That was the drill this morning. As I eased myself into productive wakefulness, the hint of baking wafted into my mind like the smell itself. Gentle, sweet, slowly intensifying - till all there is to do is haul yourself out of bed and head to the kitchen.
Lucky I have the perfect muffin recipe at hand - again, I have Nigella to thank for it. But how could I not keep going back to it? It's so versatile, and I've made it even more user-friendly by lowering the sugar content, and replacing the sour cream with greek yoghurt - something I always have in my fridge.
As for the fruits - I've made these muffins as per the recipe several times, and again at least as many, experimenting with the fruit and flavour combinations. She calls for pear and ginger; I've done apple and cinnamon, blueberry and cinnamon, pear and chocolate - and right now, the aromas of pineapple and coconut are creeping into the very corners of my house. Tropical and summery - and let me assure you, a pineapple half purchased for a dollar from the bargain table at your local greengrocers smells just as sweet.
Nigella's Pear and Ginger Muffins (with my changes in brackets)
Dry ingredients:
250g plain flour
2 teasp baking powder
150g caster sugar (I use raw caster sugar)
75g light brown sugar, plus extra for sprinkling (I omit this entirely)
Wet ingredients:
142ml sour cream (I use greek yoghurt)
125ml vegetable oil
2 eggs
1 tbsp honey
Fruit:
300g chopped pear (or any other fruit equivalent)
1 teasp ground ginger (or other flavour/spice to match your fruit)
Method:
Preheat oven to 200C, and line 12 cup muffin pan with papers or cases.
Mix all dry ingredients in one bowl; mix all wet ingredients in another bowl; then fold wet ingredients through dry ingredients.
Add fruit to mixture and fold through.
Divide evenly into patty cases; if desired, sprinkle tops with a little raw sugar to give some crunch when baked.
Bake for 20 minutes.
Congratulate yourself.
Tuesday, 29 January 2013
Thursday, 31 May 2012
Dark times call for These Measures
As a child I was afraid of the dark. Back in the days when I shared a bedroom with one of my brothers (he in the top bunk, me in the bottom), I remember pleading with him after lights-out to 'stay up half night'. After lengthy whispered conversations in which he would try and make me understand that he just couldn't do that, we found a compromise; he would dangle his arm off the side of his bunk, and I would reach up and hold it. This solution was none too practical for either of us. I progressed to taking comfort from the sight of his dangled arm till eventually, I didn't need the reassurance any more.
These days, darkness makes me think of other things. Mystery. Saturation. Depression. Shadows.
Chocolate.
I'm sure there was a time when I liked milk chocolate; even now I sometimes crave the mouth-coating sweetness of white, not-really-chocolate-at-all chocolate. Case in point: a white chocolate Lindor ball. Exhibit 2: Green & Black's organic white chocolate.
But we're not talking about lightness here. We're talking about dark. And now, in the first of my 'cook' posts, I will share with you my all-time favourite Dark Chocolate Fudge Cake recipe. I've adapted this from my little Womens Weekly chocolate cakes recipe book (original recipe here). I love this recipe because it has no butter in it, but it produces the deepest, darkest cake with a beautifully dense crumb. It's not a mud cake, but it's not airy either. When I get an intense chocolate craving, I make this; when I take that first bite, I wonder why I ever even bother looking at other chocolate cake recipes at all. I have tweaked the eggs - instead of using 2 yolks and 4 whites, I use three of each - no muss, no fuss.
No-Butter Dark Chocolate Fudge cake
85g dark eating chocolate (I use the 60% Cacao Bittersweet Chocolate Baking Chips I bought in bulk from from Costco. They lasted a while, but they're all gone now. I miss them.)
50g cocoa powder
200g firmly packed brown sugar
125ml boiling water
3 egg yolks
30g ground almond
50g wholemeal plain flour
3 egg whites
Preheat oven to moderate (180-190 degrees C). Line base and side of deep 20cm round cake pan with baking paper.
Combine chocolate, cocoa and sugar with the water in large bowl; stir until smooth. Add egg yolks; whisk to combine. Fold in ground almond and flour.
Beat egg whites in small bowl, with electric mixer or by hand, until firm peaks form.
Gently add egg white mixture into chocolate mixture, in two batches; pour into prepared pan.
Bake in moderate oven about 40 minutes. Stand in pan 5 minutes. Turn onto wire rack; remove paper. Savour.
You'll never bake another chocolate cake again.
These days, darkness makes me think of other things. Mystery. Saturation. Depression. Shadows.
Chocolate.
I'm sure there was a time when I liked milk chocolate; even now I sometimes crave the mouth-coating sweetness of white, not-really-chocolate-at-all chocolate. Case in point: a white chocolate Lindor ball. Exhibit 2: Green & Black's organic white chocolate.
But we're not talking about lightness here. We're talking about dark. And now, in the first of my 'cook' posts, I will share with you my all-time favourite Dark Chocolate Fudge Cake recipe. I've adapted this from my little Womens Weekly chocolate cakes recipe book (original recipe here). I love this recipe because it has no butter in it, but it produces the deepest, darkest cake with a beautifully dense crumb. It's not a mud cake, but it's not airy either. When I get an intense chocolate craving, I make this; when I take that first bite, I wonder why I ever even bother looking at other chocolate cake recipes at all. I have tweaked the eggs - instead of using 2 yolks and 4 whites, I use three of each - no muss, no fuss.
No-Butter Dark Chocolate Fudge cake
85g dark eating chocolate (I use the 60% Cacao Bittersweet Chocolate Baking Chips I bought in bulk from from Costco. They lasted a while, but they're all gone now. I miss them.)
50g cocoa powder
200g firmly packed brown sugar
125ml boiling water
3 egg yolks
30g ground almond
50g wholemeal plain flour
3 egg whites
Preheat oven to moderate (180-190 degrees C). Line base and side of deep 20cm round cake pan with baking paper.
Combine chocolate, cocoa and sugar with the water in large bowl; stir until smooth. Add egg yolks; whisk to combine. Fold in ground almond and flour.
Beat egg whites in small bowl, with electric mixer or by hand, until firm peaks form.
Gently add egg white mixture into chocolate mixture, in two batches; pour into prepared pan.
Bake in moderate oven about 40 minutes. Stand in pan 5 minutes. Turn onto wire rack; remove paper. Savour.
You'll never bake another chocolate cake again.
Friday, 18 May 2012
Crochet: what's not to get?
Anyone who knows me, knows I love Nigella - though that love took a test the time I watching the one where she punches a hole in an apple and pops a tea-light candle into it. It wasn't the waste of a perfectly good Granny Smith that got me going; it the throwaway remark that followed. She said that this was about as crafty as she was ever likely to get, before a request to the effect of 'kill me if I ever start crocheting'. Well! After all the time I'd spent defending her talents to non-believers, you can imagine my surprise etc etc. I may have hit the pause button as a time out and had some harsh words with her that night.
I can understand how some people might not get Nigella. But crochet? What's not to get about crochet?
Yes, I know I've already owned up to the fact that I wasn't always mad about it myself, but let me put my former indifference into context:
1) I was a child
2) I was also a tom-boy, and
3) Everyone seemed to only use threads that sat somewhere in the colour spectrum between white and beige.
My recent relapse into to world of crochet happened via a very good friend of mine, Fran at wishthimble. I had always known Fran to be a crafter, and even though I have always owned a sewing machine (having one within reach makes me feel safe in a strange way), I've never really used it for more than repairing jeans and making costumes to wear to parties. I always admired Fran for her interest in crafting in all its forms, and envied her awesome crafting room at the bottom of her lovely courtyard.
Then one day, Fran introduced me to Attic24. The rest is history.
I've got a couple of ideas on the boil at the moment, which will lead up to me opening an Etsy store. Here are some projects I've made to date:
I can understand how some people might not get Nigella. But crochet? What's not to get about crochet?
Yes, I know I've already owned up to the fact that I wasn't always mad about it myself, but let me put my former indifference into context:
1) I was a child
2) I was also a tom-boy, and
3) Everyone seemed to only use threads that sat somewhere in the colour spectrum between white and beige.
My recent relapse into to world of crochet happened via a very good friend of mine, Fran at wishthimble. I had always known Fran to be a crafter, and even though I have always owned a sewing machine (having one within reach makes me feel safe in a strange way), I've never really used it for more than repairing jeans and making costumes to wear to parties. I always admired Fran for her interest in crafting in all its forms, and envied her awesome crafting room at the bottom of her lovely courtyard.
Then one day, Fran introduced me to Attic24. The rest is history.
I've got a couple of ideas on the boil at the moment, which will lead up to me opening an Etsy store. Here are some projects I've made to date:
A granny-square blanket for my niece:
A name wall hanging for the same niece:
A rainbow ripple baby blanket for a friend (also used as a background for this blog):
I'm sure you can understand now why I'm loving crochet again. It's the ultimate in lo-fi instant gratification, and it makes me happy.
What makes you happy?
Monday, 14 May 2012
Happiness, by hook or by cook
Of all the things in the world that (currently) make me happy, the two things I love most?
Crochet and cooking. Happiness, by hook or by cook.
I say ‘currently’ because either activity hasn’t always inspired joy.
I was introduced to crochet when I was a child. My cousin showed me how to hold the hook, how to twirl the thread around my fingers; how to hook the plain thread in and out to transform it into a length of perfect chain links. Then more magic moves made loops and circles, diamonds and pineapples, the possibilities were endless… until I lost interest.
Cooking was something I was protected from till my early teens. My mother shielded me from most forms of housework despite the frowns and tut-tutting of her six sisters. She’ll have to do that stuff for the rest of her life, she’d tell them calmly, so she might as well enjoy herself now. I was never destined to be a Junior Masterchef contender, but that was fine by me – I grew up without television, anyway.
I’m lucky to have been blessed with a mother who is a whizz in the kitchen; while I may not have been cooking as a youngster, watching her cook meant I was definitely not afraid of it. She began teaching me to cook in my early teens. We started gently with milky stove-top chai, then progressed to her charging me with regular cooking tasks, like making the rotis for the family’s breakfast and lunch every weekday morning. Once I started, I loved being in the kitchen – especially since mum’s minimal-housework rules meant I didn’t have to do the cleaning up most of the time.
My love of cooking has endured over the years, waxing and waning like the moon – always there, but sometimes burning more brightly and brilliantly than others. I have a dishwasher in my kitchen now. It eases the pain.
Crochet, on the other hand, was buried under layers and layers of life until quite recently. Those lessons provided by my cousin lay dormant within me like a late-flowering, long-forgotten bulb. They’ve been slowly pushing up toward the sun since then, the first green tips just now breaking the soil, making me curious to see what blossom will follow. They are all different, and they are bright and gorgeous, and they just keep on coming.
I wonder though - does this mean I’ve entered the Autumn of my life..? Meh - who cares. I’m enjoying myself too much to worry :)
Crochet and cooking. Happiness, by hook or by cook.
I say ‘currently’ because either activity hasn’t always inspired joy.
I was introduced to crochet when I was a child. My cousin showed me how to hold the hook, how to twirl the thread around my fingers; how to hook the plain thread in and out to transform it into a length of perfect chain links. Then more magic moves made loops and circles, diamonds and pineapples, the possibilities were endless… until I lost interest.
Cooking was something I was protected from till my early teens. My mother shielded me from most forms of housework despite the frowns and tut-tutting of her six sisters. She’ll have to do that stuff for the rest of her life, she’d tell them calmly, so she might as well enjoy herself now. I was never destined to be a Junior Masterchef contender, but that was fine by me – I grew up without television, anyway.
I’m lucky to have been blessed with a mother who is a whizz in the kitchen; while I may not have been cooking as a youngster, watching her cook meant I was definitely not afraid of it. She began teaching me to cook in my early teens. We started gently with milky stove-top chai, then progressed to her charging me with regular cooking tasks, like making the rotis for the family’s breakfast and lunch every weekday morning. Once I started, I loved being in the kitchen – especially since mum’s minimal-housework rules meant I didn’t have to do the cleaning up most of the time.
My love of cooking has endured over the years, waxing and waning like the moon – always there, but sometimes burning more brightly and brilliantly than others. I have a dishwasher in my kitchen now. It eases the pain.
Crochet, on the other hand, was buried under layers and layers of life until quite recently. Those lessons provided by my cousin lay dormant within me like a late-flowering, long-forgotten bulb. They’ve been slowly pushing up toward the sun since then, the first green tips just now breaking the soil, making me curious to see what blossom will follow. They are all different, and they are bright and gorgeous, and they just keep on coming.
I wonder though - does this mean I’ve entered the Autumn of my life..? Meh - who cares. I’m enjoying myself too much to worry :)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)