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04 Jan 11:43

Maple Buttermilk Custard Pie

by bon appetempt
Well, it may be 2014, but I have sooo many recipes from 2013 to share with you still, starting with this maple buttermilk custard pie, which I made for Christmas and which did not set up until the day after Christmas, but which tasted so good anyway that I immediately forgave it for being a temporary textural disappointment / struggle to make / souring my Christmas spirit just a bit. (Of course, my Christmas spirit could have also been soured due to the fact that I'm now uncomfortably pregnant—just four days away from my due date as I type this—and I may have bit off more holiday cooking than I could chew.)
Here's the thing. Everything was going great until I read this directive: "The pie is finished when the edges are set and puffed slightly and the center is no longer liquid but still quite wobbly. Be careful not to overbake or the custard can separate; the filling will continue to cook and set after the pie is removed from the oven."

Matt and I pulled the pie out of the oven and decided that that's exactly what we had: slightly puffed edges with a still quite wobbly center (though no longer liquid). We also decided that potentially overbaking and causing the custard to separate was a fate to be avoided at all cost. But three hours at room temperature later, our pie wasn't even close to set up in the center. We threw it in the refrigerator and hoped that by the time we were ready for dessert, it would be too. 
Only it wasn't. But as previously mentioned, we ate it anyway, liquid center and all. 

However, the next morning, it looked like this—not completely set, but pretty close:
The possible takeaway lesson? Don't be afraid to leave this pie in a little longer than specified. Plus, for me at least, I think I'd prefer a separated custard to a liquid one. Either that or the next time I make this (and I think there will be a next time as, on the second day, it was basically everything I've ever wanted in a pie) I could make it the day before I'd like to eat it, thus leaving time for it to spend the night in the refrigerator.
Point being, I hope your 2014 includes at least four to five homemade pies and zero cleanses guilted upon you by the January onslaught of articles and recipes titled something to the effect of, "Planning Your Perfect Cleanse" (unless of course, you really want to cleanse, then, please, by all means!). 

Maple Buttermilk Custard Pie via The Four and Twenty Blackbirds Pie Book

Cornmeal Crust for a 9-inch single-crust pie, partially pre-baked (recipe below)
1 tablespoon unbleached all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon stone-ground white cornmeal
¼ cup packed light brown sugar
½ teaspoon kosher salt
5 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
1 teaspoon vanilla paste (or vanilla extract)
1 cup sour cream
3 large eggs
1 large egg yolk
¾ cup maple syrup (preferably Grade B)
1 cup buttermilk

Position a rack in the center of the oven and preheat the oven to 325°F. Place the prebaked pie shell on a rimmed baking sheet.

In a large bowl, mix together the flour, cornmeal, brown sugar, salt, and melted butter. Add the vanilla paste (or vanilla extract) and the sour cream and stir until smooth. Add the eggs and egg yolk one at a time, blending well after each addition. Add the maple syrup and buttermilk and mix until smooth.

Strain the filling through a fine-mesh sieve directly into the pie shell, or strain it into a separate bowl and then pour it into the shell. (FYI: I was left with about 1/3 cup of filling that would not make it through the strainer.) 

Bake on the middle rack of the oven for 45 to 55 minutes, rotating 180 degrees when the edges start to set, 30 to 35 minutes through baking.

The pie is finished when the edges are set and puffed slightly and the center is no longer liquid but still quite wobbly.

Be careful not to overbake or the custard can separate; the filling will continue to cook and set after the pie is removed from the oven.

Allow to cool completely on a wire rack, 2 to 3 hours. Serve slightly warm, at room temperature, or cool. The pie will keep refrigerated for 2 days or at room temperature for 1 day.

Cornmeal Crust (for a single-crust pie)
1 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
¼ cup stone-ground cornmeal
½ teaspoon kosher salt
1½ teaspoons granulated sugar
¼ pound (1 stick) cold unsalted butter, cut into ½-inch pieces
½ cup cold water
2 tablespoons cider vinegar
½ cup ice

Stir the flour, cornmeal, salt, and sugar together in a large bowl. Add the butter pieces and coat with the flour mixture using a spatula. With a pastry blender (or using your fingers like we did), cut the butter into the flour mixture, working quickly until mostly pea-size pieces of butter remain (a few larger pieces are okay; be careful not to over blend).

Combine the water, cider vinegar, and ice in a large measuring cup or small bowl. Sprinkle 2 tablespoons of the ice water mixture over the flour mixture, and mix and cut it in with a bench scraper or spatula until it is fully incorporated. Add more of the ice water mixture, 1 to 2 tablespoons at a time, and mix until the dough comes together in a ball, with some dry bits remaining. Squeeze and pinch with your fingertips to bring all the dough together, sprinkling dry bits with more small drops of the ice water mixture, if necessary, to combine.

Shape the dough into a flat disc, wrap in plastic, and refrigerate for at least 1 hour, preferably overnight, to give the crust time to mellow. Wrapped tightly, the dough can be refrigerated for 3 days or frozen for 1 month.

How to partially pre-bake it:
Once dough has been chilled in the refrigerator for at least 30 minutes, roll it out and shape it into a 9-inch pie plate. Use a fork to prick all over the bottom and sides, 15 to 20 times. Place the shaped crust in the freezer. Position the oven racks in the bottom and center positions, place a rimmed baking sheet on the lowest rack, and preheat the oven to 425°F.

When the crust is frozen solid (about 10 minutes), line it tightly with a piece or two of aluminum foil. Make sure the edges are completely covered and there are no gaps between the foil and the crust.

Pour pie weights or dried beans into the pan and spread them so they are concentrated more around the edge of the shell than in the center. Place the pan on the preheated baking sheet and bake for 20 minutes, until crimped eges are set but not browned.

Remove the pan and the baking sheet from the oven, lift out the foil and pie weights, and let the crust cool for a minute. Use a pastry brush to coat the bottom and sides with a thin layer of egg white glaze (1 egg white whisked with 1 teaspoon of water) to moisture-proof the crust. Return the pan, on the baking sheet, to the oven’s middle rack and continue baking for 3 more minutes. Remove and cool completely before filling.
15 Oct 11:04

Molly's Sketchbook: Quilted Computer Sleeve

by purl bee
Margaret

sewing project: quilting

Sometimes when people hear about my job at the Purl Bee they imagine quilting bees and sewing circles, floral tea sets and lace doilies. Sounds lovely indeed, but the reality is that my life entails an incredible amount of time on my laptop! In fact, I hardly go anywhere without my computer. It gets thrown into my bag as I rush off to daycare pick-up; it rides the subway on my way into the store; and it bounces up the four flights of stairs to my sewing studio daily.  With all this time in transit, my laptop needs protection!

My Quilted Computer Sleeve brings together the two seemingly contradictory sides of my life: needle and thread, plus latest technology! I made my Sleeve with sturdy Organic Canvas and quilted it with our thickest cotton batting, so it is truly heavy duty. And for style, I made the pocket out of pretty yarn-dyed Slub Denim Stripes, finished with a bold neon bias tape. Everything you'll need to make one of your own is available in our Materials for Quilted Computer Sleeve kit here!

Using old-fashioned quilt making techniques to make an engineered laptop sleeve creates the perfect mix of quaint and modern, timeless and timely. And best of all, my trusty computer sidekick will be safe and secure on our daily travels! --Molly

15 Oct 11:03

Corinne's Thread: Smocked Dress and Shirt Kits

by purl bee
Margaret

sewing project

I have sewn tons of garments for my daughter, from teeny tiny rompers to delicate bonnets, but there’s one thing I had yet to tackle: a classic smocked dress. I have always wanted to try my hand at smocking but was too intimidated by all the tiny pleats and miniscule stitches to actually give it a go. Turns out, my fussing was for nothing; hand smocking is totally easy!

With just a few well-placed stitches I was able to check this off my sewing to-do list without a single new gray hair. And I am so glad I did! The intricate puckers and pleats of the honeycomb smocking add such fascinating and beautiful detail to this otherwise simple garment.

If, like me, you’re a bit of a smock-o-phobe, our new Smocked Dress and Shirt Pattern is the perfect place to start. It includes a Smocked Dress pattern for sizes 12 months to 6 years and a Smocked Shirt pattern for sizes 12 months to 10 years. Full-color photographs and instructions walk you through every step, from cutting the fabric and marking the smocking grid right down to the very last hem. You can use this Pattern with any lightweight cotton fabric you love!

Or if you adore classic gingham as much as I do, pick up our Smocked Dress and Shirt Kit! It includes...

Choose from four beautiful colorways, each one packaged in a sturdy Purl Soho box. All you need to add is the sewing machine, bias tape maker and the special love and care that go into every handmade garment! - Corinne

PS. Already have fabric? You can find the pattern on it's own right here, too!

14 Oct 11:00

water everywhere

by rachel
Margaret

gah, I must go there.

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The first time I visited Saturnia I didn’t even go and look at the thermal springs. My reluctance was a combination of a flying visit, overcast skies, an overcast state of mind and the impression I was being asked to visit a muggy stream. The muggy, foul-smelling steam flanked with giant cane that ran across the ploughed fields and under the road we had just argued our way down. I spent the afternoon at the agriturismo reading, feeling overcast but stubbornly righteous as the rest of the group disappeared into the mist armed with costumes and towels.

Three years later and I now know what other (wiser, less stubborn) people have known for thousands of years; there is stream, only it isn’t muggy. It is a fast, foaming torrent of warm water, appearing milky-blue against the calcium-coated rock, its sulphurous vapours entirely forgivable. It is a source that erupts from deep within the volcanic earth – at which point a clever man built a spa - before surging across a field and then bursting into an almost unreal cascade by an old mill. A cascade reminiscent of a champagne fountain, the smooth, shallow travertine pools like a cluster of old-fashioned saucer glasses, the foaming water flowing like formula 1 spumante. It is a startling place of natural beauty.

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Our Hotel was just meters from the cascade. Consequently – come rain or more rain or shine – we spent much of our time in the water, arms wide on the curved lip of our chosen pool, water pummeling our necks, cleansing, exfoliating, softening, circulation stirring while we watched the most fantastically eclectic, occasionally bonkers, crowd do exactly the same thing. For the rest, we explored a part of Maremma.

Maremma is a large territory that saddles lower Tuscany and higher Lazio. It is a variegated place; vast flat plains fit for cowboys (Butteri), bleak cities, coniferous and metalliferous hills, exquisite hill-top towns, swampy natural park and coastal retreats: some craggy, others sandy. We were in Fiora Valley, five minutes from Saturnia, a rich, deep-green land of dense forest, undulating hills covered with vines, olive groves, oaks and chestnuts, of medieval hill-top towns their fortified walls rising like stone crowns.

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I read so obsessively about the food before the holiday I was almost weary of it by the time we arrived (a sharp editing lesson that too much suggestion of delicious, hearty, rustic, humble and bumble can leave people cool). I was jolted out my weariness short sharp.

Most of the places at which we ate were in small towns in the midst of groves and vines, meaning the oil and wine was produced just meters away. Sulphurous soil and thermal springs reap full-flavoured things, and so our meals were rich with excellent local produce; game, cured meat, sheep’s cheese, wild herbs, pulses, recently bottled fruit and vegetables. You can quite literally taste the land. Local salame with unsalted bread and pecorino with local honey, crostini topped olive paste, rosemary scented lardo and herb pesto, hand rolled pici pasta with garlic and tomato sauce, ravioli filled with ricotta and wild herbs, pappardelle with wild boar, white beans cooked in a flask and then dressed with olive oil, slow cooked meat with olives and fast seared steaks, grilled porcini mushrooms and of course acquacotta.

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Literally translated acquacotta means cooked water, it is – broadly speaking – a simple vegetable soup, served over day old bread and topped with an egg. Over 6 days we ate eight bowls of acquacotta, in six different places, each one different, each one good. Everyone I asked about the recipe said bread and water are fundamental, that onion and celery are important, but then it depends what you have; tomatoes, carrot, spinach, chard, herbs. The three best acquacotta were acutely different, one deep-red and tomato heavy, another brothy with spinach and wild mint, the third (my favourite) a dense stew of celery and onion with just a little tomato.

These days my holiday souvenirs are usually an injury, something to eat and a recipe. This holiday was no exception. I came home to Rome with a nasty scratch and three large bruises (my fault, do not enter the cascade after drinking more than your fair share of a bottle of Bianco di Pitigliano) a loaf of tuscan bread and this recipe for acquacotta.

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Acquacotta, is to my mind, a particularly satisfying and complete dish. Made well, it is pure tasting and savory (that will be the onion and celery) given warmth and rosy cheeks by tomato, body by celery leaves and something wild by the herbs if you choose to add them. The bread at the bottom ensures it is a dish with its feet firmly on the ground and the egg, well what doesn’t taste better with an egg on top?

As much as I liked the addition of chard and mint in the acquacotta at Il Tufo Allegro in Pitigliano, I have stayed true to Graziella’s recipe which was the closest to my favourite bowlful. You chop and then saute a weepingly large quality of red, white and yellow onion and lots of celery (the tender stems and their soft pale leaves) in plenty – this is no time for parsimony – of extra virgin olive oil. Once the onion and celery are soft you add some chopped tomatoes, salt and pepper, possibly a little chilli and let everything cook a few minutes longer. Then you add boiling water a ladelful at a time, so the pan never stops bubbling, until the vegetables are covered by a few inches of water. You leave the pan to bubble away for 40 minutes.

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While the acquacotta is bubbling you prepare the bowls by pitting a  slice of day old lightly toasted bread at the bottom of each, sprinkling it with a little grated pecorino or parmesan if you like. Once the acquacotta is ready you divide it between the four bowls – covering the bread with vegetables and some broth so it can inzuppare - but leave an inch of the broth in the pan. Into this remaining broth you break four eggs, cover the pan and then let the eggs poach gently over a low flame for 3 minutes. You use a slotted spoon to lift the eggs on top of the acquacotta in each of the four bowls. You eat.

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Acquacotta or L’acqua cotta

Everyone I asked, including Graziella, was reluctant to give very specific quantities, preferring instead q.b or quantobasta, or how much is enough. After all they assured me acquacotta is good enough to merit experimentation – amount of water, choice of vegetables, herbs ‘Yes or absolutely not you heathen‘, to toast or not to toast the bread and other points of contention – and adjusting according to season, place and taste. However based on the few measurements I was given and the two panfuls I have made at home, I have noted my measurements.

Adapted from a recipe given to me by Graziella Tanturli At Hotel La Fonte del Cerro

serves 4

  • 3 medium onions (one red, one white, one yellow)
  • 4 pale stems of celery heart with pale leaves
  • 100 ml extra virgin olive oil
  • 8 small plum tomatoes – ideally de-seeded.
  • salt and pepper (a little chill if you wish)
  • four slices of day old bread (ideally Tuscan bread, otherwise sourdough or a good quality compact country bread)
  • pecorino or parmesan cheese
  • 4 eggs

Bring a pan of water to the boil as you will need it shortly.

Peel and very thinly slice the onions. Chop the celery into thin arcs (cut any particularly wide stems in two lengthways). Warm the olive oil in large heavy-based pan and add the onion and celery. Saute the vegetables over low heat until soft and translucent. Add the chopped tomatoes, a good pinch of salt, a grind of pepper and the chilli if you are using it and cook for another few minutes.

Add the boiling water a ladleful at a time, so the vegetables never stop bubbling. Once the vegetables are covered by 3 inches of water, lower the flame and leave the acquacotta to simmer for 40 minutes. Taste and adjust for salt and pepper.

Prepare the bowls by putting a slice of toasted day-old bread at the bottom of each and sprinkling it with a little cheese.

Once the acquacotta is ready, divide it between the four bowls – covering the bread with vegetables and some broth so it can inzuppare - but leave an inch of the broth in the pan.

Break four eggs into the remaining broth, cover the pan and then let the eggs poach gently over a low flame for 3 minutes. Use a slotted spoon to lift the eggs on top of the acquacotta in each of the four bowls. Eat and imagine you are in Pitigliano.

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I am always wary of recommending places as other people do it so much better than me and things change and we all have different ideas and well, um, what if you were to go to a place I’d recommended and it turned out to be.….. However on this occasion I would like to mention:

Da Paolino, via Marsala 41, Manciano. Notably the cinghiale in umido (slow cooked wild boar), baccalà alla maremmana (salt cod with tomatoes and onion) and acquacotta. Moderately priced and attentive, friendly service.

Il Tufo Allegro in Pitigliano. We ate here twice, both meals were superb in every respect. The surroundings are stylish but warm in an ancient, warren-like building in the Jewish quarter of staggeringly beautiful Pitigliano (pictured above).  Notably: aquacotta with spinach, mint and quail’s eggs, pici all’agliata (thick spaghetti-like-pasta with tomato and garlic sauce), grilled porcini, cinghiale with fennel, tagliata di manzo and a gorgeous pudding of creamed ricotta, grilled, caramelized pear and warm chocolate sauce that almost made me sing (I had drunk rather a lot of wine). Expensive but offers a good value set lunch. Slick service. We drank wines from Sassotondo.

We stayed at La Fonte del Cerro. A beautifully situated, extremely well and thoughtfully tended family-run hotel with an almost private entrance to the Cascades (pictured below). Almost everyone we met was returning. We will too.

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11 Oct 10:30

JUST RIGHT: Chicken Tortilla Soup

by L.
Margaret

If only we could get dried chilis here...

Apparently, 'Just Right' is going to be everything I make. Not just 'Simple, vegetable and protein-based meals' as I bullshitted a few months back, but everything. Everything I make that I document with my iPhone instead of my camera, because...
28 Sep 11:09

the slow rise

by rachel
Margaret

More pizza recipes to try...

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I keep writing good with pizza bianca, serve with pizza bianca, eat with pizza bianca in recipe notes for the book. Which is all very well for readers living in Rome, therefore within shouting distance of one of the countless forno daily paddling hot pizza bianca from the gaping mouths of ovens, brushing them with olive oil, strewing them with salt and then slicing them just for you. Less so, much less so, for everyone else. ‘You will just have to do a pizza bianca recipe for the book‘ said my Mum, who is here for the week and being the best baby sitter I could ask for. ’But I can’t even make bread, never mind pizza bianca and while we’re at it, I can’t write a book, I can’t even write E mails and I hate my hair and all my clothes’  I said in a grown up way.

Then I read a recipe in a book I received for my birthday. A book about pizza by a maestro, the so-called Michelangelo of Pizza (although I don’t think he was the one who coined that immodest soubriquet, he prefers Re or king) a man of broad shoulders and impressive hands; Gabriele Bonci.

I can I told Laura as I paid for a bag of 0f Mulino Marino flour from her Emporio delle spezie. I can I told myself as I weighed out the ingredients. I can I muttered as I mixed the flour with the yeast, the salt, the water and then a dram of extra virgin olive oil. I can’t I thought as I surveyed the wet, sticky, mass clinging like particularly adhesive putty to my spoon, my fingers and the sides of my tin bowl. I covered it hastily with clean cloth for its first rising and took empty solace in social media.

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At which point Dan arrived. Dan is my all baking, beering friend who just happens to have done a Bonci pizza-making workshop. ‘It’s the 70% hydration, it should be sticky’ he explained in a bakers tone before tying on my apron and setting to work. It’s a properly sticky affair, you do this wonderful, gentle pull and fold motion, the Piegature di rinforzo which means folding to reinforce. By stretching and folding the dough gently, developing the gluten and incorporating air into it you render it altogether more manageable. The joy of watching.

The dough then sits in the bottom of the fridge, balanced on the vegetable box and beside the dubious bottle of dessert wine for 24 hours. It’s a slow, steady swell, a true lunga lievitazione that reminds you dough is a living thing. I kept peeping at my pale dejeuner sur l’herbe bottom-like dough all day. I woke up at 3 am sweating and fretting about the gas bill and other animals and was reassured by my ever-increasing bowlful. By (late) breakfast the next day, 23 hours after Dan’s Piegature di rinforzo my bowl was full.

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I’m not sure why handling freshly risen dough is so nice, but it is. The key is being as gentle as possible as you cut the mass into 350 g pieces (5), fold and shape them into a balls (and leave them to rest for another half hour.) Once rested you massage and very gently – this is all about the lightest, pattering touch –  press the dough into a tin-shaped form on an evenly floured surface before lifting this soft cloth-like rectangle into an oiled tin.

I particularly like Bonci’s note that in his experience the cheaper the tin the better it cooks. My tin is a bog standard 30 cm x 30 cm one with a thin base that I inherited with the flat. You pour a thin stream of olive oil over the surface of your dimpled dough.  You have preheated the oven to 250° or 480F.

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My Pizza took 25 minutes (15 on the floor of the oven then 10 on the middle shelf) until it had the requisite characteristics: a firm bottom, full-bodied, tender center punctuated with pockets of air and a burnished crust. I brushed the top with a little more olive and was generous with the salt. It was nearly as good as the pizza I’ve eaten standing on the pavement outside Bonci’s small but perfectly formed Pizzarium. Well. Nearly.

In a world where we are often told we don’t need to fold, or rise, or wait, that we can just fling things together in a jiffy and making too much of an effort is fussy, this way of making pizza might take you aback. It did me at least. But then it didn’t. It makes absolute sense that to make something so good from very basic ingredients – flour, water, yeast, oil and salt – you need something else, two things actually; not a little effort and time.

I am not sure there are many things tastier than freshly baked pizza bianca, warm, crisp at first but then giving way to a proper mouth arresting chew, oil and salt clinging your lips.  This is one of the best things I have ever made. The end. Or the beginning.

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Pizza bianca

I may have eaten more Pizza than is decent and watched it being made many times, but this is the first time I have made it at home. I am pretty damn happy with the results – horray for Gabriele Bonci and long slow rising. I hope I have made things clear below. Elizabeth’s blog post and video are very helpful. If you are serious about pizza, I recommend Bonci’s book, which is now available in English.

Makes 5 square pizza which each divides into four nice slices.

Adapted from Gabriels Bonci’s – Gioco della Pizza with help from Dan and Elizabeth Minchilli

  • 1 kg flour (Italian farina 0. Try hard to find this. Or strong white bread flour)
  • 10 g active dried yeast (Lievito di birra)
  • 7oo g water
  • 20 g salt
  • 40 g  extra virgin olive oil

You will need a standard, square or rectangular, thin based lipped tin /baking tray or pizza stone. I used a bog standard 30 cm x 30 cm lipped baking tray.

In a large bowl using a wooden spoon mix together the flour and the yeast. Then add the water, gradually, once it is incorporated add the salt and the oil. Mix until you have a pale, sticky, putty-like mixture. Cover with a clean cloth or cling-film and leave to rest for an hour at room temperature in draught-free part of the kitchen.

Scrape the mixture onto a lightly floured board. It will still be sticky. This stage is called the Piegature di rinforzo which means folding to reinforce. With lightly floured hands gently stretch and pull the edges of the dough and fold them back over themselves. Try as best as possible to turn the dough 90° (it will stick) by using a dough scape or spatula and repeat the pull and fold. With this repeated pulling and folding, the incorporation of air and the residual flour from your hands and the dough will get drier and become like a soft and manageable. Bonci suggest you repeat this pulling and folding motion three times, pause for 20 minutes, repeat, pause for 20 minutes and then repeat.

Put the soft dough into an oiled bowl and cover it (cloth or clingfilm) then leave it for 18 – 24 hours at the lower half of the fridge.

You pull the bowl from the fridge and leave it to it for 10 minutes. Carefully lift the dough from the bowl and cut it into 5 pieces of more or less 350 g – you can use a scale. Working piece by piece, shape the dough into a ball, fold it over once as you did for the Piegature di rinforzo and leave it to sit for another 30 minutes at room tempertaure away from draughts. Set the oven to 250°c/ 480F.

The final stage needs to be done with a delicate touch – you don’t want to squash out the air you have so patiently incorporated. On an evenly floured board, using your finger tips and starting from the borders and then working up the center of the dough, push and massage it into a square the size of the tin. Once it is more or less the right size, drape it over your arm and then lift it into a the well oiled 30 cm x 30 cm lipped tin /baking tray or pizza sheet. Zig-zag the dough with a thin stream of olive oil.

Bake on the floor of the oven for 15 minutes, check the pizza by lifting up the corner and looking underneath – it should be firm and golden. If it seems nearly done, move it to the middle shelf of the oven for 10 more minutes. Pull from the oven. Brush with more olive oil and sprinkle with salt. Slice and eat.

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17 Sep 11:55

Video Attempt: Chocolate Cream Pie & A Special Announcement

by Amelia Morris
Soooo, if you watched the above video, the cat's out of the bag! Or rather the bun is in the oven? Thanks to my mom for being such a great sport and making this chocolate cream pie about an hour after being picked up at the airport as I knew I wasn't going to be able to make it too long into her trip without telling her the news and, you know, we wanted to catch her reaction on camera. (Oh and we shot this back in May, so I'm now four months along in case you were wondering.) Lastly (but definitely not leastly), this chocolate cream pie is outstanding. Make it for sure.

Chocolate Cream Pie (the only dessert recipe) from Jeanne Kelley's Salad for Dinner
crust:
3/4 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
1/2 cup whole raw almonds, toasted and finely chopped
6 tablespoons sugar
1/4 cup natural unsweetened cocoa powder
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
6 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted and cooled slightly

filling:
2/3 cup sugar
1/4 cup cornstarch
2 tablespoons natural unsweetened cocoa powder
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
4 large egg yolks
3 cups milk (I used 2%, as suggested)
8 ounces bittersweet chocolate (54 to 60% cacao), chopped
1 tablespoon dark rum (I know I could have added this even though I'm pregnant, but I didn't because I didn't have any on hand. I bet it's a delicious addition though!)

topping:
1 cup chilled whipping cream
2 tablespoons sugar
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

To make the crust:
Preheat the oven to 375F. Butter a 9-inch pie dish or pan. Combine the flour, almonds, sugar, cocoa powder, and salt in a medium bowl. Using a fork, stir in the butter until the mixture resembles moist sand. Press the dough firmly and evenly over the bottom and up the sides of the pie dish. Bake the crust until just browned at the edges, about 11 minutes. Let the crust cool completely.

For the filling:
In a heavy large saucepan, combine the sugar, cornstarch, cocoa powder and salt and whisk to blend. Beat in the egg yolks. Gradually whisk in the milk. Whisk the filling over medium-high heat until the mixture thickens and boils, about 1 minute. Remove the filling from the heat and immediately stir in the chocolate, whisking until the chocolate melts and the filling is smooth. Stir in the rum. Pour the filling into the crust and smooth the top. Let the pie cool to room temperature and cover loosely with waxed paper. Chill the pie until cold, at least 2 hours or overnight.

For the topping:
Beat the cream, sugar, and vanilla in a large bowl until firm peaks form. Spread the topping over the pie and serve.
01 Aug 10:30

TRAVEL: COLUMBIA ROAD FLOWER MARKETS

by Geneva Vanderzeil
Margaret

London

A few weeks ago I spent a bit of time in London, and I was so happy to be back -  it definitely helped we visited in summer and had pretty good weather the whole time we were there. Although I’m well aware that London has its problems (I used to work in deepest darkest East End when I was living there and safety was always a major concern) in many ways something about the city is just so perfect, which has perhaps become more evident after living in Hong Kong (maybe you love somewhere more when you don’t live there?). For one, I couldn’t stop gaping at the beautiful buildings and the quaint streets, something I barely noticed a few years go – it seems Hong Kong’s bad architecture has put a rosy glow on even the worst tower block! I was so happy to be able to relive my favourite Sunday activity – breakfast and wandering through Columbia Road Flower Markets in the East End. Here are a few of the pics I took, and at the bottom I’ve shared a few of my thoughts if you ever plan on going (mainly remembered from when I was living there), feel free to chime in with any extra tips you have!

columbia road flower market 2 columbia road flower markets 209 columbia road flower markets 211 columbia road flower markets 210 columbia road flower markets 218 columbia road flower markets 217 columbia road flower markets 222 columbia road flower markets 224 columbia road flower markets 219columbia road flower markets 223 columbia road flower market 3 columbia road flower markets 220 columbia road flower markets 221 columbia road flower markets 215 columbia road flower markets 216

  • Go Early (or late): The ambiance at the markets is perfect around 10am – when most of the hipsters are still tucked up in bed and you can get a coffee without waiting for an hour. That said, if you want to score some bargain basement florals, closer to three will bag you ‘two bunches for a five-ah’.
  • Shop up a storm: The stores along Columbia Road partially hidden by the flower stalls are great for homewares and handmade pieces. My favourite has to be Ryantown, the store of the amazing artist Rob Ryan, I also loved Elphick’s for gorgeous art and prints, bought nibbles at Suck and Chew, pined over the ceramics in Nom and pondered florals and prints at Vintage Heaven.
  • People Watch: By far the most interesting part of the markets is the people that work in the stalls. Almost all the vendors are East London geezers, the types of people who’ve been doing that job their whole lives – just watching and listening to the banter is worth the trek across town. All I can say is don’t expect sweet nothings along with your flowers!
  • Be fed and watered: Feeling peckish? Stop in for breakfast or lunch at The Royal Oak, or nip around the back for a coffee and a bagel. I’ve heard that Brawn is very good, and know from experience that Campania Gastronomica is delicious. So many options!
  • Discover the side streets: Wander down the centre of the market and then cut left, hitting the backstreets of Columbia Road. Here you’ll find breakfast joints and smaller stores perfect for rummaging.
  • Make it part of a larger journey: Sunday is a great opportunity to do the east end rounds, hitting the flower markets and then wandering down to Brick Lane pottering in the vintage stores and eating in Truman Breweries. Oh London how I miss you!

Make sure you visit the Hong Kong Flower Markets if you ever get a chance.

31 Jul 11:18

No ordinary waffle

by Jess
I have an uncomfortable confession to make today, one that has put me on the receiving end of many gasps and furrowed brows of late: Until July 14th, 2013, I had never made a waffle.


Now, there happens to be a perfectly reasonable explanation for this failing, namely, that until just a few short months ago, I’d never consumed a waffle worth replicating. In fact, I think I’d sort of given up on the whole waffle genre. The waffle, I decided, may be a fine enough vehicle for maple syrup or whipped cream –or, in the case of a waffle I once had on Aza Street in Jerusalem, a heavy slick of Nutella– but it’s not much of a thing on its own.

I think you can see where this is going.


These waffles, the ones pictured here, changed everything. I’m a waffle eater now. I’m a waffle maker now. I’ve even fallen in love with a waffle iron. I’m a woman transformed.


If you’re from around these parts, Cambridge, MA, or somewhere nearby, maybe you recognize where these photos were taken. It’s a fromagerie-charcuterie-grocery-bakery-wine shop called Formaggio Kitchen that, as luck would have it, is just a quarter of an hour walk from where I live. When Mia was brand new and each day was approximately 3,479 hours long, and I had not a clue what to do with her or myself, I’d tie her onto my chest and we’d walk. Very often, we’d end up at Formaggio.

It was the perfect destination. The space itself is a tight squeeze, with an overflowing cheese counter and rows of jams, olive oils, heirloom beans, nuts, and produce arranged in nooks rather than aisles. You’re always walking a little sideways in there, inching your back along a shelf lined with chocolates to check out the honeys, for example, so tiny Mia got a close look at everything. Meanwhile, I got to talk to living, breathing, fully-grown humans! About food! (I’ve learned so much from these folks over the years.) Mia would bobble her head at the pastas. I’d taste some cheese. She’d pull my hair. I’d order a tub of anchovies. She’d pass out on my chest. I’d buy a Florentine for the walk home. These were proper outings.

Now that Mia is somewhat less tiny, she demands her own square of cheese on a toothpick when we go. Even on this Sunday morning in April, when we were there not for cheese, but for waffles.


Behold, the fate of that cheese.


This was Mia’s first-ever waffle, and it may as well have been mine. It was no ordinary waffle, not even an ordinary Belgian waffle. These were gaufres de Liège. I had heard of the famed Liège waffle, but I’d never tried one. Have you? They start out as a rich, yeasted dough studded with pearl sugar. The crumb bakes up elastic and tender, like brioche, interrupted throughout by oozy sweet spots where the pearl sugar has melted. Any beads of sugar along the outside of the dough caramelize against the iron to form a crackly crust.


Alyssa, the bakery manager at Formaggio, had tasted gaufres de Liège for the first time when she was working at a crêperie after college, and this past winter, she decided to develop a recipe of her own. She did a bang-up job (you can read about her process, here) and in the spring, her waffles started showing up at Formaggio on select Sunday mornings. I was perfectly happy to trek over there for my fix, but a few weeks ago, I noticed there hadn’t been a waffle Sunday in a while. When I asked why, I was told that, for whatever reason, summer wasn't the season for waffles. People weren't snapping them up the way they had in cooler months. I do not know who these people are, these seasonal waffle eaters ruining it for the rest of us. They are not invited to waffles at my place, waffles at my place being a thing that happens, now that I’ve learned how to make them.

First, I had to buy a waffle iron, of course, a task that set me back a couple of weeks as I searched up and down for a model that anyone, anywhere was actually excited about. Even the best options out there are bulky single-purpose appliances that are, by all accounts, impossible to clean. Then, in the archives of Cook’s Illustrated, I found a review of the humble stovetop waffle iron. I liked the idea of something slender, easy to store, easy to clean (no electrical components, so you can drop it in the sink) and less expensive than many of the machines. I bought the one highest up on the Cook's Illustrated list, and friends, I love it.

This is going on a bit, so let’s skip ahead and I’ll say more about stovetop waffling, below, for anyone interested.

The waffles: I began with Alyssa’s painstakingly tested recipe and produced a truly excellent waffle. But I wanted a chewier, fluffier interior, a real contrast against the crisp, caramelized crust. So I did some research, got some first-rate guidance from my friend Andrew, a supremely talented baker and editor at Cook’s Illustrated, tweaked the ingredients, altered the procedure, and tried again. After three variations (all variations of awesome, you should know), I had my –and now your– waffle. I took it for one more spin last week, just to be sure. I am sure.

I don’t normally get my camera so close and personal with my plate of food, but when I broke open a waffle from my final batch, I just had to show you this crumb. (Click on the photo to see it bigger.) (Do it.)


Happy waffling.

Liège Waffles (Gaufres de Liège)
Adapted from Alyssa’s recipe at Formaggio Kitchen and a recipe from the Liège Waffle Recipe blog, with guidance from Andrew Janjigian

A few notes:

On waffle irons:  If you already own an electric waffle maker, then by all means, use it. Alyssa makes her waffles in a CuisinArt Belgian Waffle Maker, sets the heat to just below 3 (on a scale from 1 to 5), and cooks the waffles for about five minutes. If you’re in the market for a waffle maker, I highly recommend a stovetop model. I have this one, from Nordic Ware. It’s made of cast aluminum with a water-based silicone non-stick coating (not Teflon) on the inside. The top and bottom of the iron come apart for easy cleaning. My one complaint is that the outside scratches easily, but that’s aluminum for you. Of course, stovetop waffle making requires more of your attention than throwing dough into an appliance, but no more attention than frying an egg or flipping pancakes. It may take you a burnt or underdone waffle or two to get the hang of it, but soon you’ll have them just right.

In the recipe below, I’ve included instructions for cooking the waffles on a stovetop iron. I’ve found that the key to perfectly cooked waffles is keeping the heat at medium-low. Cast aluminum heats quickly and retains that heat well; anything hotter and the exterior will burn before the waffle has cooked through. Also, you want the bottom plate, the one against the stovetop, to be plenty hot when you add dough to the iron. Which means that when you remove the finished waffles from the iron, do not flip the iron over before beginning the next batch.

On weight versus volume: I’ve been baking more and more by weight instead of volume and I’m hooked. It’s easy, precise, and my results are super consistent. If you measure the flour in this recipe by volume (cups) instead of weight, be sure to stir up your flour, spoon the flour into your measuring cup, and sweep off the excess with the back of a straight-edged knife. If you use the scoop and sweep method instead, you’ll end up with too much flour.

On yeast: This recipe calls for instant dry yeast (IDY) rather than active dry yeast (ADY). Instant dry yeast is all I ever keep around. It’s easier to use because there’s no need to dissolve it in liquid; you just add it to your dry ingredients and you’re off. I once assumed that there must be some kind of additive involved to make instant yeast “instant,” and I didn’t like the idea of that. But nope, it’s just yeast. I asked my friend Andrew about the real difference between IDY and ADY, and he gave me the scoop: ADY is coated with a layer of dead yeast that must be dissolved in order for the yeast to activate. That’s why you have to proof it. The reason that you use about 30% less IDY than ADY in any given recipe is because IDY is all viable yeast (no dead yeast coating). There’s no difference in flavor between the two.

On the sugar: If you’re having trouble finding Belgian pearl sugar in stores, you can find it online here. Alyssa's recipe calls for ¾ cup pearl sugar, which is great for the caramelizing action on the outside of the waffles, but so sweet that my tongue ached when I was through. I cut the sugar to ½ cup, and while you end up with fewer candied bits in and around the waffles, the sweetness is pleasantly toned down.

2 cups (240 g) bread flour (see note, above)
1 teaspoon (3 g) instant dry yeast
¼ cup (60 g) whole milk, at room temperature
2 tablespoons + 2 teaspoons (40 g) water
1 large egg, at room temperature, lightly beaten
1 tablespoon + 1 teaspoon (20 g) light brown sugar
¾ teaspoon (4.5 g) salt
8 tablespoons (113 g) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 tablespoon (15 g) honey
2 teaspoons (10 ml) vanilla
½ - ¾ cup (100 g) pearl sugar (see note, above)

Whisk together the instant dry yeast and 2/3 cup (80 g) of the bread flour in the bowl of a stand mixer. In a separate bowl, mix the milk, water, and egg. Add the wet ingredients to the flour and yeast measure, stir to moisten the yeast, and sprinkle the remaining 1 1/3 cup (160 g) of bread flour on top. Do not mix in. Cover tightly with plastic wrap and let stand for 60-90 minutes, until the batter is bubbling up through the cover of flour.

Add the brown sugar and salt, and mix on low speed with the paddle attachment until just combined. With the machine still on low, add the honey and vanilla, then the butter, 2 tablespoons (30 g) at a time. When the butter is fully incorporated, switch to the dough hook attachment. Mix for four minutes at medium-low speed, stopping to scrape down the sides of the bowl once or twice. Let the dough rest for 1 minute, then continue mixing until the dough stretches rather than breaks, and starts to pull away from the sides of the bowl. If it takes longer than 2-3 minutes (it did for me), let the dough rest again for 1 minute, then mix for another 2-3 minutes.

Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and place in the refrigerator overnight.

In the morning, mix the pearl sugar into the dough by hand. Separate the dough into 110 gram chunks (about 3 tablespoons per waffle), and shape each one into a ball. Place on a wax paper-lined cookie sheet, cover loosely with plastic wrap, and let rise for 90 minutes, until puffy.

If using a stovetop iron: When the dough is ready, heat your iron over a medium-low flame for 4 minutes, then flip it over and heat the other side for the same amount of time. Transfer the dough balls to your heated waffle iron (I’d start with just one, to get the hang of things), close the iron, and cook for 45 seconds. Flip the iron over and cook for four minutes. Your waffles should be done enough at this point so that they won’t stick to iron. Open the iron for a peek, and if the waffles are still looking pale, cook for an additional couple of minutes, until the crust is brown and the sugar on the surface has caramelized.

Transfer waffles to a rack and cool for several minutes before serving.

Makes 6 waffles.

12 Jul 15:42

slow-and-low dry rub oven chicken

by deb
Margaret

baking barbeque

dry rub oven-barbecued chicken

Five years ago, I fell in love with dry-rub barbecue. Prior to the summer of 2008, I naively believed that the only way to make ribs deliciously on the grill was to mop them with copious amounts of a wet, tomato-based barbecue sauce. I know, I know, silly Deb, but what can you really expect from a Yankee?

making the dry rub
dry rub

Under my friend Molly’s tutelage, I learned the error of my ways. The thing is, no matter how unappealing the word “dry” may sound against meat of any sort, the results are anything but. While a wet sauce just wants to roll or evaporate off your meat as it cooks, the dry rub spices adhere themselves to it, almost crusting in the meltingly tender meat within as it cooks slow-and-low over a the grill. It loses none of its punch, no matter how long it cooks. You might have some barbecue sauce around when you’re done as a dip for the meat, but there’s so much flavor from that spice crust, you probably won’t need it.

dry rub

... Read the rest of slow-and-low dry rub oven chicken on smittenkitchen.com


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04 Jul 11:42

At the brink

by tara

Things you might not know about me, arranged in no particular order:

I'm not  tall. You might say I'm short. I make terrible, terrifyingly-bad coffee. I named my childhood dog after a chocolate bar. His identification tag is on my keychain. At one brief time in my life, I played tambourine in a band. I am clumsy. I scar easily. I've got me some souvenirs.

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There's a constellation of burns at the inside of my wrist collected from splattering oil. I have a pair of lines across one of my forearms, branded on separate occasions by a scorching oven rack and a searing baking sheet, respectively. I wonder at how many times I knocked my noggin or shin on the wheelhouse steps on one of my father's ships. There's the mark where my knife skipped on the board and caught my finger. I've got a skinny red line that rests on my collarbone as a necklace, and a number of freckle-ish spots by my ankles from falling over sticks and rocks. 

On the side of my left knee, raised and pale, there's a scar that is maybe three inches long. It is wider at the top and tapers to a point at the end. Last summer, when someone asked me how it happened, I tripped on my words. It's a mark I've had on me for the majority of my life, three-quarters of it at least, yet I've long discarded its circumstance. I don't remember if I cried, or who patched up the wound, or if I needed stitches. I don't think I did. 

I have a hazy recollection that I cut myself on an air conditioner as a kid? Yes, maybe on the air conditioner, the one between our house and that of our neighbours. I can tell you the siding was white on our house and pale, sunny yellow on theirs. There was gravel between them, and I can still hear how sounded under our feet. 

I remember what summer was like back then. I remember the important things.

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My mother grew the best roses on the street — big, heavy blooms the size of baseballs. My father would buy ice cream in those rectangular boxes, then break the carton open and pull back the sides, so ice cream stood as a block in the centre. He'd use a carving knife to slice off pieces thick like steaks. I remember melon balls cold from the fridge, and popcorn from the big orange popper we had, and the thermos that was always filled with hot, hot milk tea for long car rides. I remember jumping the fence because we couldn't reach the latch to the backyard, and the cluster of trees we used as a hideout.

I remember my parents had pool parties that lasted into the night, when we'd be allowed to stay up past dark. We'd even get Coke to drink. I'd swallow it fast, the bubbles tight in my throat. The adults sat at a round table close to the gate, while all us kids were in the water. The chlorine stung my eyes; when I looked at the lanterns tucked around the garden, the light shone with blue halos. I remember riding our bicycles down to the lake, trying to keep up with my big brother, going to watch the fireworks on Canada Day. Standing there breathless, sweaty, still straddling the bike seats, leaning forward on our handle bars and chewing gum. We were due home as soon as the last sparkles burned out in the black of the sky, when we were left with stars.

STLicepop4.jpg

I am, sometimes acutely, aware that my children are now the same age I was in some of those memories of mine.

It is the leading edge of summer; there's already been fun fairs and field trips, and cubbies to clean out, and day-before-yesterday, the last day of school. We're at the brink of a place deep with possibility. I've decided to pack for the leap, with a supply of strawberry limeade ice pops. Some for the boys, and some for us adults, made prickly with the bitter of Campari.

These flavours pull very much from those years ago. Strawberries grew on the side of that white house, right beside mint. When Sean and I moved to where we live now we planted some along the side of this house, because summer has to have strawberries. And it's the season to go for the gusto with lime. I was the kid that dug for the lemon-lime or lime popsicles from the freezer at the corner store, diving waist-deep through the sliding cooler top to search. If I thought I had the right one, I would hold the package up to the shop window to make sure it was tinged truly green, and not the deceiving, disappointing, yellow of banana. 

The mouth-watering pucker of lime also recalls nimbu pani, the salty-sweet limeade we'd have in India. 

For these ice pops, the fruit is blitzed with a pour of honey to a sharply fragrant purée, and goes first into the mould. There's a specific strategy to the design; eating the bright berries first, with the tongue-tingling acidity of the lime, is like the spark that lights a fuse. Without fat or too much sugar, the flavour is icily intense and clear, spiky and crystallized. Then comes the second layer, mellow vanilla-specked frozen yogurt, a supple balm to the intensity before. With these, first there's fizzle, then fade.

I may leave the coffee to my husband, but popsicles, those I've got covered.

 

STLicepop5.jpg

The last time I wrote about ice pops was for  UPPERCASE  magazine, Issue 10. UPPERCASE is headquartered in Calgary, Alberta, and as you might already know, there has been recent, devastating floods to that region. If you would like more information, I suggest you follow author Julie Van Rosendaal on her site and Twitter; she has been a force through the storm and the recovery and cleanup efforts. 

For those who would like to donate to the Flood Rebuilding Fund, The Calgary Foundation is doing great work. If you would like to support UPPERCASE, they are  having a sale until July 7th, and as products ship through Toronto and Los Angeles, orders are still being filled.

To everyone in the effected areas, all the best thoughts and hopes to you. 

 

CAMPARI STRAWBERRY LIMEADE ICE POPS

The frozen yogurt comes from the book "The Perfect Scoop" by David Lebovitz  (Ten Speed Press, 2007), recipe available via Heidi Swanson, and it is the best one I can imagine. 

The measurements for the fruit layer are somewhat loosey goosey. Depending on your fruit you might want more or less honey or lime, and you can scale the ratios accordingly. My only warning, it's best to be a miser with the alcohol  — you might be able to sneak some more in, but too much will prevent the ice pops from setting properly, and nobody wants a droopy pop. That said, if you want to serve these doused with extra after the fact, go right ahead.

Turning out all the ice pops at once frees up your mould for another batch, and means kids can help themselves from the freezer, which is nice. It's helpful to colour the sticks of theirs with permanent marker, so they know which ones to grab.

As an aside, these pops were coincidentally patriotic, as this is the Canada Day weekend here. For the upcoming 4th of July or Bastille Day, a streak of blackberry or blueberry could dress them up for your celebrations. Hooray for holidays, pals!

 

INGREDIENTS

  • One batch homemade plain or vanilla frozen yogurt, or about 1 quart store bought (there will be some leftover)
  • 10 ounces strawberries, hulled and chopped
  • 2 tablespoons mild, runny honey
  • Juice and zest of 1 small lime, if you can get key limes, use them and use 2
  • 1 1/2 tablespoons Campari, for the grownups

 

METHOD

In a medium bowl, stir together the strawberries, honey, most of the lime juice and all the zest. Let sit at room temperature for 20-30 minutes, stirring every now and again. Purée the fruit in a blender. Stir in the Campari and taste. It should be punchy, as the flavour will mellow once frozen. Keeping that in mind, add more lime juice or honey as needed. Divide the purée between 10 3-ounce popsicle moulds, rapping the mould on the counter to release any air pockets. Freeze for 15-20 minutes to firm up, or a full hour for a neat delineation between flavours.

If you are making the frozen yogurt from scratch, churn while the strawberry layer sets. If you're using store bought, put it in the refrigerator to soften. 

Spoon the frozen yogurt on top of the strawberry purée. Use a chopstick or extra popsicle stick to release any air bubbles, and swirl the two mixtures, if desired. (Alternatively, the purée and frozen yogurt can be dolloped randomly, without freezing first, which will allow them to marble easily.) Cover and freeze according to manufacturer's instructions.

Once frozen, release the solid ice pops by running hot water over the moulds. Store the pops in a sealed, airtight container in the freezer, separating layers with parchment paper.  

Makes 10. 

 

I originally called these boozy ice pops — by no means should there be a restriction on what to use. While Campari and soda is my thing, it might not be yours, so here are some other suggestions: 

  • Pimm's No. 1 + strawberry + mint
  • Tequila + mango + mint or lime
  • Aperol + orange + raspberry
  • Kirsch + cherry + citrus  
  • St. Germain + blueberry + mint
  • Proseco + blackberry + lemon thyme (remove thyme after steeping)
  • Gin + plum + ginger
  • Cachaça + watermelon + salt + lime
  • Bourbon + peach + mint 

 

30 Jun 08:46

"[T]hese young men and women don’t want your pity — and they don’t expect a handout. They are quick..."

[T]hese young men and women don’t want your pity — and they don’t expect a handout. They are quick to blame themselves for the milestones they have not achieved. Julian, an Army vet from Richmond who was unemployed, divorced and living with his mother at 28, dismissed the notion that his lack of success was anyone’s fault but his own: “At the end of the day looking in the mirror, I know where all my shortcomings come from. From the things that I either did not do or I did and I just happened to fail at them.” Kelly echoed that: “No one else is going to fix me but me.”

This self-sufficiency, while highly prized in our culture, has a dark side: it leaves little empathy to spare for those who cannot survive on their own.

…Working-class youths come to believe that if they have to make it on their own, then everyone else should, too. Powerless to achieve external markers of adulthood like marriage or a steady job, they instead measure their progress by cutting ties, turning inward and numbing themselves emotionally.



-

Finally read this incredibly moving piece by Jennifer M. Silva in the Times about how isolating it can be to be young and poor (as opposed to broke). 

Kristin Iversen has a useful response:

The best path to a secure future for our country is not to rely solely on encouraging exceptionalism and some vague idea of independence, but to establish a sense of community that reaches beyond social media and into the realm of our actual society. Then, maybe, the pervasive isolation that is the hallmark of millennials can be replaced by a feeling that we’re all in this together, different though our individual roles may be.

Such a profound strike against the kind of American individualism touted by both conservatives and scrappy entrepreneurs, the latter of which are vaguely “liberal” but nevertheless enforce the idea that The World Is Our Oyster, regardless of our widening wealth gap or sputtering economy. What’s most heartbreaking is that the young, low-income Americans most likely to relate to this narrative will probably never read this New York Times article, and will therefore never realize that they’re not alone. There are glimmers of low-income workers fighting back, but generally the experience of being poor is laden with shame, fear, and instability. The people in Silva’s piece have so many others, powerful and ordinary, telling them it’s their fault that it becomes impossible to separate individual mistakes from structural inequities.