Better Cornbread and A DRAMATIC STORY

Last night was supposed to be a Cornbread-remake-relaxed-supper-after-a-day-of-writing-and-watch-the-new-Mindy-Project kind of evening.

YOU GUYS THAT DID NOT HAPPEN. I HAVE DRAMA. OMG DO I HAVE DRAMA.

It must be said. When one does meet one's neighbours, one envisions a pleasant and casual encounter. Coming back from a walk, perhaps, running into them at the general store, or, in my case, bringing over a pie or a batch of cookies.

One does not generally wish to meet them for the first time ass-under their side porch in leggings and wellies, stomach down in the dirt, holding a bag of cat treats, bleeding freely from one hand, hair looking (for once this expression is completely accurate) like one has backed through a hedge and alternately calling the cat's name and crying.

No. No that's not normally how you want things to go.

One also does not plan on the first sentence spoken being [verbatim, mind you]:

"Sh*t. Primrose! Primrose! Oh! Oh hi I'm next door's daughter Beetle I'm sorry we've never been formally introduced it's nice to meet you sorry about this that bastard cat from two streets over had her trapped under your porch and I'm trying to get her out I didn't mean to bust onto your property but I didn't know you were here Primrose! Primrose come here! dammit she's freaking out I hate that goddamn cat.

Let's back up for a minute. THE DRAMA.

As you have perhaps surmised from my above semi-coherent run on sentence, what had happened was the jerkface bully cat from hell that lives somewhere close by had decided in his mean little brain to to force my cat Primrose underneath next door's porch, then stand at the only opening and not let her leave. SERIOUSLY YOU GUYS WHAT KIND OF CAT IS THIS. THAT'S JUST SICK. I HATE THAT CAT. I had been calling her for about two hours and normally she comes in right away (she thinks largely with her stomach, that one) but it was getting dark and windy and she was nowhere to be seen. So I went out in wellies and leggings and my running parka with cat treats shoved in the pockets to find her. I saw the CFH (cat from hell) on next door's porch and (because they are both black and large) thought it was Primrose. I then trespassed into his yard, calling her, only to realise the truth pretty quickly. The CFH fled and I heard Primrose doing that creepy cat moan thing from underneath the porch. The rest, dear reader, as they say, is history.

To his credit. Our neighbour (John? It was a bit of a blur last night.) is a lovely man with the beginnings of a lovely and well organised vegetable garden and the poor guy was genuinely concerned. Though whether it was for my cat or for my (or his own) wellbeing is up for debate. I think he wanted to help, but as anyone with a cat knows, if you're trying to get them down from a tree or out from under a porch, if there is someone in the background they do not know, it's not going to happen. But I felt bad telling him to leave his own backyard. I mean. That's not ok. So I just kind of hemmed and hawed and tried to stuff cat treats in my pockets and bled on his porch railings until he finally went back inside.

SO OBVIOUSLY THE EVENING DID NOT GO AS PLANNED.

When Mum got home from work I was just sitting down to my own dinner, hand bandaged, starving, shaking with rage, and very much NOT emotionally equipped to write about Lemon Thyme Cornbread.

Today, however.

LEMON THYME CORNBREAD REDO

Obviously this was to fix the last cornbread fiasco (see here) and to sort of make up with Martha Stewart after we both said things we weren't proud of. I used my tried and true cornbread recipe this time (huh) and added lemon and thyme to that. The recipe is one I got from Epicurious, and the version I made last night is below.

LEMON THYME CORNBREAD

 

INGREDIENTS

2 cups all-purpose flour

2 tbs baking powder

1 tsp salt

2 cups coarsely grated cornmeal

Juice plus zest of two lemons

2 tbs chopped fresh thyme leaves  

2 cups milk

2 large eggs

2 sticks (1 cup) unsalted butter, softened

 

 

Into a large bowl sift together flour, baking powder, and salt and whisk in cornmeal until combined well. In a bowl whisk together milk and eggs until just combined. Add butter to flour mixture and with an electric mixer beat until mixture resembles coarse meal. Beat in egg mixture until just combined (batter will be thin).

 

Pour batter into pans and bake at 400 degrees until golden and a tester comes out clean, about 50 minutes. Cool corn bread in pans on a rack 10 minutes and turn out onto rack to cool completely.

 

It's the coarse cornmeal that makes all the texture difference. The other stuff is just really powder.
Also sprinkling a bit of extra thyme on top gives it a nice look. But that's just me.

BEETLE NOTES
 



In the layer cake pan.

I took out the sugar, obvs, because cornbread doesn't need sugar. The measurements for lemon and thyme were doubles of the original Martha recipe (that's my peace offering to her). I also used 9-inch layer cake pans (there was enough batter for two) instead of loaf pans, because I wanted a different shape, and honestly who doesn't love a good wedge of cornbread?

 

 

 

 

 

It's such a hearty thing to eat anyway, and a nice thick triangular slab just seems the way it should be served. Preferably with baked beans. Wearing a mobcap. And, you know, in a Pilgrim kitchen next to an open fire with a dog sleeping on your feet.

 

Cut into wedge form.

 

Eat cornbread. Not humans.

 

 

Though not, per the latest news, served with a side of freshly roasted Jamestown resident. I'm actually good without, thanks.