Scribbles & Munch

      I received some high praise and warm thanks for my omelette entry a little while ago, so I decided to post about the omelette's Italian relative: the Frittata! This is a dish that eluded me for years. Frittatas are meant to be tender, tasty, and - according to my brother - fluffy concoctions. Most recipes tend to make a large circle of eggy goodness shot through with flavorful filling, served cut into wedges like a quiche. They generally start on the stove and finish in the oven, either baked or browned under a broiler.
      I tried many recipes through the years--and suffered many tough, dry messes on my plate. I knew I needed extra guidance. Since frittatas are Italian, I didn't look to Julia this time. Instead I went to my more contemporary culinary guru, Alton Brown, and discovered this recipe and accompanying knowledge. I hosted a brunch party and tried them...and they turned out perfect!
      So with a few small tweaks, I adjusted A.B.'s technique to better suit my usual breakfast requirements, and came up with a two-person frittata that uses one of my favorite egg accompaniments: tomatoes! As with quiche, a good frittata filling mustn't have too much moisture, or it dilutes the egg and takes too long to cook. Fresh tomatoes have a lot of water, so that won't work. But one of the nice things about frittata is that they're a great way to use up leftover bits of this and that (much like an omelette), so with all the weak cherry tomatoes that find their way into my kitchen in the winter, I knew just what to do: pan roast them.
      Roasting tomatoes caramelizes their natural sugars, bringing out a crazy amount of sweetness and flavor that dance tangoes on your tongue. So my recipe starts with a couple extra steps and about ten extra minutes...but if you prefer something faster, ignore the tomatoes, and just pick up where the leftover veggies go into the pan.

Z.D.'s Pan-roasted Tomato Frittata for Two

Ingredients:
1 tsp olive oil
A handful of cherry tomatoes (it's Ok if they're a little wilty)
1 tsp butter
about 1/2 Cup filling (cooked leftover veggies, diced cooked meat, or both)
2 large eggs
2 generous T grated parmesan
kosher salt and freshly ground pepper to taste

Directions:
 - Move an oven shelf to your second-highest position, and pre-heat the broiler to high. Warm the olive oil in a small non-stick skillet (8 inch works great) over medium heat. Add the tomatoes, and shake the pan the a little to coat in the oil. Allow to cook, stirring occasionally, until the tomatoes break down and begin to caramelize, about 10 minutes.

It looks like nothing is happening until one starts to hiss, and splatter your stovetop with tomato guts.

They WILL hiss and spit, so if you have a splatter guard, now is the time to use it! They may smoke a little, too, so monitor your heat to make sure they're roasting and not burning.

They lose a lot of volume, so don't be afraid to use more than you think you need.

 - Remove the tomatoes to a plate, and wipe out the skillet (you may need to deglaze it with a little water to get all the burnt bits up--just toss the water and wipe the skillet). Place skillet over med-high heat and melt the butter. Toss in your leftover cooked veggies, and heat through, stirring occasionally, about 3 minutes.

I used leftover asparagus and roasted red pepper. Since the tomatoes will go in, too, I didn't need a ton--the total veg should just make a thick netting over the bottom of the pan.

 - Meanwhile, in a small bowl, beat together the eggs, parmesan, a pinch of the kosher salt and a few fine grinds of pepper.

I go easy on the salt because the cheese is salty enough for me, but follow your taste buds!

 - Once your veggies are heated through, up the heat to high and pour in your egg mixture. The eggs should sizzle and cook immediately.

Do NOT use a metal tool on a non-stick surface! This fork was only used to egg beating!

 - Just as with an omelette, shake the pan to prevent sticking and distribute the liquid evenly. Use a heat-proof rubber spatula to lift the edges and tilt the pan, so extra liquid can run underneath--but do NOT let your frittata cook on the stove more than a couple minutes! Over high heat, it should be almost set in 2-3 minutes max.

This one just just 20 seconds shy of going under the broiler.

 - Remove almost-set frittata to the oven and place under the broiler. Let the broiler brown and puff your frittata, 1-2 minutes, then remove promptly.

Such a great way to trick yourself into eating vegetables at breakfast!

      Slide off your plate, cut in half or in wedges, and serve hot. Slices can be made into nice breakfast sandwiches, also--or rolled up with a piece of ham for a gluten-free, high-protein finger food. We ate ours with leftovers from our brunch party:

Part of this complete(ly made up of leftovers) breakfast!

My husband couldn't wait for me to take the picture, and starting eating his frittata early. I guess that's a compliment?

      I won't claim to be anywhere near an expert in trying to publish one's written work. However, I am pleased to say I am no longer grossly ignorant on the subject. While I admittedly did a half-assed job at research for homework assignments through high school, college, and - yes - graduate school, it seems that if a subject is personally important (or involves chocolate) I go at it with relish. Which is a good thing, because the one piece of advice that consistently gets thrown in my face is that if I ever want to publish a story, I need to do my research on the matter!
      With the help of my fabulous beta-readers (you guys are the BEST, if I had six kidneys, you would each get one as needed) and a bit of luck, I hope to be ready to submit my latest project to agents by the end of the summer. Cross your fingers for me.* So that means I am once again full-flung into researching who out there in the business of literary representation would be interested in my unpublished, unknown work. It's an interesting process--sort of like online dating, truth to be told.** And I realized today as I reviewed my 32nd agent website (I'm just getting started) that for me, anyway, the two have one strong item in common: I will not have anything to do with someone with grammar and spelling errors on his/her page.
      When I was single and looking for a life-mate, my reasoning for ruling out dates per this criteria was based on what I believed it said about character. One or two small errors in a large profile meant somebody was human (and I'm not into non-humans). But a lot of them? Online dating profiles are all about putting one's best foot forward, right? So if that best effort didn't include spell-check, that said "slacker" to me. Besides, I like to read, and I like to write--and nothing turned me off more than feeling "smarter" than my date.
      I've been happily married for some years, so the dating scene is behind me. But now I'm discovering some of these same principles apply in seeking a potential literary agent. I just ruled out a long-time agent (who shall remain nameless because I'm not one to shoot myself in the foot) because I counted no fewer than four spelling and formatting errors on one page of her website. If I had four errors on the first page of my manuscript, or in my query letter, agents would write me off without a second thought.
      Of course there is a possibility that these errors came from being unfamiliar with writing for a website--but in this day and age, a successful novelist needs an online presence. What kind of advice/support on that topic could I expect from an agent whose site is sub-par?
      It has been said that beggars should not be choosers. But I suppose that depends on the beggar's long-term goals: is it food for the day, or the means to make a living? If the latter, the beggar should be at least a little choosy, I think, because a bad match could mean more steps backward than forward.



*And toes. And any other body parts you can reasonably intertwine without hurting yourself.

**With much less risk of disease.

      Today is Pi Day, and if you thought I was going to let that pass without recipes to match, you clearly underestimate my Geek status.

A tasty sacrifice in the name of higher math.

      We ate slices of the Gladstone Cherry Pie for brunch (sorry, the recipe is a secret), timing our first bites to be at exactly 9:26am (and 53 seconds). Then dinner was mushroom lentil pot pie with gouda biscuit topping, one of my favorite vegetarian dishes. Then, for a little something different, I made faux cream tartlets for dessert. Although I love pastry crust with a deep abiding passion, too much of a good thing...well...you know. So I decided to go an alternative route with Faux Berry-Banana Cream Tarts.

Pretty, and pretty tasty, too.

      This dessert is tasty, pretty, rich, and creamy. And it happens to be vegan. I based this recipe on a raw vegan dessert a friend made for me years ago. Now if you're a vegan, good on you. And if you're a raw foodist...well, sorry to say, but I typically don't truck with such nonsense. If the Good Lord meant for us to eat raw, She would never have invented the deep fat fryer. Anyway, my version isn't raw, because toasting the almonds makes the crust that much more delicious. But if you want to leave them raw, knock yourself out--it takes all kinds to make the world, after all.


Z.D.'s Faux Berry-Banana Cream Pie
Makes about six tartlets

Ingredients:
1 & 1/2 Cup raw cashews
hot water
1 & 1/3 Cup raw almonds
15 large, pitted dates
kosher salt
1 Cup frozen blueberries
1/2 Cup nut milk (cashew if you can get it, otherwise almond is lovely)
1 tsp vanilla
1 to 3 tsp fresh lemon juice
1/4 Cup sugar, divided
2 small, ripe bananas

Directions:
 - Preheat your oven to 350º F. In a small bowl, place the raw cashews, and cover with hot water. Spread out your almonds in a single layer on a baking sheet, and place in the oven. Roast for twenty minutes, stirring two or three times to prevent burning on one side. Then remove, and set aside to cool.

It's unreasonable how wonderful almonds smell when they're toasting.

 - Meanwhile, in another small bowl, cover the dates with hot water, and soak for at least fifteen minutes. Then drain, and place into the jar of a food processor. Pulse a few times until dates turn into a sticky paste, then add in the almonds and a pinch of kosher salt. Process in long pulses, scraping down the sides, until all comes together in a slightly sticky "dough."

I probably could have blended this a bit more, but the smell of the delicious toasted almonds was distracting me.

 - Divide "dough" into six small tartlet pans (about 2 Tablespoons per pan--if you have larger tartlet pans, you may only have enough for four tartlets). Dampen your fingertips lightly with cold water, then press the dough evenly to cover the bottom and sides of the pans. Set aside (or cover with plastic wrap and chill in fridge up for 5 days).

These are 2.5 inch tartlet pans.

 - Drain cashews, and place into the jar of a high-powered blender. Add blueberries, nut milk, vanilla, and 1 tsp of lemon juice. Blend according to your device's instruction until you have a thick puree the consistency of whipped cream. Taste for sweetness, and add remaining lemon juice and sugar by spoonfuls - blending after each addition - until "cream" is desired taste. Cover and set in the fridge while you slice the bananas.

I forgot to take a picture of the blender action, sorry about that--but if you wind up with leftover "cream" just jar it in the fridge and use as a smoothie base in the next few days--yum!

 - Thinly slice the banana and lay slices in the bottom of your tarts. The idea is to get some banana with each bite, but not so much that it leaves no room for cream. Then spoon the blueberry "cream" over and mound slightly.

Pretty on the inside, too!

      At this point, you're basically done! You can decorate them by swirling patterns into the "cream," topping with berries or desicated coconut, or - here's an idea for spring - edible flowers. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for up for a couple days, if desired.

      Farewell, sweet Sir Terry.
      Any fantasy reader worth her salt has heard of Terry Pratchett. I was introduced to his work through "Good Omens," the novel he co-authored with Neil Gaiman, which a friend lent to me in college. That friend was an avid Pratchett fan, and from there I read the first book of Pratchett's famous "Discworld" series. I enjoyed it, but I wasn't blown away to the same extent as my friend, and since I was in college and actually wanted to read my textbooks I failed to read more.
      But the name Terry Pratchett was never far from my experience, because so, soooo many of the authors I love are self-proclaimed Pratchett fans. I go to their websites or read snippets of interviews, and where they list their inspirations, "Terry Pratchett" came up again and again. I learned of the good man's passing while listening to NPR on my drive home from work yesterday, and they played snippets of past interviews. Oddly enough, I was struck by his voice. You know how you hear radio announcers or musicians, and picture their face in your head, and then you actually see a photo and you're like, "That looks NOTHING like who I imagined!" Well, I'd never seen a photo or heard Terry Pratchett's voice before, I'd only read a couple of his books. But the sound of his voice...it was precisely what I would have imagined: fun and grandfatherly, wise and goofy all at once. I wanted to make this man a cup of tea and serve him my best afternoon pastry and just chat with him about ANYTHING...just so I could keep hearing that voice.
      Obviously, I will be reading some of his books this year.
      Despite a comparatively early diagnosis of a heart-breaking disease, he handled his decline with grace, power, and artistic perseverance. He reportedly passed away peacefully at home, surrounded by loved-ones, with his cat sleeping on his bed beside him. May we all be so blessed at our final hour.

      In utterly un-related news (which, ironically, I would guess Terry Pratchett would be tickled pink to see included in a post about his death), tomorrow is Pi day. For you less geeky folk, that was NOT a typo--tomorrow's date spells out the mathematical linchpin "pi:" 3.1415...etc. So if you eat a bite of pie at 9:27am (we're rounding up) you can celebrate pi to the seventh decimal: 3.1415927. I will be. And I will blog about it, with corresponding recipes. Here's one I'll be making for dinner.

      In my novel, I write a lot about bacon. This is because in my imagination, pioneers, frontiersmen, and prospectors ate bacon at every breakfast. For awhile I thought this was a legend perpetuated by Hollywood and the pork industry, but that didn't curb my enthusiasm for writing scenes featuring sizzling slices in a cast iron skillet. But then, I am a writer who likes her research, so I decided to delve - albeit casually - into the realities of bacon in the California gold rush, the U.S. civil war, and the Old West in general.
      I discovered that my vision was not too exaggerated. Bacon was indeed a staple among pioneers, prospectors, and soldiers in the mid-19th century. There were, however, a couple key details that made a lot of sense once I learned them. For example, the tasty bacon many of us enjoy today requires refrigeration, and there were none of those on the Oregon trail. The answer was that bacon in the Old West was just one of a number of pork products referred to under the general category of "salt pork." Preparing meat for the trail could be done in one of a few ways: smoke it for weeks until it was dry and smelled like charcoal, as with a tasty strip of genuine jerky; put it in a jar of brine like a pickle, such as corned beef; dry cure it in so much salt it will make the flesh of your tongue curdle if you just bite straight into it. This last one is "salt pork," and it's very effective at scaring off insects and delaying decomposition.
      To render salt pork edible required cooking. It might be tossed in a pot of water and leafy brassica--thus the birth of traditional collard greens. It could be fried to render out the fat, which would then be used to make biscuits, bread, or Johnnycakes. Necessity is the mother of invention, and nothing screams necessity like an empty belly and a bored palate.
      Now, it should be noted that the salty-sweet bacon we know and love today has a long history, deeply rooted in Europe. Homes that raised their own pigs might elect for a combination of dry curing and smoking, with a family recipe including much more than just salt. But this was not the bacon sold at general stores as trail provisions.
      It is, however, the bacon that enters my kitchen. And while I only buy it maybe once every couple months, it is something that gets devoured with relish! So allow me to take a moment to discuss the various modern methods of cooking bacon.

Skillet Bacon
      For the majority of bacon history, it has been a skillet food. Fry it up in its own grease and eat with gusto! This is a tried and true method, producing wavy rashers with spots of chewiness and spots of charred crispiness. The flavor can't be denied. If you then want to use a skillet full of grease to fry other things - eggs, fritters, Johnnycakes, etc - you're all set. The problems are a) uneven cooking, which means spots of flaccid, pale fat, and b) smoke and splatters. Unless you have an industrial grade ventilation system above your stove, you will wind up with a grease-perfumed home, and even the best splatter guard will not prevent a generous misting of grease around your burner. Honestly, I like my skillet cooked bacon on camping trips, for those very reasons.

Microwave Method
     I grew up on microwaved bacon. Before the Bacon Craze of the last decade, most store-bought bacon was fairly thin, and heavily imbued with chemical flavorings and preservatives. But it was still pretty damn good. My Mom would take a microwave safe plate, put down a double layer of paper towels, lay the bacon strips in a single layer, and top with another paper towel. Zap for about one minute per slice, then check for desired doneness. This was very easy and convenient. In a good microwave the bacon cooks quickly, fairly evenly, and most the rendered fat is be absorbed in the paper towels, producing crispy, low-grease bacon. The down sides are a) it's hard to get chewy bacon this way, if that's your preference, and b) if you like to re-use the grease, you're out of luck.
      Also, I don't own a microwave. Yes, yes, I know--you are now mildly alarmed as to whether or not I am in fact an honest American citizen. But once you get the knack of re-heating with a stove and oven, not having a microwave does wonders for encouraging a healthy diet. (Says the woman talking about cooking bacon.) So how do I cook my bacon? My preferred method is...

Oven-Roasted Bacon
      Seriously, if you haven't tried this, you're missing out. It's very easy. You put the bacon in the oven, fix the rest of your breakfast, then when the bacon is done you take it out and eat. Because the meat has been subjected to even heat from all directions, it cooks evenly. You can control how crispy or chewy it is by monitoring how long it roasts. The fat drips into a pan, so if you want to re-use it it's easy to retrieve. No splattering. No lingering grease-smell. The pan can go in the dishwasher. What's not to like?
      Techniques differ slightly in oven temperature, and whether or not to put the bacon on a raised rack or lay it flat in a pan (the finished product is very similar). Feel free to experiment as you like. If it's your first time, you are welcome to use my favorite technique, as follows:

Z.D.'s Approach to Oven-Roasted Bacon

Ingredients:
Bacon.
Preferably thick-sliced, from organic, free-range pork. If you're ever in the Seattle area, this is the best bacon I have ever eaten in my entire life. Seriously. It's unreasonably good. When I eat it, I know the souls of the departed pigs are dancing in heaven; it tastes like happy pig angels. I've eaten some damn good bacon in my life, but this crowns them all.

Directions:
 - Turn your oven on to 400º F. Don't wait for it to pre-heat, however--immediately proceed with the next steps. You want your bacon to sit in the oven as it heats.

Bacon makes the Kitchen Buddha happy!

 - Line a broiler pan with foil. Place the bacon in a single layer on the top broiler rack. (If you don't own a broiler pan, line a rimmed baking sheet for the bottom and lay your bacon on a pastry cooling rack.)

My Mom taught me to be picky about my bacon: this was thick, broad, and offered a high percentage of tender meat to fat, just the way I like it!

 - Place the pan on the middle shelf of your heating oven. Close, and set the timer to 20 minutes. Proceed with preparing the rest of your breakfast.
 - When the timer goes off, check your bacon. It should be done but still somewhat chewy. If you prefer crisper bacon, leave it in for a couple minutes longer. Then eat. With gusto.

Perfectly prepared bacon.

      If you desire additional breakfast items cooked in bacon grease, simply set your bacon aside on a warm plate and dribble some of the rendered fat from the foil into a clean skillet.

Easy enough, and in a non-stick skillet, only a teaspoon is needed for extra flavor.

This morning, I was going for an authentic pioneer breakfast, so I fried a couple eggs in bacon grease, and ate them with biscuits and black coffee.

This is so all-American I expect a Bald eagle to fly into my kitchen.

      A quick note on frying eggs: remember you want your skillet pretty hot to start. I put mine over medium-high heat, so that the eggs sizzle as soon as they're cracked. Then I lower the heat a bit. For over-medium eggs, watch for when the white is just shy of fully set, then flip, cook for one more minute, and then slit that beauty onto the plate.

I like my eggs fried over-medium because the white is fully cooked, but the yolk is still runny and rich.

I served this breakfast with butter and honey for the biscuits and called it good. The grapefruit was a contemporary touch.* No scurvy for me, thanks.

Our Old West Breakfast. Apparently, they had jars of Vitamin D supplements in the Old West.

     If you are a fan of history, let me share with you my favorite site for quick historic food references. It's a bit of a challenge visually, but the information is great, and there's a lot of it!
http://www.foodtimeline.org/foodpioneer.html#goldrush




*You may notice I included a bottle of whiskey for visual effect - in the Old West, clean water was very often in short supply, and hard liquor was a necessary beverage supplement to ward off bacteria - but in this day and age alcohol at breakfast is not a good idea. By all means, enjoy a brunch cocktail from time to time if you so choose, but if you often consume alcohol at breakfast you may wish to talk to a counselor or medical professional.

      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.