Homonym-ing and Shortbread

How nice it might be, being a bee. With wings for flying and honey to find. To focus on what's whole before that troublesome hole. On how far we have come, rather than feeling just short. And where did that short business come from anyway? My sister is short, as compared to other folks and she is in no way inferior, you see. But shortbread I'll keep; not the least bit diminutive seeming to me.  And remember these words- don't search for solace in someone who's soulless.

Shortbread adapted from Martha Stewart Living. 

Everything gets a label these days. What's with the labels? And the boxes. Society just loves putting people in boxes. "She is too sensitive, he should be classified. Let's have him evaluated." My fella always tells me he had attention deficit growing up; it was never diagnosed. He ran and played with the other kids, and did his best in school. He became a Marine, and now a chef, and luckily for him he  not often must sit. He adapted and thrived, without any boxes. The only box I'd like is a box full of chocolates. Imported ones. Expensive. Perhaps scatter them over that shortbread. I don't need a box for my life to reside inside of. My nature, and my quirks, weaknesses too. They're all mine, and I own them. Just keep me out of a box. Boxes are for chocolate. And shoes. 

I prefer to affect the status quo than to be an effect of it. I'm easily awed, which you may find odd, but maybe they are one in the same. Worth is in the eye of the beholder anyway. And while we are awed, what a difference a letter makes.  Let's steer clear of awful, but life should be aweful. In the grand scheme of the world, we are but wee. Still how nice it might be, being a bee. 

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Ingredients:

• 1 cup unsalted butter, room temperature
• 3/4 cup packed light-brown sugar
• 1 1/4 teaspoons coarse salt
• 2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1/2 semisweet chocolate chips or chunks
•  1 1/2assorted chocolate candies roughly chopped
• 1/4 cup chopped peanuts 

To prepare Box of Chocolates Shortbread

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. With an electric mixer, beat butter, brown sugar, and salt on medium-high until light and fluffy, 3 minutes. Add flour in three additions, with mixer on low. Beat until combined and dough is crumbly. Press dough evenly into an 8-inch square baking dish, coated in baking spray. Bake until golden brown and firm, about 35 minutes.

Carefully remove from the oven and scatter with chocolate chips on top. Once they begin to melt, about a minute, spread gently with an offset spatula or spoon. Scatter candies and peanuts over the top. Let cool on a wire rack for an hour. When chocolate is set, you can refrigerate briefly if you wish, cut into jagged bars. 

On Wonderment

I want to find wonderment in simple things, in candid moments, in messes. In dust bunnies discovered under the couch, a collection of singleton socks, the cooktop so weathered from use it will never again be entirely clean. Windows that need replacing,  a box full of birthday cards, and a new pint of Southern Butter Pecan Talenti gelato. Feeling solid earth under my feet, my head on a pillowcase that still smells of clean laundry, a freshly sharpened Ticonderoga pencil between my fingertips. In a resolved conflict, and my tiny first apartment. The beating of my heart; my tastebuds. 

Oftentimes I fixate on perception: what others think and why, how they define worth, if I measure up. When the ruminating gets to be too exhausting, I peel away the layers and focus on primal matters instead. Am I hungry, does the weather warrant a sweater, did I call Nana to say "good morning"? I try to focus on the tasks at hand, the minutiae that when taken together comprise a lifetime. I make breakfast, put gas in my tank, yield for pedestrians. Answer emails, send a thank you note, buy a bouqet of flowers. 

I want to find wonderment in simple things, in candid moments, in messes. Beauty rooted in simplicity is abundant. In fudge brownie pie, words of affirmation, and a phone call from your best friend. Clasped hands, Monopoly, and eggs over easy. In broken hearts, our capacity as people to feel,  and compassion revealed in the unlikliest of places. In arguments and fighting the urge to cry. In succumbing to the tears and starting over. Saying goodbye but memories dear, letting go of something you fear. 

To prepare, line small pans of your choice with pie crust. Fill with your favorite brownie batter. Get creative with assorted cookie cutters. I used a set Tic Tac Toe set from Sur La Table, that can double as hugs and kisses. Bake at 350 degrees for 25 to 30 minutes. Top with ice cream! 

I need to find wonderment in simple things, in candid moments, in messes. I have little faith in the alternative.

False Alarm Tennessee Bread Pudding

They told us we would be stranded, for one day maybe two, snow like an insurmountable blockade right up to our front door. We readied ourselves, grabbed a new board game, some candles and extra groceries. Leftover from Sunday dinner was a lovely loaf of bread that had begun to harden. Monday evening I began thinking about the potential of the snowy morning to come, and breakfast of course. I adapted a recipe from Lodge's A Skillet Full, for Tennessee Bread Pudding to include some extra decadence- dark chocolate. 

The snow came, but not to the degree they forecasted. Work was called off prematurely so we still have the day to stay in. I'm tempted to turn off all the lights, unplug and just pretend. Toss the phone aside, turn off the television and hide the iPad. Have a good old fashioned conversation, huddled on a blanket with a plate of bread pudding and a glass of milk. 

Ingredients: 

1/2 stick butter
1 loaf of French or Italian bread, preferably stale
2 cups of milk
2 eggs beaten
1 cup dried fruit; I used cranberries 
1/2 cup dark chocolate, chopped
1 1/2 tablespoons vanilla

To prepare:

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Melt butter in your 12 inch Lodge Cast Iron skillet. Slice bread into chunks.

Combine remaining ingredients in a large bowl.

Add bread chunks to the bowl and toss until the bread is saturated. Use your hands preferably and mash if necessary. Pour your mixture into the bubbling butter in skillet. Press down gently and allow liquids to rise to the top, moistening all the bread.

Bake for 40 minutes or until center is firm. When cool, top with powdered sugar.

If it wasn't morning time, I would top with ice cream. Maybe I will anyway. 

Scenes from Sunday: Cinnamon Rolls

There are few things in life, if any, that I have found worth trading my Sundays for. After the responsibilities of the week and social encounters of Saturday have come and gone, a day for family, reflection, rest, and catch up arrives just in time. 

I've been allocating Sundays for sweet treats as part of my New Year's resolution. While I won't give up the desserts I enjoy entirely, I can scale back how frequently I eat them. Furthermore, I'll make them from scratch so the effort warrants the indulgence. Deprivation with regard to food,  if I am being entirely honest, is not now and likely never will be an avenue for me. So all week, I'll be dreaming of Sunday. 

This Sunday's project was a batch of Cinnamon Rolls. Sarah Kieffer, one of my favorite food writers, shared her recipe for Truck Stop Cinnamon Rolls  using Breadin5's Brioche dough. Her writing and confections are stunningly beautiful, and these rolls were every bit as comforting as I envisioned. Having never made them from scratch, I can now appreciate the thorough process, the waiting, rising, folding, and rolling. The mixing, and zesting. Plain and simple - the effort. I won't stop at Cinnabon again and mindlessly eat a bun as I window shop with my sister, hopefully. It would be a betrayal of the process I have now experienced. 

Like nurturing a baby, if I may draw that comparison as I have no children of my own but pray that someday I will, I felt this inexplicable attachment.  I was expectant and anxious. I nervously asked James, does this dough look ok to you? Will it rise? Should I add more flour? James gave me his bench scraper from culinary school, a symbolic union of his past and our future. I gingerly handled the brioche after it chilled, the aroma of honey and yeast on my fingertips. I rolled out the brioche on parchment paper, a blank canvas patiently awaiting its sweet destination. Brushed with melted butter, covered with a combination of sugars and orange zest, and then rolled ever so gently into a long log. I sliced into rolls with a bread knife and arranged them on baking sheets where they rose for 2 hours. Then, I baked them at 350 degrees for 25 minutes. Warm from the oven, I covered the rolls with homemade cream cheese icing and snuck a bite, thinking to myself that while I can't buy lavish gifts, I can coat your ribs with comforting labors of my love. 

Happy Sunday!

The world is watching

All I offered was a kiss on the cheek goodbye and a mandate to check in when he arrived there safely. A sweet gentleman in passing said, "well, that was nice."  We smiled at one another and went on our separate ways. I was changed; perhaps he was as well. 

We are always under observation, under a microscope even.  An exchange, a word. These seemingly small moments affect other people.  We don't have to have adoring fans, buckets of money, or notoriety to lead a full life - to impact other people. If we quiet the noise and distractions, we would see this each day. A gesture of understanding in the checkout line between mother and child. A nimble young man helping an elderly man with his bags. Returning a lost glove, a smile at a wailing toddler, the acknowledgment of a lonely stranger. To believe that small gestures are meaningless is a disservice to the gift that life is. A gift every human person is afforded, despite his or her station in life.

Right around Christmas time, I received a message from Beth Sweeney, founder of Coppermill Kitchen, a luxury brand of restored European antique copper cookware. Her pieces are absolutely stunning, and her story is equally inspiring. She wanted to send me a present for my kitchen. I was flabbergasted. "You want to send me a Christmas present?" As I have recently undergone a transition in the workplace, I was feeling a bit lost, uncertain, and worried about keeping up appearances. What will I tell people I do for living, I wondered. I surely cannot say I am a writer, as I haven't been published by a respected source. At best, I am a decent home cook with a great appreciation for mealtime. I like to dabble here and there, while I figure out the next step, if there even is a concrete step. The road is winding and I must remember that. 

Beth told me she was inspired by my work. I was deeply touched from a maker's standpoint, as I have been diligently striving to develop a craft. But more so I was touched on the human level. An act of kindness from a stranger, a small symbol of appreciation, and it made all the difference.  She and I have remained in contact and plan to get together in her Copper Kitchen in the future, to share "good food and good stories." A friendship sparked from a darling copper mould, one I will treasure.

To prepare compound butter:

Bring 1/4 cup (1/2 stick) of butter to room temperature, until it gives to the warmth of your hands and is malleable. Finely chop a selection of your favorite fresh herbs. I used rosemary, chives, and sage. In all, it should amount to a little less than a tablespoon. Using a spoon, break down your butter and mix in your herbs, working the excess off the spoon with your fingers. When the herbs are evenly distributed, spoon the butter into your mould and press down with your fingers to fill the crevices. Continue to pack the butter into the mould, level, and chill. I left mine in the freezer overnight, as it was my first time using my mould, but an hour will do. 

Beth taught me to run the mould under hot water ever so briefly. I gave my mould a little tap on the cutting board and it popped out. If you have difficulty, work it gently with a tooth pick. We will be serving this atop a grilled steak for dinner, but you can serve as you wish. Atop a sandwich on crusty bread would be a delight as well. 

To shop Beth's catalogue at Coppermill, click here.