger + Ginger Ale = Ginger glaze for my cherry scones. I enjoyed the combination and, if you'd like to do the same, I suggest you follow Julie's recipe for glaze, substituting ginger ale for the milk and adding ground ginger to taste.

Let me know how these scones turn out for you at whatever altitude you find yourself baking in, and whether or not you adjusted for the elevation. We can make a grand experiment out of it. And give Mrs. Julie a visit as well, and tell her I sent you.

P.S.
I have also discovered a new Saint- well, new to me. He lived in the 1500s.
St. Pascal Baylon; patron Saint of kitchens and cooks, a Fransican raised in poverty with a particular devotion the Eucharist. It's said that his pantry at the monastery was miraculously replenished.

"I joyfully celebrate the food I am given.

May it deeply nourish everyone I feed."

Amen

Slices of Sunshine for Easter

Christos Aneste!

Christ is Risen!

Alithos Anesti!

 He is Risen Indeed!

 Happy Easter, Everyone! I hope you all are enjoying this Easter season.

I must apologize for my absence last week. I came here several times to post, found I wasn't sure what I could say, and then was distracted by posts from my fellow bloggers. I'm always smiling when I read my friends' blogs- particularly A Little White Bird and Under the Bear Hood. A Little White Bird shares pretty snapshots of the emerging spring with a simple, honest joy. Under the Bear Hood serves up charming art with an occasional dash of brutal humor.
I really ought to do a more in-depth features for both these blogs, as well as a few others. Please look forward to them in the coming weeks!

So, in short, I was kept away by my own vague brain and the excuse to procrastinate that only a good read and pretty pictures can offer
But today I make my return!
Bring out the trumpets!
For my welcome back gift, I offer photos and a recipe for Lemon Turmeric Pickles.

I've mentioned before how much we like adventures in the kitchen. In that adventurous spirit, the Boss-lady bought some raw turmeric tubers on a shopping trip. She had no idea what to do with them, but she thought they looked funky. So into her basket they went.

 

The challenge of what to do with them fell to me. My gigantic Larousse Gastronomique had few clues to help me in my quest- just a couple flavor pairing suggestions and a brief overview of the spice's history.

The internet revealed a few more clues. I learned they should be stored like garlic; in a cool, dark, dry place. The refrigerator is too moist, but a basket on the counter out of direct light should be fine in most kitchens. The tubers can be converted to the more familiar dry powder after roasting, drying, and an amount of grinding too insane to be cost effective in our little home kitchen.

I could use the tubers to grow my own turmeric plants which I could harvest for a bigger yield later. For that, the tubers must be stored in a dry, dark spot until buds begin to sprout. One would then cut the tubers into shorter pieces and plant.

I also picked up some info about the spice's health benefits. Eating a half teaspoon a day can reduce inflammation, among other things.

For all this, culinary use of the whole, raw tuber seemed to be restricted to juicing in smoothies, crushing into cold-combating elixirs, and pickles. Potables didn't appeal to me that day so I chose to explore the third option.

A couple of the turmeric pickle recipes I found used lemon juice as its only acid. I took a page from the Gastronomique and used ginger as an accompanying spice. I had noticed that the internet said to eat pepper with turmeric, and my health-conscious mom echoed that. Garlic and salt played their parts in this recipe as well. The salt was pink because I find it hard to pass up an opportunity to use it wherever I can.

 

These are pungent. Biting into one is like putting a crisp slice of sunshine between your teeth. The flavor is an explosion of bright lemon. While the taste is a little too strong to eat alone, I really enjoy a couple slices on a cracker with pesto or nestled into a hearty sandwich. I imagine these would also be great chopped into a relish or a tangy potato salad.

 

Lemon Pickled Turmeric

1 cup Turmeric Tubers
3 Large Cloves Garlic
1 cup Lemon Juice
1/4 Salt
1 tsp Coarsely Ground Pepper
1/2 tsp ground Ginger

Peel the turmeric and slice them thinly lengthways or on a diagonal. Try to make the slices between 2 and 3 millimeters thick. Skin and slice the garlic to the same width. Toss garlic and turmeric slices into a jar.

Mix lemon juice, salt, pepper, and ginger then pour over turmeric and garlic.

Close up the jar and give a good shake. Let sit in the fridge for 2-3 days.

 

A Potato Salad

Shrove Tuesday is tomorrow- or Mardi Gras, or Fat Tuesday, or whatever you call it. It's a day of all things fattening and sweet for many, but perhaps you need something a little lighter and not so very coated in sugar.

For you, I have a salad from Houston's famous Treebeards Cookbook.

Their recipe book collects gems from both the Treebeards kitchen and local family heirlooms. There are no pictures, but I love pouring over the pages, thinking about the grannies and mammas that shared their children's favorite meals, or about the bustling commercial kitchen whipping up these same recipes at five or six times the volume. The book and the restaurant are treasures of Houston. I respect both the history they keep and their sheer staying power in a city where time and progress move in a distinctly wibbly-wobbly fashion.

The recipe in question was Treebeards' Green Beans and New Potatoes. It was lovely and I see myself mixing this up again for a future picnic with friends in the coming Spring- if Spring ever comes back to us, that is.
This is a potato salad without mayonnaise and without egg. It's perfectly vegan and perfectly light. I'd even make the dressing for other salad of the normal, leafy variety.

Treebeards uses two types of bell peppers and smaller new potatoes. We were going for a Mardi Gras themed side dish, so we stuck to a color palate of green, yellow, and purple. We dropped the red peppers, doubled the yellow, and used red skinned potatoes that looked rather purple once cooked and mixed with the other ingredients. I kept the dressing exactly as the book prescribed.

Now without further ado, the recipe.

Adapted from Treebeards' Green Beans and New Potatoes. p. 186 of Treebeards Cookbook, tenth printing.

Ingredients:
4 large red potatoes, cut into pieces just a little bigger than bite-size
4 cups green beans, trimmed
1/2 cup chopped yellow bell pepper

For the dressing:
1 garlic clove, minced very fine
2 Tbs vegetable oil
2 Tbs olive oil
2 Tbs lemon juice
1 1/4 tsp Dijon mustard
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp ground black

Method:
Simmer potatoes until tender- 15 to 20 minutes. You should be able to pierce them easily with a fork, but they should not be so soft that they fall apart when poked. The skins should still be firmly attached, too.
Simmer green beans until they are just barely cooked. They need to be firm, about al dente.
Drain potatoes and beans.

For the dressing:
Vigorously whisk all the dressing ingredients together. You can do this while your veggies are simmering.

Final step:
In a large pan, heat up the chopped bell pepper. You're not looking for a char or even to tenderize them. This is a quick introduction with heat just to waken up the flavor. Add to the peppers the beans, potatoes, and the dressing. Toss together- but don't break up the potatoes.

Serve warm right away or refrigerate and pack on your next picnic or pot-luck. I like it cool.

I hope this bit of healthy food can pull you through this day of fatty feasting, and can give you courage for tomorrow's post. I'll be telling you all about an adventure with Banana Funnel Cakes and Deep Fried Fudge Pop Pies. So, clear your arteries and hunker down.
Until then, enjoy!

Honey Balsamic Eggplant

Today, I present to you soft, buttery eggplant with a sweet tang. It's easy, scrumptious, and makes a wonderful accompaniment to so many dishes.

Plus, it's an entirely original recipe. I'm very proud of myself.

Honey Balsamic Eggplant

One medium eggplant cut into 4 or 6 long pieces. You can cut off the leafy top if you like.
Olive Oil

1 Tbs Honey

1 1/2 Tbs Balsamic Vinegar

Oven 450 F.

If your eggplant is a little old, soak the eggplant slices in salted water for an hour. This will draw out any bitterness.

Oil the baking pan with your olive oil. Line up the eggplant in the pan. Drizzle with balsamic vinegar and honey in a thin stream. Rub it in with your fingers to coat the eggplant evenly. Bake until the flesh becomes buttery and the skin is crispy- about 30 minutes

We've had it with fettuccine and cream sauce; with a couple slices of a hard, nutty cheese and a hunk of bread for lunch; and, as shown above, with braised short ribs on polenta and golden brussel sprouts. I've also eaten the eggplant by itself cold as a snack. I love the softness of cooked eggplant, and preparing it this way makes it almost fluffy.

Enjoy!

Adventures in Chayote

It was veggie week at work, and it was also the first week of meals since I started my job back in September that we didn't pre-plan the meals. Our only shopping tactic was to grab what looked good and made us want to eat it. In the end, this tactic led us to take home most of the produce department, including one of these little guys.

Chayote.

I'd seen them around the super market, chilling out next to the eggplant, but I had no idea what they were. Squash? Melon? Alien baby pods?
Looking at its mysterious form did not make me want to eat it, but it made my boss curious, so into our cart we chucked it, gleefully looking forward to cutting it up at home.
Well, she was gleeful. I was apprehensive.

When we got back to the house, I searched the internet for information about our green little friend. The ever-wise Web told me Chayote tended to be slimy and tasteless, while simultaneously telling me it was a delicious staple of certain ethnic cuisine. Conflicting information meant I was now devoted to finding the truth out for myself.
The simplest mode of attack was deemed best; an easy saute in oil and spices as inspired by Navy S. at Allrecipes. My method and measurements were a bit different from Navy's, but I think either way will give you a yummy snack or side dish.

Here's what I did.
Gather ingredients.
Olive oil.
Salt
Pepper
Red pepper flakes
One fat garlic clove
Sugar
Balsamic vinegar.
And, of course, one chayote.

Cut the chayote in half length-ways, and then cut the halves into 1/4 inch thick slices. Don't peel, but remove the seed.
Smash your garlic, then peel and mince it.
Get the oil hot in a pan, sprinkling the oil with 1/2 tsp each of salt, pepper, and red pepper flakes with 1/3 to 1/2 of the garlic. Use more spices if you're working with a large pan or if you really want some heat.
When the oil's hot, lay down 1/3 to 1/2 of the chayote slices in the pan. Scooching them close together is fine. Now, sprinkle the tops with sugar so that they are lightly coated, about a 1/4 tsp per slice.
Let it cook. Seriously, this will take a few minutes. Let them get bubbly and golden on the bottom before flipping. The sugar will melt and the pale green flesh of the chayote will turn slightly translucent as it soaks up the heat and oil. Do not flip a single slice until its entire surface has changed color. The chayote is a tough little squash, and you'll want to give it this time to tenderize.
OK. Now flip. The sugar coated sides are now caramelizing in the spiced oil. Give it another 4 or so minutes, staying close to see that nothing burns and so you can enjoy the mild, spicy-sweet smells streaming up from the pan.
Once that side is done, transfer from pan to plate and drizzle with a thin stream of balsamic vinegar.
Add some fresh oil and spices to the pan, and repeat with the rest of the chayote slices.
Gobble it up, dragging the bites along your plate to soak up extra vinegar and any sugary spices that may have fallen.

One chayote produced a surprising amount of food, and it wasn't slimy. I ate half with a salad for lunch and was happily stuffed. The taste is pleasant, but nondescript. Still, the plain-Jane chayote deserves a chance. And, while I wouldn't nominate it as the next big super-food fad, it does have good heath benefits with 17% of your daily value of vitamin C and 31% of folate.

The verdict: Yum.