Patricia and Carolyn, the lovely ladies at PS and MiragePaperCo's Designer Blog respectively, have tagged me! I had never been tagged before yesterday, and then I had the pleasure twice in one day!

Here are the rules:
1. Link to the person that tagged you and post the rules on your blog.
2. Share 7 random and/or weird things about yourself.
3. Tag 7 random people at the end of your post and include links to their blogs.
4. Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

7 Random (Food-Related) Things About Myself:
1. I don't like raisins. I have learnt to tolerate them thanks to Jeffrey Steingarten's The Man Who Ate Everything, but they're not my first choice - I even pick them out of muesli one by one.
2. The first thing I learned to make was fried plantains, a West Indian favourite. I close second was good ol' KD - Kraft Dinner. Mmmm mm good.
3. I consider maple syrup to be extremely healthy. Extremely.
4. I am doomed to fail as a locavore because I eat a banana almost every day. They're the ultimate portable snack and they cannot be replaced. I guess I could move to the tropics...
5. I am a bit of a control freak in the kitchen. I am trying to get better.
6. The cookbook that really ignited my (previously smouldering) interest in food is Nigel Slater's Appetite. If you don't have it - buy it.
7. I am always thinking at least one meal ahead.

7 Random Blogs I Am Tagging:
A Wee Bit of Cooking
foodbeam
Smitten Kitchen
thepassionatecook
Our Patisserie
...an endless banquet
The Traveler's Lunchbox

Darling buds

Have you ever cooked with flowers? I can't say I've ever cooked with them, but I have used them as a garnish and as a decoration. Most recently I used an assortment of flowers containing lots of pansies to top my Easter cheesecake.


In this Observer Word of Mouth post Paul Levy discusses his adventures with floral ingredients in relation to a new book by Frances Bissell called "The Scented Kitchen: Cooking with Flowers". It's the first time I've heard of it, but I must admit he has made me very curious about nasturtium mayonnaise.

Competition Entry

Back in March I entered the Waitrose Food Illustrated search for a new food writer. No, I didn't win, but the winning entry has been published in the August Issue of WFI and you can read it here. It's very good. And if you feel so inclined you can read my entry here:


Beast of Baking

“Off-limits” was something I experienced very little as a child. The medicine cabinet was definitely a no-go, and I wasn’t particularly welcome in my brother’s room either, but otherwise there were few barriers to my explorations at home. This made it even more frustrating that opening the deep, wide cupboard on the side of the kitchen island was prohibited. I knew what was in there, but I wanted more than a glimpse or a touch. I wanted to use it; to plug it in, to attach things and to be in control of the large, white contraption that was so powerful and enigmatic.

The electric mixer was mysterious and magical in both its physical characteristics and its abilities. It seemed to me like the heaviest thing on earth. Occasionally I would open the cupboard and try as hard I could to make the thing budge, but it wouldn’t move an inch. Lying on its side on its special pivoted shelf that rose up and locked at countertop level, it seemed like a sleeping monster in its den. The movable parts that connected to the front and underside of its hinged torso were weird and wonderful limbs with fascinating functions. It was the equivalent of a bizarre, beastly Mr. Potato Head. Its electrical umbilical cord placed it firmly on the grown-up side of the toy world and made sure that it was only for use with adult supervision.

The most fantastic part of the mixer was watching it work and imagining the outcome. On occasion I would come home to the dull, undulating whirr of the machine, and I would walk straight into the kitchen excited to see it high on its pedestal. I soon developed a hierarchy of mixer attachments: the lowest on the ladder was the dough hook, as its use meant that a thick, heavy, wholegrain bread was on the way; the middle rung was occupied by the meat grinder, which ground steak into mince for burgers or Bolognese, two of my dinnertime favourites; and finally the whisk attachment which I wanted to see most, used mainly for the magical creaming of butter and sugar that was the base of so many cakes and cookies of my dreams. I would watch in awe as ingredients were either ground, kneaded or mixed to create something new and awesome.

I wanted more than anything to be in control of the machine, to play at making a magic potion. My mother was not cruel; when she was using it I was allowed to be the kitchen helper. During those encounters I learnt that sometimes, especially when baking, it is important to be precise in the kitchen. In fact, I still think of measures in terms of the yellow cups and spoons we used. On the other hand I learnt that through practice it is possible to be creative and experiment with both quantities and ingredients. Recipes came not only from books, but also from scraps of paper on which notes were scribbled down in someone else’s kitchen. Sometimes they came straight from my mother’s head.

My sensory memories of my early baking experiences are the strongest. They start with the textures of the ingredients: cold, silky butter slipping out of my hot little fingers and clouds of super-fine flour settling in my hair and on my apron. I would dip into the mixing bowl at every chance, even when the butter and sugar were hardly combined and the grains of sugar crunched loudly between my teeth. However the finished batter was always the best, and therefore I detested my mother’s rubber spatula which robbed me of some of the last of the batter that clung to the bowl (I already had enough competition from my brother). After retrieving the bowl from the grip of the machine, I would retreat to the kitchen table and use the rubber spatula to get as much of the batter as I could into my mouth. Inevitably it would coat my face and clothing too. Just as I was finishing the bowl the sweet smell escaping from the oven would announce the impending arrival of the finished treat. There was never a dull moment.

The food that came out of the mixer was not always perfect, but I learnt to appreciate the process as well as the result. Although I preferred, at that age, a delivery pizza to my mother’s whole-wheat deep pan, I began to value the fact that that bread rose out of the flour, water and yeast we had mixed together. This culinary romanticism is something I have carried through to adulthood. Food with a story just tastes better. When enjoying baked goods made with care for the village fete, imported mountain cheese made of milk from a small herd in Switzerland or homemade tomato soup, the knowledge of where the food came from and how it was made is almost as important to me as the ingredients themselves.

Before I was old enough to use the mixer independently we moved abroad and had to leave it behind. Sadly, we didn’t replace it, so when I recently invested in one of my own I knew immediately which recipe I wanted to try first. Chocolate chip cookies are heaven to adults and children alike. I like to make these with my niece, and though I now understand the concern about small fingers near mixers, sharing in her anticipation makes the baking all the more enjoyable.

Dried cherries give these a more adult flavour, but you could leave them out or split the batch. Although it is easier to make these in an electric mixer with a whisk attachment, a handheld electric whisk also works well. You can use a large bowl and wooden spoon instead, but call in the reinforcements as you’ll need a lot of elbow grease to thoroughly cream the butter and sugar together.

Cherry Chocolate Chip Cookies

Makes approximately 3 dozen cookies

225 g unsalted butter (at room temperature)
200g light muscovado sugar
100g golden caster sugar
2 eggs
2 tsp vanilla
225 g plain flour
½ tsp bicarbonate of soda
½ tsp salt
250 g rolled oats
170g chocolate chips or chopped dark chocolate
100g dried cherries

Preheat the oven to 165 C (Gas mark 3). Put the top shelf about two-thirds of the way up the oven. Grease a baking tray. I like to use leftover butter wrappers for this as they have the perfect amount of butter and I can feel a little greener for it.

Whip the butter until it becomes pale. Cream the sugars into the butter about 50 grams at a time. At the end most of the sugar will have dissolved and you should have a pale and fluffy mound with just a few grains of sugar creating crunch when you taste it (which you should).

Add one egg to the mixture at a time, beating gently until incorporated. Don’t forget to use that trusty rubber spatula to scrape down the sides of the bowl. Mix in the vanilla.

In a small mixing bowl combine the flour, bicarbonate of soda and salt. Slowly add the flour mixture to the butter, sugar and eggs by the heaping spoonful, being careful not to beat the mixture too furiously as this will toughen the dough.

Stir in the oats. If all of the dough is sticking to your whisk you may need to abandon the gadgets at this point and start mixing with a spoon. Fold in the cherries and the chocolate chips. Try to distribute them evenly in the dough that there is at least a taste of chocolate and cherry in each cookie.

Using two spoons, measure generous tablespoonfuls of dough onto your baking sheet about two inches apart. Flatten the dough out with the back of a fork and place the tray in the oven. Avoid the temptation to multitask at this stage, as the cookies need a keen eye. I enjoy watching through the oven door as the dough spreads out and marks its territory on the sheet.

When you see the cookies start to brown at the edges they’re close to done. This should take 8-10 minutes depending on the thickness of your baking tray. For chewy cookies, take them out when they are golden but still glistening. If you prefer a crunch, leave the cookies to develop a rich brown border. Let the cookies cool on the sheet for a few minutes before removing them to a wire rack.

I love these warm out of the oven. If you manage to restrain yourself, they will keep for a day or two in an airtight container. If not, tuck in and indulge your inner child!

KUIDAORE

This is too beautiful not to share. Check out the gorgeousness of KUIDAORE, a new favourite food blog of mine (that's new to me, not new to the world). Joycelyn writes mostly, though not exclusively, about baking and sweet things. Her writing is engaging, her photos are delectable and I imagine her food is both.

A "good thing"

While waiting for a friend the other day I got a chance to go into a bookstore that I have always wanted to peruse - McNally Robinson (52 Prince St). Not only do they have a little cafe with handsome baked goods (unfortunately I had just had breakfast so I didn't get to try any), but they have a well organized selection of books and magazines.

The periodicals were already looking good from afar with a couple of my favourite titles such as COLORS, the visually arresting, socially conscious magazine and Adbusters, the Canadian quarterly that is "concerned about the erosion of our physical and cultural environments by commercial forces." But the display featured a few titles I hadn't heard of, including a new-ish publication called Diner Journal.

Apparently the adage "good things come to those who wait" holds true in this case; I was waiting, and a good thing appeared. Diner Journal is a delightful small-scale quarterly published by the staff of Diner and Marlow & Sons, two restaurants in Brooklyn. Unusually, Diner Journal is committed to showcasing the restaurants' own recipes and sources for local, seasonal food. Highlights in the current Spring issue (No. 3) include maple syrup stories, an interview with Guy Jones of Blooming Hill Farm, and recipes featuring asparagus, ramps and rhubarb. Although they are not written for the novice cook, these recipes will inspire you to head to your local farmers market and try something new. Although I haven't cooked directly from the journal, I did use their advice about ramps ("use them in everything as you would garlic") inspired me to put them in an asparagus and lemon risotto to great effect.

Diner Journal is not technically a zine since it is a commercial venture, but the layout and typography (and handwriting) and limited distribution (as far as I know DJ is only available at McNally Robinson or by subscription) of the publication place it in the middle ground between independent zines and bigger restaurant mags. The BLT restaurant empire has recently come out with BLT Living, a high-gloss quarterly complete with full page advertisements which is given to customers at BLT restaurants free, as reported in an article by Florence Fabricant in The New York Times. Diner Journal has no advertising (but has a cute grocery-style price tag of $7.50 on the inside cover) and comes with three hole punches down the side to help you store and reuse it.

A short piece in New York Magazine also contrasted Diner Journal with BLT Living, but likened it to Chez Panisse publications, which I have never had the fortune of reading. There must be many more small, worthy food publications, so I'm on the lookout.

Building a library...

When I was upstate last weekend I did some cookbook shopping – one of the only kinds of shopping it is important to do on a full stomach. I bought a couple of books to add to my NY library, which made the collection a grand total of four. But then friendly brown box came in the mail this morning; and then there were five.

I miss a lot of the cookbooks that I left in London, particularly my collection of Nigella Lawson's books and, now that it's springtime, my River Cafe Two Easy by Rose Gray and Ruth Rogers which contains lots of great ideas for fresh vegetables, antipasti, pasta and fish. I rarely follow a recipe word for word (though I'm sure this is not a good thing) so I don't miss having particular recipes, but I do miss the inspiration that a flip through a great cookbook can give. The only "inspirational" type book that I have here in New York is Nigel Slater's The Kitchen Diaries. The photos themselves could melt in your mouth, and as the focus is on seasonal eating, it's great for a quick peruse before or after a trip to the farmer's market.

I feel that every recipe collection should have a basic "methods" cookbook which will actually teach you how to make things, no matter how competent you think you might be. Mark Bittman's How To Cook Everything fills this position in my NY collection, appropriately since he is a food writer for The New York Times. His cookbook is a modern take on the basics, and contains a refreshing mix of multicultural recipes. The "pasta" section, for instance, contains authentic recipes for penne arrabbiata, cold soba noodles and pad thai. Clear black and white illustrations explain the most complicated steps visually, and there are lists of basics gadgets and tools that are necessary, and others that are not. Other cookbooks that can the same purpose as this in a recipe collection include The Fanny Farmer Cookbook and Delia Smith's Complete Cookery Course to name just a few. I find that allegiance to these cookbooks is often passed down through generations, hence the sustained popularity of seasoned classics such as The Joy of Cooking which are regularly updated.

An outdated retro-classic was one of my two purchases last weekend. The 1963 edition of The New Good Housekeeping Cookbook shows its age with recipes like "Chicken a la King Surprise" containing just one package of frozen chicken a la king, 4 bread slices and sharp cheese spread. I will not be making that any time soon. There are also guidelines for the "glamourous serving" of vegetables, in fact the whole book encourages you to "serve with a flair" - see the "Snowy Orange Cup" on the right. Not my cup of tea either. However, there are recipes for old stand-bys that I will try, like candied sweet potatoes and a coffee cake which, surprisingly, contains fresh ground cardamom seeds. That's more like it.

The other two books in my collection are part cookbook, part memoir, and both are in my pile of books to read. M.F.K. Fisher's With Bold Knife and Fork contains foodie anecdotes and a few recipes, and follows the structure of a traditional cookbook from appetizers to drinks and desserts. Barbara Kingsolver's new book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle retells the story of her family's quest to eat locally for a year. Reviews to follow.