Diet, Dessert and Dogs

[Guess what? Deanna over at The Mommy Bowl is giving away a package of all three of my ebooks! Hop over there to enter--after you read this post, of course! ]

[Topped with Macadamia Spice Butter from Good Morning! ebook plus fresh pineapple chunks]

Hope all of you who celebrate are having a great Passover!  And Happy Easter to everyone who will be celebrating this weekend.   The HH and I were invited to not one, but two seders this year (one of which was entirely vegetarian–whoo hoo!) and had a lovely time.  This weekend, I’ll be cooking up a special meal in honor of Easter featuring a new nut roast recipe, to be posted next week (wish me luck!). 

You know that old adage, “You can never be too rich or too thin”?  Well, I would modify it somewhat to say, “You can never have too many pancake recipes.” (Oh, and also, you can never be too rich).

Yes, indeed, I do love me some pancakes! Fluffy pancakes, grain-free pancakes, savory pancakes–they all appeal to me.  I love pancakes so much that I even adopted the CFO’s irreverent toast that used their name in vain.

As I am fond of repeating (and anything worth repeating is worth repeating often), breakfast is my favorite meal of the day.  It’s also a pretty darned good snack, if you ask me.  Not only do I relish every Sunday brunch that I share with the HH, I even wrote an entire ebook filled with delectable ACD-friendly, gluten free breakfast recipes!

In fact, it’s because of the ebook that I present you with this recipe today.  Around the time that the book was going to launch, I received an email from Howard, a co-worker of one of my recipe testers.  Howard mentioned that Ms. Tester had talked about a specific Coconut Pancake recipe that had been tested, but which never made it to the ebook (the result was a little too dry for my tastes and I wasn’t 100% happy with it).  He asked if he could have the recipe anyway, as he loves coconut.

Well, I just didn’t feel right about sharing a recipe that I myself didn’t enjoy eating.  I offered to work on it until I got it right–and then post it on the blog.

[Topped with lots of melty Notella]

I’ve been playing with the recipe since then.  I wanted it to contain both coconut AND coconut flour.  I’ve always found that coconut flour on its own is difficult to use in baked goods, as it absorbs so much moisture that the result is often too wet and gooey.  If you use less liquid to compensate, your batter is often too thick to spread.  In this case, I finally decided to compromise (after about 16 trials–good thing I love pancakes), and decreased the coconut flour while adding a touch of brown rice flour. The result was a fairly light and very coconutty breakfast cake.

So Howard, this one’s for you. Though, having said that, I do hope you won’t mind sharing it with Hallie and her readers.   Hallie is hosting a cool breakfast-themed event called Build a Better Breakfast.  The challenge is to create a nourishing breakfast and post about it–either a recipe, or any other tip on how you might improve on the first meal of the day. In fact, I’m getting this in just under the wire, as today is the deadline. 

As for a tip, I’ll leave you with one I included in the Good Morning! breakfast ebook. For a quick and foolproof method to ensure a balanced meal (whether breakfast or any other), just think in terms of threes–the three macronutrients, that is: protein, complex carbs and healthy fats.  If you team up one food from each category in a meal, you’ll be well nourished and well satisfied, for hours. 

These pancakes almost fit the “three nutrient” bill on their own; they are rich in complex carbs (from the flours) and healthy fats (the coconut, flax seeds and olive oil).  But protein?  Not so much.  So I always top my pancakes with a delicious nut butter “sauce” such as this one to add a touch of protein.  (Two tablespoons/30 ml of almond butter has about 5 g of protein. Win!).  Of course, you could also pair your pancakes with tempeh or tofu, for instance, or some high-protein hemp or chia seeds.

Perfect for an Easter brunch, I’d say.  Because you can never have too many dishes at the brunch table, either.

“Mum, pancakes are fine and everything, but we think you can never have too many treats in one day. . . so how about giving us that sixteenth biscuit now?”

[The money shot: inside, coconutty goodness]

This recipe is also my submission to this month’s Go Ahead, Honey, It’s Gluten Free, hosted by Maggie at She Let Them Eat Cake. The theme this time round is breakfast and brunch.

Last Year at this Time: Stevia-sweetened Chocolate Brownies (for ACD early phases) and NuNaturals Stevia Review

Two Years Ago: Raw “Pad Thai”

Three Years Ago: Five Things meme

*Or, Thanks, Michael Ruhlman (for the rule, man).

[Quick note:  Diet, Dessert and Dogs finally has its own Facebook Page!  If you like the DDD blog, come on over and "like" the page!]

[Millet, buckwheat, oat and bean flour with chopped pears and cranberry compote]

I’m all about freedom of choice. 

While my dad eats the identical breakfast every day**, I feel the need to rotate among cereal (hot or cold), omelets, baked sweet potato and almond sauce, apple and almond butter, various types of smoothies, last night’s leftovers, or other breakfast baked goods.

While the HH likes to spend his weekends in the same fashion each week (sleep in; brunch at our favorite place; toodle around a bookstore; come home and listen to classical music on his beyond-our-means stereo system), I’d rather do something entirely different each Saturday and Sunday–go to the museum, say, or the farmers market, or read my latest book of choice, or cook up something new in the DDD kitchen, or launch a campaign to get on The Ellen Show. 

Similarly, on his watch, the HH takes The Girls along the exact same route each time they go for a walk.  I, on the other hand, can’t help but mix it up a bit: one day to the baseball field, the next to the park, the third to the pond, and so on.  

I can’t imagine how people consume the exact same meal every day, or wear the same uniform to school, or choose the same car every time they purchase, or set up a room and never rearrange the furniture.  I mean, don’t they get bored of those foods/ vehicles/ outfits/ spouses (sorry, must have been the influence of the recent Tiger Woods/Jesse James scandals–meant to say, “houses”)?

As you may recall, I am a lover of pancakes.  My favorite breakfast back in the day (that would be the “pre-ACD, looked-okay-on-the-outside-but-was-actually-deteriorating-on-the-inside” day) was pancakes, sausages, scrambled eggs, and home fries.  Never mind that those calories alone could power the entire Gulf Coast cleanup mission; the quality of what I ate was none too great, either. 

One aspect of my standard “big breakfast” at restaurants that I didn’t enjoy, however, was the sameness of it.  Wherever we went, it was invariably the same pancake mix each place used, resulting in identical puffy, seemingly inflated, fried-in-hydrogenated-grease cakes that resemble those colored kitchen sponges a little too much for my comfort. (I think they just all used Bisquick as their base, now that I look back on it).  Even in my own kitchen, I’ve had to attempt various types and flavors of pancake to keep my flapjack love alive.

[Millet, rice, tapioca, chickpea flours with blueberries and cashew custard sauce]

Well, the more I’ve experimented with GF baking, the more I’ve come to love the fact that most recipes require a long ingredient list with at least two or three types of flour.  At first, like everyone else, I found this necessity a real drag; I mean, who has all these items in the pantry?  (Of course, there’s always all-purpose GF flour, but to me that sort of defeats the purpose.). Unlike baking with wheat, I realized, gluten free baking affords the opportunity to alter the recipe to your mood, to a particular meal, to a personal taste.  Feel like something rustic and hearty?  Try amaranth, or quinoa as the main flour.  Something light and delicate?  Your choice is millet or sorghum. A hint of chocolate?  Teff adds depth and color.  And so on. Baked goods made with gluten free flours are unique and distinctive; like snowflakes, no two are alike.  And this is a good thing.

Still, there are ways to streamline the process.  Something I noticed when baking from an established GF recipe was that most GF mixes include a grain, a starch, and a bean or legume flour.  In a pinch, they even replaced the beany flour with another grain. If I didn’t particularly like the flavor of the specific grain or bean that was chosen, or if I was missing an ingredient, I decided to experiment, swapping out one for the other.  And guess what?  It almost always worked!  Better yet, sometimes my result was even more flavorful or texturally appealing than the original.

You know how slot machines (those “one-armed bandits”) always display a new combination of pictures (cherries, oranges, and lemons, say) each time you pull the lever?  That’s how I think of this recipe. Like Michael Ruhlman’s concept in Ratio, this basic recipe provides the proportions, and you can change up the contents any way you wish. 

There are four main categories–grain, starch, legume and fruit or nut–and you can exchange any item from one category for another from the same category.  So each time you make these pancakes, they’ll turn up a little differently, yet still delicious.  

If you’re feeling adventurous, go ahead and experiment, too.  Luckily, this pancake recipe was created for substitutions, so any combination should come out palatable, at the least (and once in a while, you get that “coins pouring out the slot in waves” lucky combination that you write down and keep forever.).

There are four flour ingredients in these pancakes, in varied amounts: either 1/2 cup (120 ml) or 1/4 cup (60 ml)***.   Feel free to replace the grains with any other grains from the same category and your pancakes should still be light and fluffy (see exception, below).  Replace the starch with any other starch (see exception) and your pancakes will still be light and fluffy.  And pull out that bean and replace it with another bean or legume and yes, Virginia, your pancakes will still be light and fluffly.

[Amaranth, teff, oat and sorghum with blueberries and warm almond sauce]

So far, I’ve made these with the following combinations: amaranth, teff, oat (a grain exception that functions as a starch in these recipes) and sorghum; millet, buckwheat, oat and whole bean;  rice, arrowroot and carob; and rice, millet, arrowroot and garfava–and they’ve all come out great. 

This is the perfect pancake recipe for me: I can switch it up every time I have pancakes for breakfast, yet know that whatever I’ve got, I’ll enjoy the results. No more breakfast boredom!  The spice of life never tasted so good.

I’d love for you to try out your own unique combination of pancake ingredients and share them here!  Feel free to play with the recipe and replace the flours with others from the same category, the tahini with nut butter or other seed butter, the fruits with one(s) of your choice or nuts/seeds, the flax with chia (just remember that you’ll need much less chia–about 1 tsp/5 ml finely ground–instead of each Tbsp/15 ml flax), or the soy milk with almond, hemp or rice milk.  Instead of vanilla, how about almond extract, or lemon?  Instead of cinnamon, how about ginger, cardamom, or another spice? It’s all good!

[Rice, millet, arrowroot and garfava flours with walnut-cacao nut butter]

With all the possibilities out there, I can’t wait to hear about what you create!  Let me know if you try out your own combination, and I’ll add a link to your post. 

Have fun with it, and enjoy your varied pancake breakfasts! And with Mother’s Day tomorrow, pancakes might just offer a perfect brunch for you and Mom. 

“Mum, we’re not that great at cooking pancakes–lack of opposable thumbs, and all that–but we would be happy to share them with you tomorrow.”

** Corn flakes with 1/2 banana, 6 prunes, and a cup of tea, in case you were wondering.

Pick-Your-Own GF Pancakes

This recipe is a serendipitous invention that came about because I was out of brown rice flour for another pancake I wished to make.  By the time I was done, I’d altered almost every ingredient on the list and had discovered a fabulous, all-purpose generic pancake recipe.  This is the last pancake recipe you’ll ever need!

1/2 cup (120 ml)*** millet or other grain flour, or use 1/4 cup (60 ml) each of two different grain flours  (see List A, below)

1/4 cup (60 ml) sorghum, oat, or other starchy flour (see List B, below)

1/4 cup (60 ml) chickpea or other bean-based flour (see List C, below)

1/2 tsp (2.5 ml) xanthan gum (optional, but pancakes will be less cohesive without it)

1/2 tsp (2.5 ml) cinnamon, ginger, or other spice of choice (you may need to reduce the amount to 1/4 tsp/1 ml for other spices)

1 Tbsp (15 ml) GF baking powder

1/4 tsp (1 ml) baking soda

1/4 tsp (1 ml) fine sea salt

1 Tbsp (15 ml) freshly squeezed lemon juice PLUS

plain or vanilla soy, almond or rice milk to equal 1-1/4 cups (300 ml)

2 Tbsp (30 ml) light agave nectar or 10 drops liquid stevia

2 Tbsp (30 ml) sunflower or other light-tasting oil, preferably organic

1 Tbsp (15 ml) finely ground flax seeds

1 tsp (5 ml) pure vanilla extract

1/2 tsp (2. 5 ml) additional flavoring, such as almond, lemon, or coconut (optional)

1/2 cup (120 ml) fresh or frozen berries or chopped fruit (such as apples, bananas or pears–do not thaw first if frozen), or nut pieces

In a large bowl, sift together the grain flour, starchy flour, beany flour, xanthan gum, cinnamon, baking powder, baking soda and salt.  Set aside.

Pour the 1 Tbsp (15 ml) lemon juice into a glass measuring cup and add milk of choice until liquid measures 1-1/4 cups (300 ml).  To the cup, add the agave or stevia, oil, flax seeds, vanilla and other flavoring, if using. 

Pour the liquid mixture over the dry ingredients and stir just to blend.  Gently fold in the fruit or nuts.

Heat a nonstick frypan over medium heat.  Using a large ice cream scoop or 1/3 cup (80 ml) measuring cup, place scoops of batter in the preheated pan and spread out a bit so that pancake isn’t so thick.  Cook 4-5 minutes, until the tops are dry on top (they will lose their shine) and begin to brown on the edges (this may take time–be patient!).  Flip pancakes and cook another 3-4 minutes, until both sides are deep golden brown (they need to be well done or the insides will remain too moist).  As you finish the batter, keep pancakes warm in a low (300F/150C) oven.  Makes 7-9 pancakes.  May be frozen. 

These are great when fresh; if you wish to store them a day or two, wrapped in plastic in the fridge, they may dry out a bit and become a bit more crumbly next time round.  To avoid this outcome, you can always add 1/2 tsp (2.5 ml) xanthan gum to the dry ingredients when you first prepare the pancakes.

***Note to Metric Cooks: I’ve used volume measurements even for the flours here, as weights will vary depending on which grains, beans, etc. you choose.  I’ve found that scooping and leveling with a dry measuring cup (the graduated metal ones) works well.

Choices, Choices! 

Here’s a basic list of gluten-free flours and beans/legumes (notice that oats are now on the list!) to help you along. Easy!

And here are the lists of various flours I’ve found that work well (sorry, I haven’t mastered how to insert a chart yet!).  The various combinations I’ve tried so far are listed at the bottom of the post. 

Do you know of any others?  Let me know!  And have fun!

List A: Grains

• brown rice flour
• teff flour
• amaranth flour
• quinoa flour
• millet flour
• buckwheat flour (technically a seed, but functions as a grain)

List B: Starchy Flours

• arrowroot flour
• cornstarch
• tapioca starch
• potato starch
• sorghum flour (technically a grain, but functions as a starch)
• oat flour (technically a grain, but functions as a starch)

List C: Beany Flours

• chickpea (besan) flour
• whole bean flour (possibly only available in Canada, at Bulk Barn)
• navy bean flour
• Garfava flour (garbanzo-fava bean mix)
• soy flour
• carob flour

Last Year at this Time: A Reunion and Some Reflections

Two Years Ago: Vanilla Vs. Vanilla (pre-ACD cupcakes and muffins with gluten and agave/maple syrup)

© 2010 Diet, Dessert and Dogs

What?  Another breakfast recipe–and so soon, you say?  Well, you can never have too much breakfast is what I say.  I mean, breakfast really is the best repast of the trio of meals, isn’t it?

To begin with, if it’s breakfast time, you’re probably rested.  Your belly is primed and ready to accept food (after all, you have been fasting all night). You’re most likely clean (après morning shower), your face is still fresh and mascara-free, and you can feel good about giving your body “the most important meal of the day.”  And besides all that–breakfast  tastes better than just about any meal I can think of.

I’ve always favored breakfast, but I didn’t really develop my true allegiance to the morning meal until my late teens, when my friend Sterlin and I took our first vacation on our own–across the continent, to California.  (Were our parents insane, letting two seventeen year-olds travel alone? Naw–no worries there–we were total nerds).  Our first stop was LA, where we stayed with my dad’s aunt.

Let’s call her “Great Aunt Yetta.” (Actually, that was her real name, but let’s still call her that anyway).  Even back then, more than 30 years ago, Ms. Yetta was already ancient, in her late 80s.  Poor Yetta’s husband had died almost twenty years earlier, and she lived alone in their small bungalow near Beverly Boulevard in the city.  The place looked as if nothing had been disturbed (or, by the looks of it, cleaned too often) since her husband’s death.

About four-foot-ten in heels, Yetta greeted us at the door with a heavily teased, upswept ‘do reminiscent of Endora in Bewitched (except Yetta’s hair was entirely white), its outer layer shellacked with Aqua Net.  Despite her advanced years, she still took pride in her appearance, and in our honor had donned the full regalia:  fuscia and lime green flowered cotton housedress belted at the waist in shiny white vinyl; gold and black sandals revealing painted crimson toenails, the toes themselves bent various unnatural directions. On her wrists and neck she wore four or five strings of multi-colored plastic beads, along with sparkly, dangly earrings; her face was slathered with full theater-worthy makeup, the purple eyeshadow thick enough to glaze pottery, a coat of carmine lipstick (which only partially followed the actual outline of her lips) on her mouth.

Yetta spoke in a sqeaky, slightly sing-song voice that brought to mind a Polish Edith Bunker. Had we been a little less starry-eyed from having  just landed in California that day, Sterlin and I might have found Yetta somewhat creepy (that came later); instead, we assumed she was merely “eccentric.”

On our first morning in the city, we bounded out of bed at 5:30 AM (with the time change, this was already 9:30 our time) and emerged ravenous from our room.

“Come, dahlink, eat some breakfast,” Yetta said, grabbing me by the forearm. She led us to the dilapitaded dining room, where the table was laid with a few dishes, cups and a teapot. There was nothing recognizable as food, but as we drew closer, we could make out what was on the table.  Without a word, Sterlin and I exchanged meaningful glances and began silently to plot our exit.

“No, you must eat some breakfast!” Yetta insisted.  “Here, have some cheese.”  She presented me with an amorphous blob of something half covered in soft, green fuzz.  “Oh, don’t worry, it is still good,you just do like this–” She grabbed a butter knife and began hacking at the outside of the blob.

“Oh, no, really, thank you so much, but we  aren’t hungry,” we piped up in unison.

“Okay, so some juice then,” she declared, handing over a jar of Tang that had clearly first entered her cupboard in the Sixties.  I unscrewed the rusty lid and cautiously peered inside.  The contents was so old that it had fossilized, one solid mass of crystalline orange rock.

Before I could say anything, Yetta grabbed the jar. “Oh, is okay,” she insisted, brandishing the same trusty butter knife, “You just make like this and you pour it out!” With that, she began to chip away at the ossified Tang.

“No, really, we never eat breakfast in the morning–OR drink anything before lunchtime!” we cried, backing out the door,  “But thank you so much, anyway!  See you later!” Luckily, we found a Farmer’s Market down the street, rife with fresh fruit, pancakes, waffles, and–a thrilling discovery at the time–frozen yogurt! (It didn’t exist yet in Canada in those days).

For the entire two weeks in LA, each morning we went through the ritual of thanking Yetta for her generosity, insisting that we never ate breakfast, and then running over to the market to gorge on every breakfast food (and several non-breakfast foods) we could find.

And so, my fascination with breakfast was established.

On our last evening in LA, we were asked to dinner at Great Uncle Norman’s house (Yetta’s brother), though Yetta was not invited.  After the meal as we sat chatting about our visit, we actually began to feel a little sympathy for Yetta.

“Gee, it’s too bad about her husband,” Sterlin mused.

“What do you mean?” asked Great Uncle Norman.

“Well, you know. . . that he died,” Sterlin said.

Great Uncle Norman’s mouth dropped open.  I think he may have even lost a few crumbs of his coffee cake.  “Died?” he repeated.  “Are you kidding me?!  He didn’t die!  He left her–he couldn’t stand to be in the same house as her for one more minute! He’s remarried and lives in Burbank.”

Maybe she’d fed him the green-cheese-and-Tang breakfast, too; who knows?  In any case, my own interactions with breakfast have remained consistently pleasant since that time.

The HH and I enjoyed these sausage patties and biscuits with gravy for brunch last weekend. After celebrating my birthday in a very low-key fashion (stupid flu! stupid virus! stupid germs!), the HH and I decided to aim for a special brunch instead.  (I did receive a truly beautiful, totally indulgent and indescribably warm and cozy cashmere scarf as a gift from the HH, however).

With leftover cooked rice in the fridge, as well as some nearly-dried sage left over from the roasted plum and spinach salad I’d made the week before, I developed a vague idea of wanting ”sausages” and so devised  this recipe for super-simple and quick savory patties.  I baked mine, but they can be pan-fried just as easily.  The patties crisp up on the outside (even baked), retaining a moist yet firm interior.  The coupling of walnuts and sage here mimics a meaty flavor exceedingly well, I think.

After reading Lindsay’s post a while back about Southern biscuits smothered in gravy, I knew I had to try this pairing out myself!  Of course, my choices for both biscuits and gravy are currently limited, but I revised my coconut flour biscuit recipe as a savory round*, and topped it with a slightly altered version of Isa’s brilliant Smoked Almond Gravy (since I can’t eat smoked almonds–the ACD forbids pre-roasted nuts, as they tend to harbor molds–I simply roasted my own natural almonds, then added smoked paprika and some caramelized onions to the mix for an irresistible alternative).

This delicious, thick and chunky gravy, once ladled atop the savory biscuits, transported the dish from merely a ”Jennifer Aniston good” to a stellar, “Meryl Streep good.”  They’re that good!

If you’re looking for a fairly quick and easy brunch that will encourage seconds, here it is. Add a green salad, and you’ve got a perfect meal.

The inclusion of Tang is optional.

Since this is a perfect brunch meal, I thought I’d submit this to Meeta’s Monthly Mingle event–this month highlighting brunch!

Last Year at this Time: Date Pasta (and another Sterlin-related story)

© 2009 Diet, Dessert and Dogs

[Changes are afoot: I'll be revamping the blogroll (actually, the entire site!) in a few weeks and want to be sure I don't miss any of the blogs I regularly enjoy reading.  If you'd like to be included--and especially if I've ever commented on your site--please let me know if you're not already on the list!  I'll do my best to include everyone.]

These days, I try to be a little nutty every day.

Of course I don’t mean “nutty” as in “I missed my plane so I’m going to become a minor celebrity on YouTube” nutty.  Or  ”I think I’ll switch careers at the pinnacle of my success and adopt the mien of a skid row bum from another planet“ type of nutty.  And certainly not  “just drop me in the middle of the Sahara without any food, water or shelter, and see how I hold up for a week” sort of nutty. While it may be true I do, on occasion, exhibit behavior one might characterize as “nutty” (at least that’s what the HH keeps telling me), I was referring to the toothsome, bite-sized, healthy-fat-and-protein-rich kind of nutty. An “Uncle S.” kind of nutty.

You see, I’ve had a fairly rocky history with nuts–and I blame it all on my Uncle S.

One of my favorite relatives, Uncle S (along with Aunty M) lived upstairs in our family’s duplex during my childhood.  We kids would scoot out the door, up the stairs and into their home without a thought or an invitation, assuming it was simply the top floor of our own place.  Aunty M would greet us, hand over some homemade cookies, and then we’d go seek out our uncle.

I have to admit, I didn’t fully appreciate Uncle S’s unique charms until I was an adult.  An unrivalled prankster, Uncle S was a puckish,  Punk’d prototype whose myriad tricks were relentless.  Case in point: every Sunday, our family would pile into Uncle S’s taxi (this was before my dad acquired a car) for an outing in the countryside.  We’d drive for a while, after which, like clockwork, Uncle S would begin to hem and haw:  “Gee, I don’t remember passing that tree over there.  Maybe I took a wrong turn. You know, I’m not exactly sure where we are–maybe we’re lost.  Ricki, which way should I go?”  Given that I was only four or five at the time, I had no idea; but, also like clockwork, Uncle S’s musings sent me into paroxysms of anxiety, certain I’d be wandering forever in the woods, never to see my own home, bed or Barbie dolls again.

Once I grew older, I could appreciate Uncle S’s humor, his always jovial and somewhat michievious expression, reminiscent of the Pillsbury Dough Boy (although not in any way chubby). In fact, I’d say Uncle S resembled a cartoon character more than anything else: having lost his hair as a young man, his shiny dome was encircled with a fluffy white fringe that snaked round the back of his neck and behind his ears.  His nose, slightly bulbous at the tip, was, like his cheeks, often flushed pink,  and he wore a perpetual half-smile on his face.

Uncle S had a favorite expression, “No Fun!”  which he used the way one would utter, “No Way!” or “You’ve Gotta Be Kidding Me!”.  The CFO and I found this endlessly amusing. To wit:

Ricki: Uncle S, my goldfish had babies and now we have four fishies.

Uncle S:  No Fun!

[Ricki and The CFO erupt in peals of uncontrollable giggles, hands clamped over their mouths].

The summer my mother died, it seemed only Uncle S could lighten the moribund shroud of silence in the hospital waiting room where our family sat in stunned silence.  Uncle S would ramble on, his words always infused with optimism and hope.  One evening, as we all sat lost in resigned torpor, Uncle S was positioned across from me and the CFO, an absent, bemused expression on his face.  The CFO leaned over to me and whispered, “Hey, doesn’t Uncle S sort of look like Bozo the Clown?”  That smile! That fringe! That nose!  Why yes, yes he did–and with that, Uncle S unwittingly bestowed on us a truly priceless gift: the only moment of unrestrained hilarity in an otherwise unbearable summer.

Ah, yes, you’re wondering about the nuts.

Uncle S loved to eat nuts. In particular, he was never without his glass jar of Planter’s Dry Roasted peanuts, which he carried with him wherever he went.  Another open jar was stationed on a TV tray beside his armchair so he could munch as he enjoyed the Ed Sullivan Show.  He’d pour a small mound into his open palm, then tip it into his mouth with a quick flick of the wrist as if tossing a ball for a prize at the midway. Then he’d plow ahead with whatever it was he’d been saying,  mouth open and chewing, oblivious as the ground up bits of nut began to escape his mouth in little bursts of beige spray as he spoke.  (In fact, those Planter’s nuts and an opened can of peas and carrots–spooned straight from the can, cold–are pretty much all I ever remember him eating).

For some inexplicable reason, I decided nuts were not my thing back then.

I’m happy to report that my nut aversion was finally overcome when I came across Elaine Gottschall’s Specific Carbohydrate Diet (geared toward people with Crohn’s, Colitis, or other bowel diseases) while studying nutrition. Her recipes employ nut flours (basically just ground nuts), and I began to experiment with them back then.  Almonds tend to be the most versatile (and mildest in flavor), but almost any nut will do–pop it in a food processor and blend to a mealy consistency.

To some extent, I’m following the ACD  for the next month or so to heal my gut and encourage a little digestive rejuvenation. This means eating less gluten, fewer grains, and more fruits, vegetables, and legumes.  These pancakes were an auspicious first attempt.

Made mostly with almond meal and a smidge of chickpea (besan) flour, they nevertheless retain a light, airy texture and a refreshing lemon tang.  Neither the almond nor the chickpea asserts itself too prominently, so the flavor remains mild.  I served these last week (before eschewing all sweeteners) with a splash of organic maple syrup from Coombs Family Farms that I received as sample (more on that in an upcoming post) and they were, quite simply, delicious.

I may not be nutty enough to consume a jar of Planter’s peanuts just yet.  Still, these little treats are a healthy step in the right direction.

Last Year at this Time: Week at Warp Speed and Easy Dinner

© 2009 Diet, Dessert and Dogs

The close friendship between my buddy Sterlin and me was soldered back in high school, when we first discovered that we were the only two girls in the entire school who had never had a boyfriend (well, I guess there was “BB,” too, but we figured that sleeping with the entire senior class had to count for something).  

This revelation prompted an immediate sense of community between us, after which we spent endless hours (in the way that only teenagers can) on the telephone, musing about why we didn’t have a boyfriend, how much we wished we could have a boyfriend, what we would do if we ever got a boyfriend, and what it was other girls like BB had that we didn’t, allowing them to seemingly conjure streams of drooling boys trailing behind them like empty cans tied to a “Just Married” car bumper.  Entirely unjustly, we thought, these girls enjoyed a surfeit of boyfriends, while we had to make do with an unrequited crush on our French teacher, Mr. Krauser.

But then, we discovered historical romance novels, and our focus shifted.  You know the ones: innocent, nubile, yet spunky lass is swept away (usually literally) by swaggering, swarthy, self-assured rake with a (very well hidden) heart of gold.  Over time, he wins her devotion, while she tames his savage nature.  Well, we were spunky, weren’t we?  Sterlin and I began to daydream, starry-eyed, about meeting a similar hero (even though we never fully understood exactly what a “rake” was) and riding off into the sunset, where he’d unravel the secrets of our nascent womanhood and we would charm his wild heart.

In the books, at least, we could get close to the most desirable of men. For some reason, these novels (at least, the ones I remember) all sported titles pairing two nouns, representing male and female: there was The Wolf and the Dove,  and The Flame and The Flower (both Kathleen E. Woodiwiss masterworks) or perhaps The Raven and The Rose or The Pirate and the Pagan (both by Virginia Henley).  And let’s not forget my favorite, The French Teacher and the Girl with Braces and Long Hair Parted in the Middle Who Liked to Bake (okay, my memory may be a bit fuzzy on that one–high school was a long time ago!). 

Well, given our combined paucity of feminine wiles  flirting ability lacy lingerie boyfriend-attracting attributes, we eventually decided to woo our guys with food (the way to a man’s heart, and all that).  So Sterlin developed Date Pasta as her staple, while I attempted to perfect an ideal chocolate cheesecake, or brownie, or even muffin (since, you know, I had high hopes of my imaginary beau staying for breakfast). 

Those erstwhile romantic efforts came back to me in a flash last week after I’d been browsing through some old cookbooks. Previously, I’d had a little email exchange with Lisa (Show Me Vegan) about buying or keeping cookbooks we no longer really use, or those that contain only a smattering of recipes still relevant to our newly acquired dietary habits. 

One such tome in my collection is called The Breakfast Book, by Diana Terry (and though I’ve owned this book since the 1980s, I never realized until today that it was published in Australia–which, I may have mentioned, is the land of my dreams, with its picturesque vistas, lush wilderness, stunning cities, enviable weather, and dashing, rakish Aussie gentelmen–all of whom just happen to speak with that sexy Australian accent). 

Ah, yes, well.  Pardon me: back to the book. Terry offers a sample menu for a brunch with a decidedly orange theme.  The lucky boyfriend guest is treated to Champagne with Grand Marnier, Scrambled Eggs with Wholemeal Brioches, Fresh Fruit with Ricotta-Orange Dip, and Viennese-Style Coffee.  Of course, none of the recipes would suit me in its present form, but that certainly didn’t stop this spunky gal.

After reading about the citrus-suffused eggs that were then gingerly ladled over a split brioche, its top placed rakishly askew, I asked myself:  “Who said tofu scrambles should be savory, anyway?  Why not sweet? And why must they always be one shade shy of neon yellow?  And couldn’t my own, homemade, biscuits stand in for a brioche? And just what does “rakishly” actually mean, anyway?”

So I created this scramble, which is slightly sweet and not too yellow.  And it’s very creamy.  And it has orange zest and juice in it.  And you ladle it gingerly over the bottom of a carob and raisin biscuit, the top of which is placed rakishly askew over it. 

And may I just say–I ended up loving this dish.  In fact, our affair bordered on the torrid.  Who needs a boyfriend?  I’d rather eat this*.  But if you’re feeling generous, go ahead and share it with your wolf, or your flame, or your rake.

[PS. Giveaway, as promised, will be announced in my next post--stay tuned!]

*Okay, not really. If I had to choose between a sweet tofu scramble and my sweet HH, of course the HH would win out.  But just barely.

Sweet Scramble with Carob-Raisin Biscuits

based on an idea in The Breakfast Book by Diana Terry

This dish makes a lovely first course for a brunch, and looks fairly impressive, too.  If your biscuits are not the rakish kind, then just serve them in a basket with jams and spreads alongside the scramble. Add a crisp, green salad, for a full meal.

1 small onion, chopped fine

2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) extra virgin olive oil, preferably organic

1/4 cup plus 2 Tbsp. (90 ml.) natural smooth almond butter

2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) tahini (sesame seed paste)

1/4 tsp. (1 ml.) turmeric

2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) nutritional yeast

1/8 tsp. fine sea salt

zest of one large orange, preferably organic

juice of one large orange (about 1/3 cup or 80 ml.)

1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) pure maple syrup

1/4 cup (60 ml.) water

1/4 cup (60 ml.) fresh parsley, chopped fine

1 block (about 400 g.) firm or extra-firm tofu (the kind in its own plastic wrapper, not in a tub filled with water)

4-6 biscuits, warm (you can use my recipe, below, or another one)

In a large frypan, heat the oil over medium heat.  Add the onion and sauté over medium-low heat, stirring often, until onions soften and begin to caramelize, 10-15 minutes.

While the onions cook, combine the almond butter, tahini, turmeric, nutritional yeast, sea salt, zest, juice, maple syrup and water in a small bowl.  Whisk to create a creamy sauce.

Rinse the tofu and crumble it into scrambled-egg-like bits, or dice into small cubes.  (If you have time, you can press it first to remove some of the moisture, but this isn’t necessary). 

Once the onions are cooked, pour the sauce into the pan and top with the tofu.  Stir to coat all the tofu bits with sauce.  Add the parsley and stir it into the mixture. Reduce heat to low, cover and cook until heated through, 3-5 minutes. 

Cut the biscuits in half and place the bottoms on single-serving plates.  Spoon a generous serving of the tofu over the bottom and cover each with the tops, at–you guessed it–a rakish angle. Makes 4-6 servings.

Carob and Raisin Biscuits

1/4 cup plus 2 Tbsp. (90 ml.) plain or vanilla soy or almond milk

2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) extra virgin olive oil, plus more for brushing tops

1/2 tsp. (2.5 ml.) apple cider vinegar

1 tsp. (5 ml.) Sucanat or other unrefined evaporated cane juice

1/3 cup (35 g.) raisins

1/2 cup (70 g.) whole spelt flour

1/4 cup (35 g.) light spelt flour

1/4 cup (35 g.) carob powder

1 tsp. (5 ml.) cinnamon

2 tsp. (10 ml.) baking powder

1/4 tsp. (1 ml.) fine sea salt

Preheat oven to 425F (220C).  Line a cookie sheet with parchment paper, or spray with nonstick spray.

In a small bowl, whisk together the soymilk, oil, vinegar and Sucanat. Add the raisins and stir to coat them with the liquid mixture; set aside.

In a medium bowl, sift together the flours, carob powder, cinnamon, baking powder and salt.  Pour the wet mixture over the dry and stir just until the mixture comes together in a soft dough. 

Using a large ice cream scoop or 1/3 cup measuring cup, scoop the dough onto the cookie sheet 2 inches (5 cm.) apart.  Wet your palms and flatten each biscuit slightly. 

Bake in preheated oven for 10 minutes, then remove the pan and brush the tops of the biscuits with more olive oil.  Rotate the pan and bake another 5-10 minutes, until the biscuits are well browned and dry.  Allow to cool about 5 minutes before removing to a rack to cool completely.  Makes 4-5 biscuits. May be frozen.

Last Year at this Time:  Raw Almond-Veggie Pâté

© 2009  Diet, Dessert and Dogs

Now, I realize I promised a light and not-too-filling recipe today, but before we get to that, I must share something very rich and decadent and–because I ate most of it in one sitting–rather filling: the Peppermint Ritter Sport bar I won (a while ago, now) in Amey’s contest!

I received the bar in the mail a couple of weeks ago, and was thrilled to rip open the envelope and find that it reached me in perfect condition–all the way from California! While a couple of the squares had broken apart, the smooth, white, minty filling remained enclosed in the chocolate and every piece was perfectly edible.  And believe me, eat it I did (well, I shared–just a wee bit–with the HH). 

I also loved that the entire wrapper was in German!  Here in Toronto, anyway, the Ritter Sports we get have multiple languages on the wrappers, including French and English.  It made Amey’s seem much more authentic.  Thanks so much, Amey!  It’s always so exciting to get something fun in the mail, and that bar is a definite new favorite.  (Wow, I think I’m a little overwhelmed with all the goodies I’ve received in the mail from other bloggers these past few months!  Have I mentioned lately that you guys are THE BEST??!)

And after dessert. . . . breakfast!

A couple of weeks ago, I went out for brunch with my friend PR Queen to celebrate both our birthdays, which are a month apart. (Yes, this really was the birthday that refused to surrender!)

In any case, we went to an upscale vegan resto called Fressen, where the food is stellar (and the prices are equally astronomical). I relished my fresh beet, apple and carrot juice; salad of baby greens and balsamic-dijon dressing; and stuffed tofu omelet.  But I just couldn’t see myself going there on a regular basis, mostly because (a) it’s right in the heart of the Queen West area of Toronto, just a minim too trendy, too grungy and too crowded for my taste; (b) Queen West is right in the heart of the general downtown in Toronto, a 35-minute drive away at the best of times, but more like an hour-plus when there’s traffic; (c) the prices there are, as I mentioned, bordering on the stratosphere; and (d) if I kept eating brunch there on a regular basis, I’d be denying myself the challenge of re-creating the same brunch at home.  Which, because I’m just wacky that way, I endeavored to do the very next weekend.

First, I suppose I should pause here to admit that, for most of my life, I have been severely Ovule-Challenged.  Whether soft boiled, sunny-side up, over easy, or any other way, I never did master egg cooking skills.  And omelets add yet another layer of difficulty: the perfect (egg) omelet is meant to be uniformly puffy and light, all in one piece, possessing a slightly gooey interior that I’ve always found rather gag-inducing. Even when the HH and I were first together and I attempted omelets on a regular basis, my egg oeuvres (or would that be oeufres?) would invariably crack and split and wilt like leaves on my sorely neglected ficus plant every time I tried to flip them, resulting in breakage and a pan housing three or four large, ragged-edge slabs of egg, sprawled at odd angles. I’d end up stirring the mixture furiously, ultimately transforming it into a semi-scramble and calling it frittata.  It wasn’t long before the HH took over omelet duty.  He’s never had a problem whipping one up (literally); and, to this day, he cooks an omelet for himself almost every Sunday. 

I assumed I’d have more success re-creating that tofu-based Fressen beauty (even though my first attempt at a tofu omelet also lacked that airy, pillowy texture, despite its wonderful flavor). What I loved about the Fressen version was how it seemed both moist and fluffy at the same time; while clearly cooked and browned on the outside, the inside remained soft, creamy, and light as custard. Stuffed with a succulent, rich filling of pesto, caramelized leek and mushrooms, it was a vision to behold: golden and crisp on the outside; vibrant green, tan and walnut-brown on the inside.  And the flavor!  The perfect edible mixture of woodsy, grassy, and airy. I wanted more!  

Given its ultra-light texture, I surmised that the omelet included silken tofu along with the firm. I’d already mastered pesto during the summer when my experimental home-grown basil flourished so remarkably; and while we didn’t have leeks in the fridge, we did have an abundance of onions, which served as a servicable replacement.

I created the omelet base by adapting the generic recipe in Joni Marie Newman’s  Cozy Inside, with several adjustments and additions.  I used home-made pesto, but you could just as well use store-bought.  The rest of it comes together in a flash. 

While the result wasn’t quite as fluffy as I’d hoped it would be, this did render a reasonable facsimile of the original.  Great for a brunch at home after a holiday feast, and an especially tasty way to economize and avoid those sky-high restaurant bills .

Given the cilantro-based pesto filling, I thought this would be a good submission to Weekend Herb Blogging, the event run by Haalo over at Cook (Almost) Anything Once, and this week hosted by Scott over at Real Epicurean.

(Quick–try saying that title out loud ten times!). 

After staying up too late watching Tina Fey’s masterwork on Saturday evening, the HH and I woke up late Sunday–perfect excuse for brunch! As I rooted through the refrigerator for inspiration, I came across a half-full container of soy yogurt.  Now, you may recall that I was all high and mighty (though not as high and mighty as Tina Fey) last week, feeling pretty darned smug about how I cook everything from scratch, would never buy anything processed, yadda yadda yadda.  Well, isn’t it ironic, then, that I happened to have this soy yogurt glaring at me from the top shelf of my fridge?  True, I bought it originally at the behest of my friend PR Queen, who’d been extolling the virtues of this particular brand to me (and it did come in very handy for my mock tuna).  In this case, I promised to try out the strawberry flavor, and while it was. . . .okay. . . . I wasn’t crazy about it. I knew I’d never consume it “straight” the way I would dairy yogurt.  So I began to wonder what else I could conjure with it.

The first item I baked was a brownie–and not just any brownie–this one was superlative, and I’ll post about it anon (Oh, vague recollection of ACD!  Wherefore art thou, ACD, and why hast thou forsaken me, and I forsaken thee?) Anyway, I thought I might combine the strawberry yogurt with sliced bananas for an ultra airy, fluffy pancake.  I imagined the yogurt would react much like buttermilk in the recipe, creating a feather-light texture and fine crumb.  I was salivating at the very thought. (“Mum, we could salivate at the thought, too, you know–we sort of can’t help it.  Just ask Pavlov.“)  

In the home of my childhood, pancakes were a big deal.  In fact, brunch on Sundays were basically sacrosanct in our house; it was the only meal of the week we could all share together as a family (my dad worked 6 days a week in his butcher shop–yep, that’s right, he was a butcher!–and generally left in the morning before we kids were awake, then didn’t return home until well beyond 7:00 or 8:00 PM, after completing deliveries. But he didn’t work on Sundays, so that day was reserved for our family meal). 

No matter what my sisters or I had planned for the rest of the day, no matter how much we’d sobbed the night before watching Susan Hayward in I Want To Live on the Late Show, no matter how much we’d shrieked and bopped and hurled pieces of toast at the screen during  The Rocky Horror Picture Show, no matter how many Pina Coladas we’d downed while dancing with our buddies at the local disco, we were still expected to be on time at the brunch table on Sunday.  And since Dad was an early riser, “brunch” might begin anywhere from 8:30 to 10:00AM.  To their credit, my parents never said a word when we stumbled to the table looking less than perky. 

Occasionally, my mother would whip up a “treat,” what she called Cottage Cheese Pancakes (no points for creativity there–they were pancakes that contained cottage cheese).  Compared to our regular brunch pancakes, which were thick, fluffy, and mile-high, the cottage cheese variety were more like a yawn than a sigh: heavier, moister, and, to my mind, far less refined.  The first time you tried them, you might even wonder whether they were entirely cooked, as the outsides appeared bronzed and dry, yet the innards never quite lost their cheesy, gooey moistness. 

When I cooked up my own cakes this past Sunday and dug into the first bite, I was taken aback by the memory of those cottage cheese pancakes.  To begin with, they weren’t quite as high and fluffy as I’d expected, more like a cross between a pancake and a crêpe (a pancrêpe?).  Not entirely flat, yet with a slightly moist interior (courtesy of the yogurt), creamy and sweet where dotted with nearly-caramelized banana, these rounds were appealing enough to munch on their own, yet not so sweet to be cloying when served with syrup or jam (such as the all-fruit strawberry preserves with which I topped them).  They were also, coincidentally, most astonishingly good, and the HH and I enjoyed a couple of them each alongside our weekend tofu scramble. 

In the end, I wasn’t sure what to call these cakes.  I decided to go simply with “cakes,” which reflects their connection to both pancakes and griddle cakes from my childhood.  A delicious combination of fruit and cake; seemed like the perfect breakfast to me. 

And since these cakes contain not one, but two whole grain flours, I’m sending this off to Aparna from My Diverse Kitchen, who’s hosting  “Grains in my Breakfast” for Weekend Breakfast Blogging (an event started by Nandita at Saffron Trail).

[Quick Cookbook Note: THANKS SO MUCH, everyone, for your wonderful comments and support regarding the cookbook!  And thanks to all the volunteers who asked to be testers. I'm wrapping up the paperwork and will contact the testers this week! I really appreciate everyone's input and feedback, testers or not--so keep those comments coming!]

Banana Berry Breakfast Cakes

1 cup (240 ml.) strawberry soy yogurt (I used this brand)

1/2 cup (120 ml.) plain soymilk or almond milk

1 Tbsp. (30 ml.) finely ground flax meal

2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) light agave nectar

2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) sunflower or other light-tasting oil, preferably organic

1 tsp. (5 ml.) pure vanilla extract

1/2 tsp. (2. 5 ml.) apple cider vinegar

1 banana, thinly sliced

3/4 cup (110 g.) light spelt flour

1/2 cup ( g.) whole oat flour (or grind oats in a coffee grinder to a fine powder)

2 tsp. (10 ml.) baking powder

1/2 tsp. (2.5 ml.) baking soda

pinch sea salt

In a medium bowl, whisk together the yogurt, soymilk, flax, agave nectar, oil, vanilla and apple cider vinegar.  Gently stir in the bananas; set aside while you measure the dry ingredients, or at least 2 minutes.

In a large bowl, sift the flours, baking powder, baking soda and salt.  Stir briefly to combine.  Pour the wet mixture over the dry and stir just to mix (it’s okay if a few small lumps remain here or there).

Using a large ice cream scoop or 1/3 cup (80 ml.) measuring cup, pour the batter onto a warmed nonstick frypan (try to include at least a couple of slices of banana in each pancake).  Cook over medium heat for 4-5 minutes, until the bubbles on the surface of the pancakes begin to pop and the edges of the cakes appear dry. Flip the cakes and cook another 3-4 minutes on the other side, until golden.  Serve immediately.  Makes 8-10 pancakes. May be frozen.

* [or Concasse, if you prefer the more conventional term. . . but I just loved the word "tracklement" ever since I read it on Lucy's blog, and besides, "Tomato Tracklement" is just so much more alliterative.]

Last weekend was our Canada Day holiday, and this year I learned an important lesson.  No, it wasn’t “Canada is 141 years old” (even though it was).  Uh-uh, it wasn’t “Canada is a vast and picturesque, multicultural and welcoming country in which to live” (I already knew that one).  Nope, not even ”Although Canada is a vast and picturesque, multicultural and welcoming country in which to live, a summer full of rain really sucks–almost as much as a typical Canadian winter.” And finally, nay, it also wasn’t “The Girls are still scared of fireworks” (really, talk about stating the obvious). 

No, dear readers, the all-important lesson I learned this past weekend was simply this:

Never (and I mean never) attempt to drive across the province at the beginning of a long July 1st weekend.

Elementary, you say?  Well, for some reason, the HH and I, despite 10 years of trekking from Toronto to Montreal and back on a regular basis, have never traveled that particular stretch of the 401 on the long Canada Day weekend.  This year, with my dad turning 87, we decided it was a necessity.  

Big mistake.

BIG.

The 500-kilometre (about 315 mile) drive usually takes us between 4.5 and 6 hours, depending on (A) time of departure; (B) weather conditions; (C) who’s driving; (D) number of rest stops; and (E) traffic.  This past weekend, our multiple-choice answer was overwhelmingly, “E,” or really, more like, “EEEEEeeeeee!!!”  To be precise, eight hours’ worth of “E.”

As we slid out of the city and onto the highway, I sensed a barely perceptible increase in the volume of vehicles on the road.  Then, within about five minutes, it became painfully clear: everyone and their canines were heading off to the cottage for the long weekend.  And us?  No cottage; no canines (The Girls were happily ensconced at the doggie daycare for the weekend); and no discernible movement on the roads.  I’d completely forgotten our route included a short span of terrain known as ”cottage country” (also known, as the Barenaked Ladies recently reminded us in song, as “Peterborough and the Kawarthas“).  And there we were, the HH and I, motionless amid all the eager, impatient, fidgety and perspiring boaters, gardeners, waterskiers and Barbeque-ers, our wheels moving barely a quarter turn every 10 minutes or so.

Even if we could afford one, I doubt we would actually buy a cottage (and this has nothing to do with the fact that the HH is a role model for ”don’t do it yourself-ers”).  Still, I do treasure memories of spending summers at various country houses when I was a kid.  My parents couldn’t afford a cottage, either, but in those days, rentals were abundant and reasonably priced, and didn’t require reservations a year in advance (one summer, in fact, I clearly remember my parents discussing the possibility of escaping the city on the very evening school let out; by the following afternoon, I’d tossed my report card in the closet, pulled my collection of comic books out instead, and we were on the road toward our temporary summer home).

In those days, my parents rented a house through July and August.  They’d pack up the family (my two sisters, our cocker spaniel, Sweeney, and I) in the back of my dad’s station wagon-cum-butcher shop delivery van, and off we went to our rudimenatry cabin in the woods, sans modern amenities or TV. Along with the other husbands, my father helped us settle in the first weekend, then headed back to the city (and his store) during the week, while the rest of us hung around with the moms and kids until the men returned each Friday evening. For five days a week, the wives managed to keep things running smoothly, demonstrating both independence and resourcefulness; yet every Friday, they mysteriously reverted to squeaky voices, soft entreaties and deference, much as early feminists must have done when their soldier-husbands returned from the front.  

In the intervals free from paternal presence, we children would run barefoot along the roadside, plucking thick, flat blades of crabgrass to grip securely between tightly pressed thumbs, then huffing and blowing our makeshift whistles, our postures in supplication to nature.  We’d seek out the other kids whose parents rented homes around the same lake, for day-long games of hide-and-seek, for building sand forts at the lakeside, or for throwing sticks to Sweeney and the other dogs (who, bored with our weak attempts at “fetch,” would lope off and sleep under porches, squirrel-hunt in the woods, or, toward evening, launch a stealth attack on the hotdogs piled on plates beside the Bar-B-Q’s).

By the end of the season, we’d worn ourselves out with outdoor games, our limbs buff and bronzed in variegated strips of earthtone after two months of shifting sleeve lengths.  All the books I’d brought were read and forgotten; I’d colored and drawn and written in my journal about my adventures; my younger sister and I had picked countless plastic sandbuckets full of wild blueberries from the hill at the end of town; and we were, finally, ready to go home.

One of my fondest memories is the drive back south, passing field after field of farmers’ corn as it just approached ripeness.  The long, elegant leaves swished and swayed in the breeze like our own welcoming committee, a troupe of Hawaiian dancers greeting tourists as they disembark from the plane.  By the time school resumed, we were eating fresh cobs of corn with our dinners, juice trailing down our chins and our cheeks flecked with wayward bits of yellow like reverse freckles on our tanned faces.

I reminisced about that incomparable corn as I contemplated Pancakes on Parade, the event hosted by Susan of The Well Seasoned Cook.  I had already decided (though I love sweet pancakes and make them whenever there’s an excuse) that I wanted to do something savory for this event.  Corn cakes are a long-time favorite, and they seemed the perfect choice.  And while there’s nothing quite like a plump, fresh cob of grilled or steamed corn, juicy and sweet and eaten with the same enthusiasm usually reserved for long-absent lovers, sometimes it’s just impossible to acquire the fresh kind.   That’s when frozen, or even canned (heresy!) come in handy.

The crêpes are based on a recipe I created a few years ago for a brunch event.  This time, however, I decided to pair them with a sweet and tart tomato concasse, and the combination improved the overall effect considerably.  The tracklement cooks up really quickly, in just the right amount of time to serve alongside the crêpes.  Savor these right away, or wrap up for later consumption–they’d make a great snack if you ever find yourself stuck on the highway for eight hours or so.

Corn Crêpes with Quick Tomato Tracklement

A savory pancake with occasional bursts of sweetness in juicy corn kernels, these are great with the accompanying tomato concasse for brunch or light dinner. Or use with other savory spreads such as hummus or avocado mayonnaise.

3 Tbsp. (45 ml.) sunflower or other light-tasting oil

1 c. (240 ml.) unsweetened soy milk or almond milk

1 tsp. (10 ml.) apple cider vinegar

1/2 cup (120 ml.) corn kernels, freshly cooked, frozen or canned (drained)

1/2 cup (120 ml.) water, vegetable broth or liquid from canned corn

1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) finely ground flax seeds

1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) agave nectar

3/4 c. (105 g.) light spelt flour

3 Tbsp. (45 ml.) organic cornmeal

3/4 tsp. (3.5 ml.) baking powder

1/4 tsp. (1.5 ml.) baking soda

1/4 tsp. (1. 5 ml.) sea salt

1 tsp. (10 ml.) dried dill weed or 1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) fresh dill, chopped

1/4 tsp. (1.5 ml.) smoked paprika

In a medium bowl, combine the oil, soymilk, vinegar, corn kernels, water, flax seeds, and agave nectar. Mix well and set aside while you prepare the dry ingredients, or at least 2 minutes.

In a large bowl, sift the flour, cornmeal, baking powder, soda, and salt.  Add the dill and paprika and mix well. 

Pour the wet mixture over the dry and stir just to blend (a few small lumps may remain here and there; this is as it should be.  The batter will be thin).

Heat a small nonstick or cast iron frypan over medium heat.  Using about 1/2 cup (120 ml.) batter per crepe, fill the pan and tilt if necessary to coat the bottom of the pan evenly. Allow 4-5 minutes before flipping the crepe (it is ready to turn when bubbles appear and pop on the top surface, creating little “craters,” and the edge of the crepe looks dry).  Cook briefly on the second side, only enough to dry the surface, about one minute.

Keep cooked crepes warm while you continue with the rest of the batter. Serve immediately.  Makes about 6 large or 20 small crepes.

Tomato Tracklement

1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) extra virgin olive oil

2 cloves garlic, minced

1/2 onion, chopped

4 plum tomatoes, skinned and chopped fine

1 tsp. (5 ml.) dried basil or 1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) fresh, finely chopped

2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) red wine vinegar

2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) sucanat or unrefined sugar

1/8 tsp. cayenne pepper

1/8 tsp. sea salt

In a small saucepan, heat the oil over medium-high heat.  Add the onion and garlic and sauté until the onion is translucent, about 5 minutes.  Add the basil and cook for one more minute.  Add remaining ingredients and continue to cook over medium-high heat, stirring frequently, until most of the liquid has evaporated and the condiment is thick and almost smooth, 10-15 minutes.  Serve warm or at room temperature over corn crepes, bread or crackers.  Makes about 3/4 cup.

Thanks, everyone, for all your wonderfully supportive and encouraging comments about the osteopenia diagnosis.  I’ve been boning up on the topic (sorry-ouch) and have some great recipe ideas to share in the next while (and even one today).  I’ll also get to my responses asap. . . sorry I’ve fallen behind a bit!

Last week, out of nowhere, I made a monumental resolution.  Flushed with excitement, I rushed home from work and announced to the HH, ”I have a great idea. I think we should be more spontaneous from now on.”

He appeared flummoxed (this happens all too often when I make my pronouncements, it seems). ”Okay, so now we’re making plans to be spontaneous?” 

Hmmn.  I SO hate it when he’s right.

“Well, how about this, smarty pants?” I countered. ”I went grocery shopping today and I spontaneously bought these overripe tomatoes on sale, even though I had no specific plans to cook anything with them.”  Touché!

“Oh, well, then, that settles it,” he capitulated.  “You’ve convinced me. Okay, let’s go to Paris for dinner!’ 

Foiled again. But did he have to look so darned smug about it?

Well, this past weekend, I am proud to say, I did manage some spontaneous fun.  My friend Eternal Optimist rang me late Friday afternoon with an invitation for the HH and me to attend a show at the local Yuk Yuk’s Comedy Club–to which she just happened to have free passes! 

Well, without a second’s hesitation, I told her, ”Um, I’ll just have to call and check with the HH to be sure he hasn’t booked anything else. Oh, and then I’ll have to walk The Girls. Oh, and feed them. Oh, yeah, and after that, I’ll just finish cooking tonight’s dinner before I wrap up a few things for work–but hey, if I can manage to get all that done before the show tonight, then heck, YEAH! I’M THERE!” Whoo-hoo!  I love this unfussy, impromptu, last-minute socializing!

Okay, I’ll concede that I may not be the most spontaneous person in the world–but with good reason.  In the faraway days of (non-alcoholic) wine and roses–in other words, high school–my best friend Sterlin was sleeping over at my house one late-October weekend when my parents were out of town.  As we sat, eyes transfixed on the TV (I think Dallas was on), our friends Gary and Jackie dropped in unexpectedly (how spontaneous of them!).  They invited us out to the local Dunkin Donuts.  It was late; we were tired; but then, they made us an offer we absolutely could not refuse:

“Okay,” Jackie challenged, “If you two come out right now as you are, the donuts and coffee are our treat. “  Had we heard correctly? TREAT? No matter that our garb at the moment was our flannel nighties; no matter that it was 11:15 PM; FREE donuts?  FREE coffee?  We flung a blanket round our shoulders and hopped in the car!

Once there, of course, the rules changed (these were, after all, seventeen year-old boys.)  “Okay, we’ll still treat you,” Gary announced, “but you have to go in there without us and buy the donuts.” In our nighties. With a blanket wrapped around us. Would we possibly be that gullible?  Well, we were, after all, seventeen year-old girls.

I’m sure you’ve guessed the end of the story.  The second we exited the car–scree-eech!–they were off like–well, like two seventeen year-old boys in their father’s car.  And we were left abandoned, streetlights trained on us like the spotlight at a prison lineup, at 11:30 at night, in the middle of Dunkin Donuts’ parking lot, wearing flannel nighties and a blankie.

So you see why I’m perhaps a bit spontaneity-shy these days. 

Despite my adolescent trauma, I did end up joining the EO on Friday–solo, as it turned out, since the HH was felled by a major cold and didn’t feel up to it.  It was actually a most enjoyable evening: the show was hilarious and I really appreciated being able to share some long overdue “Gal Time” with my buddy.

This morning, browsing through my Google Reader subscriptions, I came across this mention of Dreena Burton’s Carob Pancakes on Trust My Intuition’s blog.  The description of these was so enticing that I decided–entirely extemporaneously!–to whip up a batch of my own devising. I vaguely remembered learning in nutrition school that carob is (surprisingly) high in calcium; so, with my newfound attraction to all things spine-supporting, I threw together a combination that was both appealing and brimming with bone building nutrients. 

The resulting pancakes were extraordinarily light and fluffy, with a cakelike texture (versus the sometimes damp, heavy griddle cakes you’re served in restaurants).  Carob on its own is slightly sweet, so you may not feel the need for maple syrup on these; in fact, we had ours with syrup, and I could easily have omitted it (if you spread with almond butter instead, you’d be adding even MORE calcium!).  The carob flavor is subtle and melds beautifully with the soft pockets of sticky, luscious date.  (and don’t worry–even if your dates are stiff to begin with, the cooking process will soften them). For nutritional info, see my calculations after the recipe instructions.

I adored these pancakes.  Made with carob, they were even safe for The Girls to taste a bite or two. (“We loved those pancakes, Mum! Let’s have pancakes every day!”) Unfortunately, the poor HH couldn’t really taste these at all, since his congested sinuses have dampened his sense of smell. (“Sorry Dad’s sick–but since he didn’t like them, can we eat his, then?”) 

I may not be having dinner in Paris any time soon, but here in Toronto, these made one very delicious–and spontaneous–breakfast. One that would beat Dunkin Donuts, any day.

Carob and Date Pancakes

Feel free to change the fruits in these cakes if you prefer something else.  Next time, I’ll likely make these with chopped prunes, as I’ve been told they’re also good for improving bone health (thanks, Andrea!)  P.S. When I said these are light and fluffy, I meant it–that’s only 3 pancakes in the photo, above!

1-3/4 cups plain or vanilla soy milk

2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) ground flax seeds

2 tsp. apple cider vinegar

1/4 c. (60 ml.) sunflower oil or other light-tasting oil

2 Tbsp. (30 ml.) pure maple syrup

2/3 cup (165 ml.) chopped dates

2 cups (280 g.) whole spelt flour

3 Tbsp. (45 ml.) carob flour or powder

1 Tbsp. (30 ml.) baking powder

1/2 tsp. (2.5 ml.) baking soda

1/4 tsp. (1.5 ml.) sea salt

1/4 tsp. (1.5 ml.) ground cardamon, optional

chopped pecans, for garnish

In a small bowl, combine the soymilk, flax seeds, vinegar, oil, maple syrup and chopped dates.  Set aside while you measue the dry ingredients, or at least 2 minutes.

In a large bowl, sift the flour, carob powder, baking powder, soda, salt, and cardamon, if using.  (Note: even if you don’t normally sift your flour, you should sift the carob powder, as it tends to clump up in the batter otherwise, leaving little lumps of carob).

Pour the wet mixture over the dry and mix well.  It may seem a bit thin; this is as it should be.

Heat a frypan over medium heat; spray with olive oil or nonstick spray.  Using a  1/4 cup (60 ml.) measuring cup or an ice-cream scoop, scopp the batter (taking care to include a few bits of date in each cupful) and pour onto hot pan.  Spread a little with the back of the scoop to create an even thickness. 

Cook the pancakes until bubble break on the surface and the outside edge is dry and just beginning to brown (3-4 minutes).  Flip and cook the other side 2-3 more minutes.  Repeat until all the batter is used. Makes about 12 pancakes.  Garnish with chopped pecans just before serving, if desired. These may be frozen.

NUTRIENT ANALYSIS: [Note:  I used this program to determine the nutrient content (does anyone know of a better one?).  Since it doesn't have spelt flour OR enriched soymilk as options, these numbers used whole wheat flour and plain soymilk; the calcium--and most other nutrients--will increase if you calculate with spelt and enriched milk.]

Per serving of 2 pancakes: Calories: 330; Protein: 8 grams; Fiber: 9 grams; Calcium: 215 mg.

[This recipe will also appear in my upcoming cookbook, Sweet Freedom, along with more than 100 others, most of which are not featured on this blog.  For more information, check the "Cookbook" button at right, or visit the cookbook blog.]

[NB: A huge "THANK YOU" to all of you who sent good wishes my way yesterday. I really wasn't intending to sound so "woe-is-me" (I do that quite enough around the diet issues, thank you), but just reflecting on how the day could elicit positive vibes for all concerned.  Your comments sure worked toward that end for me, though: big hugs to all of you! ]

In my mind, here’s the perfect way to wake up on a Sunday morning: 

Outside, the weather is balmy. A mild breeze whispers through the slightly opened window, curtains undulating softly with each invisible breath.  The sun makes its presence known through the diaphanous curtain as it tickles the pillows of our bed with little sparkles of laughing light. Elsie pads quietly over to my side of the bed and, as gently as a rose petal floating to the ground, taps my open palm with her soft, moist nose. I open my eyes slowly. Glancing toward the window, I stretch luxuriously and think, ”Ahh, yes! Another lovely, sunny Sunday! This is a perfect time to have. . . BREAKFAST.” 

Unfortunately, the reality yesterday morning was more like this scenario:

It’s dark; the cold, clammy night air refuses to release its death grip on the house, barreling its way into the room through the open window.  Thin and defenseless, the curtains ripple and flap, rousing me with their wistful ”flltt, flltt, fllllltttt” tapping an SOS against the pane.  Chaser thumps enthusiastically over to my side of the bed and, with a serviceable impersonation of an approaching foghorn, targets my exposed ear with her wet, cold nose. My eyes pop awake and dart toward the window: monochrome grey sky, raindrops still clinging to the glass. Outside, there’s a constant flutter of leaves pelted by rain.  I jerk upright, reach for the bedside lamp and lament, “Aaarrghh!  Another crappy, rainy, gloomy Sunday.” But wait; pause. My smile returns, and I reconsider: ”Oh, well.  Typical Toronto day. But at least it’s time for–BREAKFAST!”

Like bright copper kettles and whiskers on kittens, breakfast does seem to make everything a little better, doesn’t it?

Well, as soon as I read about the second Recipe Remix blog event, hosted by Robin of Made with Love and Danielle of Make No Little Meals, I knew I had to enter. The event focuses on breakfast foods, asking bloggers to “remix” a traditional food in a new way.  Admittedly, the breakfast pickings were pretty slim (ah, if only I could say as much for my thighs): six dishes, five of which contained eggs, and all of which contained wheat–both no-no’s for this brekkie lover.  Initially, I narrowed the choice down to pancakes, crepes, or French toast. 

Now, as much as I love pancakes and crepes, I’d already dealt with both of those on this blog. Time for a new challenge.  But why, oh why did it have to be French toast?  I hate French toast.  Okay, maybe that’s being slightly dishonest.  The truth is, I TOTALLY, WHOLLY, ENTIRELY, COMPLETELY, ABSOLUTELY hate French toast. Can’t stand it. Never touch the stuff. Blech! French Toast is my mortal enemy! And I’m really not particularly fond of it, either.

I’m not sure why I developed this bone-chilling aversion to what is, arguably, a well-loved (and certainly popular) breakfast staple.  Perhaps it was my mother’s tendency to use approximately half a tub of margarine when frying the stuff, resulting in that previously unknown breakfast delicacy, Deep Fried Brick.  Despite the slices fairly floating in grease like aging Floridians at the pool, the toast inevitably still turned out slightly scorched on the outside.  At that point, my mom would stack the slabs on a plate (no blotting on a paper towel for her!) and douse them in corn syrup. The heavy, unctuous substance would spread, a slowly oozing blob that was eventually absorbed by the top slice, leaving it wet, weighted, and about as appetizing as a kitchen sponge just lifted from the bucket of grey, murky, muddy water. Ooh, yum. French toast, anyone?

I knew had to get over my childhood toast trauma.  I decided to approach it like an episode of Iron Chef: I’d been challenged to transform the lowly pain grillé into something mouth-watering, something delectable.  Was I up to the task?  Alas, I couldn’t think of anything.  I was at a loss; I was afraid I’d blow it.  In fact, I was certain I’d be. . . well, toast.

But this blog event was called Recipe REMIX, which meant I had carte blanche to change up the dish any way I wanted.  And who ever said that French Toast has to be fried?  In fact, it was the preparation method alone that rendered the stuff unpalatable to me; change the method, change the result.  Eliminating the frying would also result in a lighter, airier product.  I decided to bake the dish instead, after breaking the bread into smaller bits so they could soak up the liquid ingredients while nestled in a single soufflée dish: a French Toast casserole.

Working with a fairly standard (egg- and dairy-free, of course) mixture for soaking French toast, I added a few extra touches, such as a splash of berry liqueur or some mixed berries as a reminder of spring, a means to elicit that sunshine I missed so much in the morning.

As the mixture baked and browned, the bits of bread continued to soak up the batter, expanding and puffing like a male dove preening for a mate.  It rose up so much, in fact, with such a fluffy and almost mousse-like texture, that I decided to call it “French Toast Soufflé.” 

We ate it warm, bites of spongy, soft bread punctuated with bursts of juicy berries; but it could easily be served cold.  And while I didn’t have time to make any soy-free whipped cream yesterday, a dollop of cream would be the perfect accompaniment to a bowl of this fruity, light and delectable dish. 

Go on, indulge.  Why not have a big bowl for breakfast? It will make the rest of the day seem that much better.

 French Toast Soufflé with Summer Berries

I think this is what someone like Nigella would call a “summer pudding,” though I’ve never had one of those.  It would be a fabulous dish for a springtime brunch buffet, or even as a dessert following a light summer meal. 

8-10 slices stale sourdough spelt or kamut bread

1/4 cup (60 ml.) old-fashioned rolled oats

2-1/2 cups (620 ml.) vanilla rice or soy milk

1 tsp. (5 ml.) pure vanilla extract

1/2 cup (125 ml.) agave nectar

1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) organic cornstarch or arrowroot powder

2-3 Tbsp. (30-45 ml.) berry liqueur (framboise, cherry, etc.–I used Cloudberry, but it’s pretty rare)

1 Tbsp. (15 ml.) fresh lemon juice or 1/2 tsp. lemon extract

1-1/2 – 2 cups (325 to 500 ml.) fresh or frozen mixed berries

Preheat oven to 350 F (180 C).  Lightly grease a nonreactive (glass or ceramic) pan or soufflé dish.

Break the bread into bite-sized chunks and place in a large bowl.  Set aside.

In a blender, grind the oats until they are the consistency of a coarse meal.  Add the remaining ingredients except for the bread and berries, and blend until smooth.  Pour the mixture over the bread in the bowl, pushing the bread down with the back of a spoon so that all pieces are submerged.  Allow to sit 20-30 minutes, pressing the bread back down occasionally, until the bread is completely soaked through (there may still be liquid left in the bottom of the bowl; this is fine).

When the bread is all soaked, spoon half the bread slices and half the remaining liquid into the prepared pan.  Top with about 2/3 of the mixed berries.  Cover the berries with the rest of the bread and liquid, then top with the last 1/3 of the berries. 

Bake in preheated oven 40-50 minutes, until puffed and golden and a knife inserted in the centre comes out wet but clean.  Allow to cool at least 10 minutes before serving.  Serve warm, at room temperature, or cold.  Makes about 8 servings.  This is best served the day it’s made, though it can be re-heated the next day.

[This recipe will also appear in my upcoming cookbook, Sweet Freedom, along with more than 100 others, most of which are not featured on this blog.  For more information, check the "Cookbook" button at right, or visit the cookbook page.]