I am soooo close to having a finished first draft of my manuscript, it's driving me to distraction. I'm halfway through re-reading it for obvious errors before sending it out to my beta-readers* and because the finish line is so tantalizingly near, I've been rushing through every other task in my life to use every spare minute to edit. That includes making breakfast--there has been no vanilla french toast with praline bacon in the home for awhile now (although that does sound good), instead I've been relying on bananas, granola, and quick egg dishes. But nobody can eat scrambled eggs every day--it's not good for the humors. So to offer variety - and an easy way to eat up tiny bits of leftovers - the Breakfast Gods invented omelettes.
      Omelettes are beaten eggs that have been cooked in a flat round shape, sprinkled with filling, and folded over--sort of like a crepe, only with just eggs. They're popular in lots of restaurants, and the style can range from half-a-plate-of-thick-eggy-awesomeness to thin-as-tissue-paper-deliciousness. There's really no wrong way to go, it depends on your preferences. I, however, like to do omelettes the way Julia Child did them: fast, hot, thin, and marvelous. I'll walk you through how I do it, but if you're a visual person you may want to watch the Mistress in action--the most important part is the actual cooking technique, which only takes about 20 seconds.
      I usually only make a one-egg omelette, and I only shake enough to keep it from sticking, I let it fold over as I slide it out of the pan. The most important details are a) hot pan, b) enough fat/oil, c) thin egg mixture. And here's how it looks:

Z.D. Makes an Omelette

Ingredients:
1 large egg
1-2 teaspoons milk
1-2 teaspoons butter (or schmaltz, or canola oil**)
kosher salt
filling of choice (in this case, tomatoes, cheddar, and green onions)

The perfect way to use up those last few cherry tomatoes, and that tiny nibble of cheese.

Directions:
 - Crack the egg into a cup or bowl, and add the milk. Beat the egg enough to blend it, so there's no major lumps of white remaining, but not so much that it becomes frothy.

That's the level of incorporation you're looking for.

 - In a small skillet over high heat, melt the butter, swirling to coat the bottom of the pan. As soon as it's fully melted, quickly beat a pinch of kosher salt into the eggs, then pour the eggs into the pan.

This is no time to be stingy with the grease, even in a non-stick pan!

 - Let the eggs sizzle just a second, then begin shaking the pan, keeping the bottom flat on the burner. This is to help the eggs cook evenly, and prevent them from sticking to the skillet. The short cooking time keeps the eggs very, very tender!


 - The moment before the eggs are 100% cooked, sprinkle on your toppings. Then slide the omelette out of the pan onto a plate, slowly, and use the edge of the pan to flip the top part over.

Only takes a handful of filling

Ain't that purty?

      And voila, as Julia would say! You have a handsome, delicious omelette, and the whole thing should have taken you under a minute to make. If you want a more American look, you can go for the half-moon omelette, as follows.

Your other option is to sprinkle the filling all over...

And then flip in half. This lovely omelette is served with Dorie Greenspan's Maple Cornmeal Drop Biscuits, which are pretty darn quick and easy.

      Now chow down, bus your plate, and get back to writing...!


*That's a fancy way of saying "friends who are willing to read the whole darn thing and give brutally honest feedback."

**This pan is too hot for olive oil, it will burn, smoke, and be yucky. Coconut oil or shortening wil work Ok.

      So, if you haven't guessed by now, the sourdough bread was a major fail.
      Major. Fail.
      I'm not surprised. Something seemed off about that starter. I should have asked a bread-making friend for a sourdough recipe. In fact, I'm going to do so right now: if you have any success making sourdough bread, please pass on to me your recipe for a starter, and maybe I'll try again. Because the one I used totally sucked.
      The final steps added a ton more flour, and even more water. What started off as a compact, dough-like starter turned into a loose, soupy mess that looked a lot like every other starter I've ever seen. There was no kneading that.

The consistency of extra soggy oatmeal.

So I did what bread makers should never do, and pitched a fit.
      Out of sheer curiosity I tried taking the remaining half of my starter, adding a handful of slurry, letting it rest for an hour and then tossing it in the oven. I also tried adding a lot more flour to the remaining slurry and kneading the hell out of it for twenty minutes until it resembled bread dough, letting it rest over night, and baking that. The latter came out looking like sourdough on the outside.
      On the inside, they both resembled hockey pucks.
     

Dense as a doorknob.

      But I ate them anyway. That's how stubborn I am. I sliced them and fried them in butter and served them for breakfast all week. My husband's and mine's stomachs will never be the same.
      So that pretty much seals the deal: I would never make it as a pioneer woman. Well, I shouldn't say that--presumably if I lived back then, I would have been raised on home made bread, baking a daily loaf would have been a fact of life. And under the constant tutelage of my talented Mother, I'm sure I would have learned the knack quite thoroughly, just as I've picked up the knack for so many of our family recipes.
      As it is, however, don't time machine me back to those days--I would have no bread, and I would probably wind up passing through the digestive system of wolves.
      To compensate for my miserable bread failure, I'm probably going to make pie later this week. Because I can.

      The history of sourdough bread is long and illustrious, and its connection to the California Gold Rush is widely known. However, it has hitherto been unknown in my kitchen. Therefore, this foray into baking from a sourdough starter is pure adventure for me. There may be many of you reading over my steps with sorrowful head shakes and eye rolls, predicting with the sagacity of experience my eminent failure. And to you I wave, smile, and say, "Well, we all had to start somewhere!" If this messes up too badly, I'll toss out the whole mess and make brownies.
       Today I'm on Stage Three of my Winter Sourdough Starter, which starts with a sacrifice to the Baking Gods. Ok, not really...but if you didn't understand the chemistry behind taking half of your starter dough and ditching it, then laying it on a rock for spiritual appeasement seems as good an explanation as any.

The wad in the dirty egg pan on the right is being tossed. Note the digital scale under the bowl on the left--best $8.49 I ever spent.

After that, basically all I did was add more water and flour, and knead the thing into submission.

The resulting dough was slightly looser than its predecessors, but still considerably more dough-like than any other starter I've ever encountered. But it's going to rest for a couple days before being transformed into a lovely final loaf, so we'll see if the magic happens. I've scheduled to bake this on what is shaping up to be the coldest day of winter, so if it works out, I will be a very, VERY happy woman for several reasons.

      After 36 hours of resting in a warm place, my sourdough instructions say to add more flour and warm water, and mix together. A few thoughts: firstly, why exactly 36 hours? I was silly and made my original dough around noon. Does that mean I have to get up at midnight and do the next step? Well that's not likely, so I did it late, when I got up the next morning.
      Second: the recipe says to mix this into the existing dough. Well my existing dough is so stiff, NOTHING is going to get mixed in! I ended up kneading it in at full force. It took some elbow grease, and made my hands very messy, so my husband had to take the following shot:

This makes my hands look creepy.

      Talk about baking action! The resulting dough was even stiffer than the last one, but I followed the directions, and then stuck it back on top of my fridge for another 24 hours.

Not pretty, but already with an intriguing, slightly yeasty scent.

      We'll see what happens; I'll update tomorrow when I go to Stage Three.

      Since my current novel-in-the-works takes place in gold rush-era San Francisco, I mention a lot of sourdough bread. This tangy, yeasty loaf was synonymous with the American pioneers in general, but something about its presence among the prospectors of 1849 really stuck in our national lore. To this day, San Francisco boasts of its delicious sourdough bread, and visitors who don't try a hefty slice alongside a bowl of hot clam chowder are seriously missing out.
      As a child, sourdough was one of my favorite breads. I loved going to restaurants and having thick slices served warm before I'd even ordered from the menu; I would slather it with butter and watch it melt in before taking a bite. Yet somehow, despite this affection, I have never made it myself. Actually I haven't baked much bread at all--a fear of the unpredictability of yeast accompanied by a dislike of "club-fingers" from kneading kept bread as a grocery-list staple, rather than a baking regular. But years (and a certain cinnamon roll recipe) have changed my perspective. And now that I'm writing about dusty California settlers munching sourdough in San Francisco saloons, it's time I embraced the loaf, and made the magic happen in my own kitchen.
      The first thing I needed to do was make a starter. The reason sourdough was such a staple for the pioneers was because it doesn't require starting from scratch every time a person wanted to bake bread (which was usually every day). A loose dough is made and set out to catch wild yeast from the air, and accompanying bacteria to help process the sugars. This is called a "starter." You have to feed it with more flour and water every now and again, and sometimes you have to throw part of it out, but you can take off parts to mix with more flour and water to make bread...ack. Here, Alton Brown does a better job of explaining it than I do. He also explains why anything I do here in Ohio is going to be different from San Francisco sourdough. But I'm going to do my best, anyway.
      Here's the recipe I'm using for a starter. I chose this because, well, it's winter. Also because it uses honey, which I have on hand, as opposed to spent grapes, which is preferred in wine country. But, like all starters, it takes time. The better part of a week, actually. So I did the first part...

Not much to it, just bread flour, spelt flour, salt, honey, and warm water.

       ...and then I was surprised at the result. I know the recipe said "make a compact dough," but every starter I've ever encountered has been very loose. (Through the years, there have been neighbors and girl scouts who have given me bags of goo, with enthusiastic explanations of how it would become bread someday if I just did a, b, c, and then x, y, z. Most of these were graciously accepted, and then graciously thrown into the garbage. A few of them were graciously put in the fridge and then graciously ignored for a long time before being thrown into the garbage.) But hey, it's my first time, so who am I to second guess a recipe?

This part at least I was able to mix with a wooden spoon, sparing my fingers.

      Remember I said I was going to celebrate with pie? And that chocolate was going to be involved? Well not only did I make good on my word, I'm making a point of sharing with you BEFORE the most notorious chocolate holiday in America, just in case you want to make a sweet pie for your Sweetie Pie!
      The background of this recipe is...I have no idea where it came from. My family has been making it for the holidays since before I was born. I'm guessing since the title is "Hershey Nut Pie" is may have been put out by the Hershey corporation way back in the day? But as with any good recipe that gets used across multiple generations and households, little tweaks have occurred here and there, and I can't swear that this is the original recipe (I can't swear that it isn't, either).

      I love this because it's a cross between a fudgy brownie and a pecan pie. I mean for Pete's sake, if that doesn't win you over, what will? It can be made with a bit of booze or without. It keeps perfectly at room temperature for several days. It's excellent by itself, or with a dollop of whipped cream, or with a few pretty berries and a drizzle of creme fraîche, or (of course) a la mode. So without further ado, here 'tis:

Hershey Nut Pie

Ingredients:
one 9 inch unbaked pie crust (from one round of my lovely dough)
1 Cup white sugar (I use superfine vanilla sugar)
4 T cornstarch
2 large eggs (room temperature is best)
1 stick butter (if you don't use salted, add a pinch of kosher salt)
6 oz. semi-sweet chocolate, coarsely chopped
3 T bourbon OR 1 T vanilla
1 Cup pecan halves
1/4 tsp ground nutmeg

Directions:
 - Preheat your oven to 350º F. In a small bowl, beat together the sugar, cornstarch and eggs until thoroughly combined.

Yeah, I don't know why I did this by hand. Just use a bowl and a hand-held electric beater, you'll be much happier.

 - In a medium saucepan over med-low heat, melt together the chocolate, butter, and bourbon or vanilla. Once melted, turn off the heat and stir in the nutmeg and pecans.

It's scenes like this that make a person want to eat batter, and raw eggs be damned!

 - Pour the sugar mixture into the chocolate mixture, stirring vigorously until thoroughly combined. Pour into the unbaked pie crust and bake for 40 minutes, until the top resembles a baked brownie.

Don't worry if it only fills your crust a little over halfway, it puffs a bit as it bakes.

      Cool completely before serving. You can mess around with this recipe to suit your tastes: don't like pecans? Try walnuts, or coarsely chopped almonds. I bet raw pine nuts could be good, too! If you're not a fan of bourbon I have used spiced rum to great success, and I suspect a coffee liqueur - or even an orange liqueur - would be delicious as well. You can make it without nuts, but honestly the texture is best with a little crunch. I suppose you could leave out the nuts and try sprinkling the top with crushed toffee....

Doesn't that just have "Happy Valentine's Day" written all over it?

      There's something about the grey and chill of winter that makes me yearn for tropical climates.
      Yeah...me and everyone else who lives north of the 35th parallel.
      So I decided to alleviate a bit of my longing with a proper tropical breakfast. I had coconut water, fresh mango slices, juicy grilled sausages, and spicy eggs. But the crowning glory that really transported me to a beach-side buffet was the coffee cake.
      I based this recipe on one from a very old cookbook I inherited from my grandmother, but I ended up making so many changes (spices, pineapple, ginger, and decreased sugar) that the final product was very, very different from the original. And it tasted really good. So I'm taking full credit! Enjoy, and if you happen to be near a tropical beach when you eat this, say "hi" to the ocean for me!

Z.D.'s Tropical Coffee Cake

Ingredients:
1 Cup white sugar
1/2 Cup vegetable oil
2 eggs
1 Cup sour cream
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 & 1/2 Cup all-purpose flour
1 & 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 & 1/2 teaspoon ground cardamom
1/2 teaspoon salt
8 oz. finely chopped pineapple (canned is OK), drained
1/4 Cup crystalized ginger, finely chopped
1/2 Cup shredded coconut
1/3 Cup chopped raw macadamia nuts (optional)

Directions:
 - Pre-heat your oven to 350º F, and grease a 9 x 9" square baking pan.

 - In an electric mixer, beat together the sugar and oil on high speed for at least three minutes. Add in the eggs one and a time, beating for at least a full minute after each addition, until mixture is thick and lemon-colored. Beat in the sour cream and vanilla.

 - In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt and cardamom. Stir into the wet mixture until just barely incorporated. Fold in the pineapple.

I wish I'd had the macadamia nuts....

 - Pour the batter into the baking pan. Sprinkle the top evenly with the ginger, coconut and macadamia nuts. Bake for 45-55 minutes, until the coconut is a lovely caramel brown and your kitchen smells like a Hawaiian bakery. A toothpick inserted in the center should come out clean.

 - Allow to cool for at least an hour before cutting into squares and serving.

      Remember when I said that I was splitting my current novel manuscript into 3 novels? And remember when I said that meant I'd have to alter the plot of the first part? And remember when I said that resulted in a big gap in what was otherwise already seamlessly written? (Actually I'm not sure I ever posted about that last part, but it's what I've been working on for the last, oh, 5 months or so.)

      Well today - this morning - just now - I CLOSED TO GAP! YEEEAAAAAYYY!!! Which means I finally have a rough draft of my first novel!
      Very rough. Rough in the sense that a round of dough, a cup of sugar, and a pile of apples is a rough draft of an apple pie. But just as those ingredients will provide a decent estimation of the finished volume and anticipated flavor, so does my draft allows for a general feel of the final story (pretty darn good, if I do say so myself) and, most importantly to my stress-out mind, the final length. Because my current draft stands at a lovely 73,625 words.
      Some of that will be re-written, some of it will be deleted, and some of it will be replaced. But I doubt the final draft will vary more than a couple thousand words in either direction. And it's a relief, because I was worried this wouldn't work out to be a decent novel on its own, and part of that was length. A typical contemporary fiction novel averages between 70- and 80-thousand words, so as it stands I'm right on the money.
      And I do intend to celebrate with pie. For breakfast. I may not get around to making it until Monday, so you may get a different breakfast post over the weekend, but there will be pie in the near future. And it will probably include chocolate. Just saying.

      It's my fault for trying to have a life, it keeps me away from my computer. :-P
      Actually, I thought I posted this last week, but it would seem I wrote it all and then forgot to hit "publish," which makes me feel like a proper ding-dong. I guess that means I've got back-ups, now. So last week two weeks ago, I was visiting my brother in San Francisco. This trip had the triple advantages of a) seeing my brother, who is awesome, b) being in California instead of Ohio in the winter, which is doubly awesome, and c) giving me an opportunity to inspect the site where my current writing project is set.
      As an unpublished writer, I realize that my opinion holds relatively little weight, but nevertheless I strongly recommend visiting the placing that you write about. We have all these pre-conceived ideas about locations, and actually going somewhere can be not only enlightening, but inspiring. Alas, San Francisco has almost zero resemblance to its 1860's state, since it was demolished by the double-disasters of earthquake and fire in 1906.

Now that's intense.

      So unfortunately, I can't visit any historic houses or hotels like I've been able to do in Boston, Victoria, and other cities. But my story is about much more than a city, it's about a unique corner of earth where, despite the interference of the human race, the sun still shines, the wind still blows, and the most of the same species of plants still grow on more-or-less the same hillsides. And natural landscapes have a LOT to offer. When I think of Northern California in the mid-19th century, I usually think dust, and pine trees, and a booming City By The Bay washed with a little fog. And wow, is that a narrow image of what actually goes on down there.
      You see, the Bay Area is comprised of a series of micro-climates. Check out this picture:

      Lovely view, isn't it? That's from Golden Gate Park, by the USS San Francisco Memorial, looking northeast out to the bridge. Now let me point out a few things. See those lush trees and bushes right ahead of me? That's because this hillside faces north, and a lot of the rain blows in from that direction, making this particular part of the cliffs a temperate rain forest. But zoom in on the hills across the water, on the left side of the picture, and you'll see dry patches and more sagebrush, because that's in a rain shadow, and gets far less precipitation. Of course, the cool air blowing in from the ocean behind me brushes up agains the tall hills, condenses, and starts forming it's own little rain cloud pockets, which then pour back down the hills, which is what you see happening with that grey smudge crowning the hill on the right side of the photo.

That's the Pacific Ocean out there to the left. That's a private boat with a red sail there in the middle, looking almost unreasonably picturesque.

    Turn just 45º to the left and I could see the famous S.F. fog coming in low and white over the water. And there's the beautiful evergreens, sculpted by wind and sea spray, some of them older than the city itself. But then when I drive out of the city to the south, it gives way to dust-colored earth and scrub brush when I turn away from the Santa Cruz Mountains. (Which I couldn't get a picture of, because I was driving.) It's so inspiring to walk around these places and imagine prospectors lugging their equipment onto river boats and heading east, and muddy streets crowded with people who had lived in one place and been told they were citizens of Mexico, citizens of the California Republic, and citizens of the United States, all within the space of a few years. I felt like I could take my laptop to any park bench and write for hours.
      But I didn't do much of that on this trip, truth be told--I was hanging out with my brother, and that means food! We decided the time had come to try Alton Brown's Caramelized Grape Pie, which was one my pie list for quite awhile but never quite got made. So we painstakingly washed, drained, and macerated the grapes in a honey-brandy liquid over night...

After draining, the leftover soaking liquid made a number of tasty cocktails.

...made our graham cracker crust and sour cream mixture...

...folded fruit & cream together, and spread accordingly...

...then made a brown-sugar toffee sauce to pour over the top.

      It was hard letting it chill for an hour when all we wanted to do was dig in, but - in the words of A.B. himself - our patience was rewarded. It was sweet and tangy, crunchy and smooth, and we ate it for breakfast for the next couple days.

Doesn't matter if it's pretty, because it's about to be demolished.

      You can argue semantics over whether or not this is actually a pie, but frankly I don't care: it was tasty.