Tea Party Prep - It's Biscuit Time

So we are having a tea party on Saturday. I KNOW IT'S SO EXCITING. The porch is open, the accumulated pollen has been wiped off the floor (god my knees . . . ) and the card table is folded by the door ready to accommodate more guests.

And you know what a Tea Party means.

That's right, boys and girls.

AWESOME BAKING FUN. 

Side, literary note. I am aware that many of you will have Tea Party associations with Alice in Wonderland. For my sake, even if it's a silent association in your own head, please refrain. The reason? I kind of hate that book. Actually, I don't kind of hate it. I properly hate it. I read it, you guys, I can say with authority that I read it and I despised it from start to finish. And I didn't even BOTHER with the movie because a.) It looked absolutely terrifying and b.) If I hated the book that much, why the hell would I bother with the Disney cartoon. And yes, all, I am aware that Tim Burton made another version a few years ago. [I refer you to point A.] Why would I be terrified by this book and/or movie you ask?

Well.

It probably goes back to "lack of control over situations" being the scariest thing I can think of (apart from snakes) but books and/or films that are psychedelic in nature, where reality is distorted, and where things "aren't as they should be" freak me out good and proper. So, Beetle, [you say] why do you like horrific dystopian fantasy so much then, hmm? Well, dear reader, to that I respond I like highly structured horrific dystopian fantasy. As long as it makes temporal, spacial and physical sense, bring it on. But you show me another flamingo playing croquet or that fat ugly Red Queen and I am out of there so fast you won't even notice me leaving.

Films I hate based on the above criteria:
Vertigo (so many fights with my film professor in college)
Alice in Wonderland
Pretty much almost all things by Tim Burton especially including Nightmare Before Christmas [which I TOTALLY thought was going to be cute and funny and holiday-spirit-y but OMG IT'S NOT THAT KIND OF MOVIE AT ALL]
Pretty much anything by Walt Disney especially the early trippy stuff [I'm looking at YOU, Sorcerer's Apprentice with Mickey Mouse about which I still have nightmares.]
All the creepy scenes in The Big Lebowski with giant bowling balls [even though I consider that one of the greatest films ever made, can of course recite it verbatim, and once met Jeff Bridges wearing a tee-shirt that said "The Dude is My Boyfriend."]

BUT

The scariest movie of all time, not even the Tim Burton remake but the original is, HANDS DOWN WINNER, Charlie and The Chocolate Factory. 

You think I'm making this up for comic relief? You try showing me a picture of an oompa loompa. Watch me dissolve into an hysterical mess on the floor, then come wake me up when I have screaming nightmares for the next two weeks. Ask ANYONE who knows me. Scares me to DEATH AND BACK.

It was at a birthday party in first grade, the first time I saw it. Came home totally traumatised and stayed traumatised for quite some time. Few months later, my  teacher announces that for a "treat" we're all going to get to watch Charlie and the Chocolate Factory! Now. I was 4 at that point. (I started a year early.) But 4 or not, I put my tiny Warrior Beetle foot DOWN. I told her I hated it and I wouldn't watch. She couldn't coax me otherwise. Not even with pizza and cupcakes. I flatly refused. Calmly, mind you, but very, very firmly.

Eventually, she gave up and let me sit in the hallway with a stack of picture books whilst my classmates stuffed themselves full of pizza and watched Gene Wilder sing his way through his freaktastical candy house of horrors. (Because that's what it is, you guys, THAT'S WHAT IT IS.)

Later that night she called Mum and explained the situation, figuring Mum might be confused as to why I didn't want to watch a delightful children's film. This is how it went.

Mum: Yeah. She hates it. I hate it too, actually, it's a really creepy movie.

So the end of that insanely long digression is that I don't like Alice in Wonderland and please refrain from openly thinking about it when I mention the phrase Tea Party.

OK BACK TO THE HAPPY TEA PARTY BAKE FEST. 

I bought a new cookbook a few weeks ago called Country Baking by Ken Haedrich (Bantam, 1990). It's awesome. It's pretty much exactly in line with my ideal cooking style: hearty New England farmhouse fare. This is his. It's the recipe I opened the book to in the store, closed it, and brought it to the register. That's how awesome I knew the rest of the book was going to be. And that's the first Tea Party recipe.

BLUE CHEESE CORNMEAL BISCUITS

Can I just say first that the house last night smelled like these and OH MY STARS AND GARTERS it was heavenly.

INGREDIENTS

• 1 2/3 cup unbleached flour
• 1/3 cup yellow cornmeal
• 1 tbs baking powder
• 1/2 tsp salt
• pinch of cayenne pepper
• 3 tbs cold unsalted butter, cut into 1/4-inch pieces
• 1/2 crumbled blue cheese
• scant 2/3 cup milk

In large mixing bowl, stir together the flour, cornmeal, baking powder, salt, and cayenne pepper. Add the butter and blue cheese and cut them into the flour until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs; only little pieces of blue cheese and butter should be visible. 

Cutting in cold butter always makes me nervous. I always think it's just going to  lump together and I'll end up with hunks of cold butter. But this went pretty well. 

Crumbled blue cheese. Same trepidation as butter, above. Same decent results despite fear. 

Make a well in the dry ingredients, add the milk, and stir until the mixture coheres as a firm, dampish mass. Knead the dough once or twice with floured hands, then roll or pat it into a thickness of 3/4 inch on a floured surface. Cut the biscuits and place them on a prepared baking sheet (I used parchment paper, you can oil if you like). Bake at 425 degrees for about 12 minutes, until browned and crusty.

BEETLE NOTES

First I must say that these went down like a house. on. FIRE last night so the recipe is golden. Go make it. Right now. I'm actually thinking that these would be good using other kinds of cheese too, as long as you kept the texture right. I mean, what about Camembert cornmeal biscuits? Or Brie cornmeal biscuits? Hell, we know cheddar biscuits are a thing. What's stopping us, world? What's stopping us?? 

I knew it was going to be awesome. So much so that I doubled the recipe right off the bat. And it gave me about 25 biscuits. Which, for a tea party, means enough for all your guests plus leftovers, which is what you go for. The worst thing in the world when entertaining is not having enough food. (THE HORROR)

I used whole wheat flour because I wanted to give them that little extra depth, and I didn't use the cayenne pepper because cayenne pepper scares me a little bit and I don't know I panicked. Other than that, followed to the letter and it's a beauty. They are cute, easy once you do the whole square biscuit thing, and interesting.  I separated a few that Mum could eat and put the rest in a secret place so that tomorrow when I reach in to put them on a serving plate I don't get a handful of crumbs and an apologetic "oh, I thought there were more in there."

Haedrich includes a note on biscuit cutting at the end of this recipe, which basically says that another way of getting biscuits cut out is to shape the dough into a square or rectangle and cut them that way, like you would a pan of brownies. This a.) prevents the dough from being overworked and means you don't always have scraps at the end and b.) means you don't have to roll it out at all, which saves time, space, and obsessively cleaning flour from various parts of your counter tops afterwards. So, additional points awarded to Mr. Haedrich. I foresee a long and fruitful friendship between us. 

The dough before patting. In the described "firm, dampish mass." Major extra points for use of the word "dampish."

Dough patted into a rough square shape on the baking sheet.

Dough cut into rectangles and spaced a bit to prevent them from baking together. All in all, SUPER easy. 

Pre-baked biscuit squares. Note the visible cornmeal and chunks of blue cheese. That's my baby. 

And post-baking. Same colour, just all yummy and risen and warm. Best bit is that those chunks of blue cheese you saw above? Yeah, melted and gooey. Yep. 

So, dear reader, that's Part 1 of Tea Party Baking Awesomeness. Coming hopefully tomorrow are Carrot Ginger Cake and Drop Sponges. 

Oooo how very British we are being today, drop sponges, my word. I'll be humming God Save the Queen in a little bit. 

Mind you, I did sing Jerusalem whilst I dropped the sponge batter. It seemed the appropriate thing to do. 

In Which I Stuff Peppers with Various Things

Driving up to Maine to visit my Grandmother yesterday, I brought along as reading material two back issues of BBC Food magazine. (I have begun planning Mum's birthday party . . . it takes a lot of planning and planning is something I do really well and which makes me incredibly calm.)

I can't remember whether this was from the Summer Entertaining issue or the Vegetarian issue (it fits in both) but all of a sudden I was faced with pages and pages of ideas for stuffed peppers.

Now, I have held off making peppers in the past because I was under the impression that Mum did not like them. This I have recently discovered is only half true. Where she doesn't like them is raw, in salads or otherwise. Where she does like them is roasted. Armed with that information, and super happy because I LOVE peppers in all states of cooked myself (yay additional dinner possibilities!) I decided that tonight was the night and I was damn well going to make some stuffed, oven roasted peppers. [insert mental image of Mel Gibson yelling "Freedom!" and running across a battlefield in Scotland]

You will notice in these photos that only orange and yellow peppers are involved. That is because Mum and I both share a mutual hatred of green peppers and a mutual ardent dislike for red peppers. It always annoys me in the store when you want to buy a package of peppers that they will insist on including red and green. So I end up making my own package of orange and yellow, which is probably fresher anyway come to think of it. I just think the taste of orange and yellow is so much nicer, sweeter, etc., and also combines so much better with whatever you are making Green and red tend to overpower whatever dish they're in, and that's just selfish of them.

On the whole overpowering taste thing: don't even get me STARTED on how I feel about celery. It's a very, very, very long rant. I once mistakenly bought a $10 container of chopped celery from Eataly in New York because it was right next to the containers of green beans and I was in a rush and not looking and I just grabbed it and went. You can imagine my fury when I got home, all ready to make a yummy green bean salad and realised that not only had I bought CELERY I had BOUGHT CELERY FOR 10 DOLLARS. [insert minor kitchen tantrum here] I refused to eat it, because it's disgusting, but then not only had I completely wasted the money, I also had no green beans with which to make dinner. It was a rather dismal meal, if I remember correctly. I'm pretty sure it involved a tomato and very little else.

Celery tangent, sorry. Back to my peppers.

Yesterday was one of those days that you expect to be warm because they are sunny and breezy and clear, yet you spend the majority of your time semi-freezing until you finally suck it up, accept it's not warm, and go put on another shirt. So I figured stuffed roasted peppers was a good halfway point between a warm and cold weather dish. You always see them in summer menus, but because they were hot-from-the-oven and stuffed with herbs they had definite warming properties. 

Make sense? Good. Glad you're coming with me on this. 

ROASTED PEPPERS STUFFED WITH TOMATOES, ROSEMARY, AND OLIVES

and

ROASTED PEPPERS STUFFED WITH BLACK BEANS AND BASIL

served with sausages, incidentally

It's actually pretty cool that I managed to make a massive dinner out of four small peppers, now that I'm looking through the photos. Huh. Next up, world peace. 

INGREDIENTS

• 4 peppers (2 orange, 2 yellow in this case. If you want to use red and green go right ahead just don't tell me about it later)
• Handful of cherry tomatoes, halved
• 3/4 cup black olives
• 1 can black beans, drained
• fresh basil
• fresh rosemary
• sea salt and black pepper
• olive oil
• sausages, veggie or otherwise (optional)

Some people leave the stems on when they roast peppers and whilst there's nothing inherently wrong with that, I just think it's awkward for the person you're serving to have to cut it out at table later on. It seems just as easy for you to de-stem it with the rest of the prep, and I think it looks just as nice. My two cents, for what it's worth. Continuing . . . 

De-stem the peppers and remove the seeds. Cut them down the middle and clean out all the white bits (whatever they are, I don't like them).

Comme ça.

Fill four of the pepper halves with tomatoes, olives, and rosemary, distributing evenly, adding until all the ingredients are gone. (If you are OCD like me you will do two orange and two yellow. You can do whatever combination your particular neuroses will allow you to do.) Drizzle with olive oil, sprinkle with salt and pepper.

In a bowl, mix drained black beans with basil leaves, salt, and pepper. Spoon the beans into the rest of the peppers. (Use the most cup-like peppers for this, with the highest sides, so that the liquid doesn't go everywhere. But you probably already figured this out.)

Visual definition of a "cup-like pepper half."

Arrange the peppers on foil lined baking sheets. I put the tomato/olive ones on one sheet with the sausages in  the middle, drizzled with olive oil and a bit more rosemary, and the black bean ones on another. 

Bake in the oven at 400 degrees for about 20 minutes until the peppers are soft and starting to collapse, and you can see that they are darkening at the bottom. This is one of those that the cooking time can vary depending on how squishy you want your peppers. If you like 'em REALLY done and squish, leave them in, if you like them still crunchy, pull them out. Your choice, dear reader. 

When they are cooked to your liking, you know what to do. We served ours with bread and olive crackers (and more olives, natch) and cheese. But this would be a perfect opportunity for rice or couscous as well, depending on what strikes your fancy. I will say that to let that leftover olive oil and herb combo (a combo of awesome) go to waste is a crime the likes of which makes me shudder to the very depths of my soul. 

The black bean ones were squishier, obvs, because of the liquid. And that was just fiiiiiine by me. 

So now that the world of peppers is open to me, expect to see them a lot more up here. I've been DYING to use them in a bunch of things and now I know I can I fully intend to. In other foods-I-thought-were-off-limits-but-now-aren't-anymore news, artichokes will make an appearance at some point soon, definitely at the birthday party if not before.

Contain yourselves, dear readers. 

Mother's Day Supper and a Truly Lovely Day

Mother's Day yesterday was pretty zenned out for us, actually. We woke up in the dark, as per usual, and met in the bathroom, where Mum greeted me with "Happy Mother's Day" to which I replied "You're MY mother you doofus I'm supposed to say it to YOU" to which she replied "Well I couldn't be a mother without you so shut up it's valid."

Which, I am sure, was the typical beginning of the day all round the country. 

She disappeared in the car to the gym, I disappeared on foot into New Hampshire (bonus: no horrifically disassembled wild turkey carcass in the middle of the road this time) and we regrouped back at the farm for a stretching party (I know, we stretch together, yes, internet world, we are actually that disgustingly cute) and Radio 4. 

Perhaps because it was Mother's day, she did NOT yell to hurry up in the shower which she normally does on Sundays, which is a shaving day and therefore takes longer. I appreciated it, whatever the reason. 

After breakfast and coffee (see below, pancake awesomeness) we mooched, I fantasized about buying a house in the Times real estate slideshow, she used her new Wool Fat hand cream I got her at the Sheepdog demonstration, and we mooched some more. We mooched pretty much the entirety of Sunday away, which I think was exactly the point. We did road trip it to the grocery store (the local and I think highly superior version of Whole Foods that has great produce and dairy, and also really delicious and really expensive imported crackers, all of which you never knew you wanted but which you immediately do when you see the packaging covered in Italian script with pictures of herbs and olives on them) for last minute Mother's Day Supper items, and took a lovely late-afternoon-sunshine drive. 

Also, dear reader, I want it on record that in a paroxysm of filial devotion I explained, purely theoretically, in the passenger seat of a Honda civic barreling down Route 2, not only which "tabby button thing" in Microsoft Word controls line spacing but also (coughyetagaincough) how to save a jpeg to the desktop and how to open it with the bobo-beyond-bobo Picture Manager so you can enlarge the image. I felt that I was more than amply discharging my daughter-duty at that point. In fact, I felt positively beatific. 

Thus fortified. I embarked on her requested supper, the delightfully easy yet delightfully impressive

MOTHER'S DAY SMORGASBORD 

 

Smoked Trout

Smoked Salmon (for the record, Wild Coho)

Pickled Herring

Dill Potatoes

Dill Carrots

Tomato Salad

Herb Marinated Black Olives

Näkkileipä (crisp bread), various kinds

Cheese (Blue, Camembert, Cheddar), Butter

As I said, the best thing about a Smorgasbord (our versions at any rate) is that it looks amazing and complicated and like so much effort went into it, but it's actually ridiculously easy to prepare. Most of the fish has already been smoked/pickled, most of the salads are cold, and the crackers and bread and cheese just need to be put out. Honestly the hardest part of a smorgasbord is the plating process, followed by the Tetris-like-difficulty of fitting everything on the table.

And also the not eating everything as you carry it out. That is the really hard part. I suck at that. 

Most smorgasbords involve meat of some kind, usually sliced ham, sausages or meatballs, and we very easily could have done veggie sausages or veggie meatballs. But somehow there's something in my head that says "eating soy meat and real fish on the same plate is just weird" and I never do it. I either eat vegetarian, or I eat fish, but I don't combine. I'm clearly overthinking this, but it seems like an insult to the awesomeness of smoked trout to follow it up with a tofu dog. You know?

ANYWAY

The family saunas as a kid by the lake involved lots of meat. My grandfather would take an enormous rope of sausage, tie twine around the middle, and pin it (with a wooden clothespin) over the open stove. Then as the sauna progressed, the sausage would cook. There were long period of silence in the sauna as everyone tried to outlast other people, and I tried to stop my nose spontaneously combusting from the inside, when all you could hear was the drip, hiss, drip, hiss, drip, hiss, of the sausage fat hitting the coals. The cooking time of the sausage was dictated by how long the sauna lasted. And you know what, that damn thing was always perfectly cooked. And always delicious. 

The basic concept of a smorgasbord is pretty open to interpretation (eel, anyone? shrimp omelette with béchamel sauce? beetroot and mayonnaise salad?) but the one thing that is ALWAYS on the table is . . . you guessed it. POTATOES. Hot potatoes, cold potatoes, fried potatoes, potatoes mixed with meat or fish . . . you understand what I'm getting at here. POTATOES. 

I always want to say it like Sean Astin did to Gollum in Two Towers .
POH-TAY-TOHS!
(Definitely one of my favourite scenes.) 

The Dill Potato is the most classic, delicious thing on earth. And the Beetle version, while austere, is still amazing. Again, the cooking time for potatoes is such that if you put them on to steam and then get on with everything else, they'll be done pretty much right on time. For this, use either Fingerling or mini Yukon Golds. Slice them in half and throw them in the steamer. That's it. 

When they are soft (please cook them long enough, I despise underdone potatoes, and you know what trouble they caused Ebeneezer Scrooge) toss them in a large bowl with olive oil, sea salt, and lots and lots of fresh dill. Some versions use butter, which you are welcome to do if you like. It certainly won't hurt the taste. I made them totally Beetle Friendly, so omitted olive oil and just used sea salt and dill. 

Spartan? Yes. 

Are there any left from the enormous package I bought? No. 

I have already spoken of my love of tomatoes, and it is TOMATO SEASON so there was no reason not to include them. Again, super simple cold salad. We got some really nice cherry tomatoes and they are just sliced in half, mixed with sea salt and olive oil. 

This is one of those Beetle Culinary Discoveries that makes other people go "I love you but you are so weird", but did you know that one of the nicest accompaniments to smoked trout is a freshly sliced tomato? I'm deadly serious you guys. It's amazing. 

We also had Dill Carrots a) because dill and carrots go together like woah and b) because we needed another veggie and c) because I'd steamed a stupid amount of carrots on Saturday night. Incidentally, I like my pickled herring with carrots. 

The finished table. The additional bread and cheese came out later.

We finished up the evening watching Doctor Who (Cybermen! Neil Gaiman! The Doctor playing chess against himself!) in twin food comas before crawling up to bed and passing out. It's kind of how every Sunday should be spent I think, Mother's Day or not. 

You have to understand that we pretty much polished off this entire table. Hence. Food Coma. 

And to close. Sigh. 

Happy Mother's Day! [subhead] Sheepdogs and Pancakes

First. HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY! Yay Moms and my Mum in particular. Who is not only awesome and rad but who has been especially nice in the last few months given the fact that I've moved back in with her and spend all day at home in my long underwear sending cover letters, making cookies, and occasionally biting her head off.

So Happy Mother's Day, Mum. I love you.

Now. SHEEPDOG TRIALS.

OMG you guys that was the best day ever. Not ONLY did we get to watch the beginning of the sheepdog trials, we got to see a Sheep Breed Display, WATCH SHEEP SHEARING, and wander through not one, not two, but FIVE BARNS FULL OF WOOL-BASED HANDICRAFTS. I mean. Come on. Perf much? We started at the demonstrations and since we were early we got to talk to a bunch of dog owners and see things close up. 

The handlers yell A LOT and to to me it sounded really aggressive, but apparently I'm a giant softie and that's the only way to do it. (That's according to an old man in an even older raincoat covered in dog hair who I was talking to by the fence.) 

AND there were the SHEEP which made me so incredibly happy.

Seriously they were POSING you guys, they were absolutely killing it. 

Ok take the cooing noise you are making right now and multiply it by about a million.
That's the sound I made when I first saw this in real life. That and I swore in delight.

I wore tweed! I wore wellies! (Thank GOD I wore wellies because there was poop everywhere.) And we BOTH bought woolen hats. It was a highly productive, highly awesome day. 

AND NOW ON TO PANCAKES

As you may have guessed from the subhead, Mum's "breakfast pastry that expresses adequate amounts of devotion" revealed itself to be pancakes. BUT NOT JUST ANY PANCAKES. Special Pancakes. Awesome Pancakes. Super Delicious Pancakes. 

Swedish Pancakes. 

Now. A word on these.

These are as integral to my childhood experience as my Blankie and once cutting off the front half of my hair in a misguided attempt to give myself bangs. I have been eating Swedish pancakes since highchair times. I used to make them with Dad in our tiny kitchen in Cambridge, wearing a little chef hat and an apron. He taught me how to ladle the batter out, how to check to see if they were ready to be flipped, and how to upturn the skillet just so so that you got a perfect circle of pancakes on the plate.

I don't know how long it's been since I or anyone else made them, but the smell of that batter cooking erased all the years in between. It's the smell of summer breakfasts in Maine, of sleepover breakfasts here at the farm, of Christmas and Easter and all the holidays rolled into one. 

I was trying to figure out what to make for Mum, and then I was flipping through the cookbook (Beatrice's, natch) and came across the recipe and thought of course. They're special, they're nostalgic, they're delicious, and they're one of Mum's favourites. 

So. 

MOTHER'S DAY SWEDISH PANCAKES

Swedish Pancake pan. 

These are a bit like crepes but denser, and much smaller. To make them properly you really need the special pan, but you can drop the dough on a large griddle and they will probably turn out OK too.

The pan in question is a traditional Swedish Pancake pan. Cast iron, with seven pancake circles. Every woman in our family has one. We have two, although the other one is difficult to use because the handle got knocked off. I have no idea how that happened but it must have been pretty dramatic because how the hell do you knock the handle off a cast iron skillet? You can still use it, but you need to be crazy careful and you will probably end up with at least one burn.

This ladle holds the perfect amount of batter for each circle.
Just FYI. That's why we always use it.

The recipe is originally from Beatrice, although what I used is the flour and egg-spot covered index card in the recipe box on the counter, in my grandmother's handwriting, that my dad used his entire life. He had it memorised. I'm not there yet.

Just a whisk, that's all you need.
And no, it doesn't need to be made out of reindeer bone.

INGREDIENTS

• 1/2 cup flour
• 1 tbs sugar
• 1/4 tsp salt
• 1 cup milk
• 1/2 cup cream
• 3 eggs
• 2 tbs butter, melted, plus more for the pan

Mix flour, sugar, salt together in a bowl. Add milk and cream, eggs, and melted butter, and whisk it all together until it's frothy. You really don't need a mixing bowl for this, plus the whisking is half the fun, and if you're going to bother making a traditional Scandinavian recipe, it seems kind of silly to use a KitchenAid.




Brush each circle with melted butter and, starting with the middle circle, ladle in the batter. And now this is when you have to pay attention. They cook fast, these things. We're talking 1-2 minutes tops on each side, and cast iron gets hotter as you cook, so it's a bit of a culinary sprint to the finish.

Note the slightly paler middle.

Pretty much as soon as you put the batter in, start checking the bottoms with a knife/fork to see if they're ready to flip. Run the blade around the edges and when they come away and are browning, you can flip. Dad always used his fingers. I used mine too. Nostalgia, maybe. Tradition. I don't know. They flip itself is really easy, once you get the hang of it. But if you have a better method of flipping tiny pancakes on a cast iron skillet, you go right ahead.


REMEMBER: The middle circle will not get as hot, or cook as fast. (Think about the burner ring.) So ladle the batter in the middle one first, and flip that one last. It will always be a little paler than the others.


After you flip them and the second side is browned as well, for the love of all that is holy using an oven mitt, flip the pan over onto an empty plate and the pancakes will just fall out and land, if you're awesome, in a circle of six with the seventh in the middle.

Then, as is the way with pancakes and batter, repeat and repeat until there's no batter left. The good thing is that you get more comfortable as the batches go by, so it's ok that you need to speed up to accommodate the pan.

These are amazing hot. They are amazing lukewarm. They are amazing cold. They are amazing eaten directly off the serving plate after a night in the fridge, propping the door open with your hip, not even bothering to fully remove the clingfilm that covers them or turn the kitchen light on.

When I was little and therefore inexperienced in the eyes of my Finnish elders, I put maple syrup on my pancakes. Let me stress that there is nothing wrong with this. They are amazing with syrup and if you are a syrup addict you go right ahead and do that. However. The traditional serving is with Lingonberry jam (I know, esoteric much?) and powdered sugar. In a pinch, raspberry or strawberry jam work too. The best thing to do here, if you are having them for the first time, is try both methods and decide which you like better. Just to make sure you cover your bases. You never know.

The traditional way.

I sacrificed one for the sake of photographic realism.
Mum told me A. Bring me that one when you're done and
B. Don't sacrifice anymore. 

So the kitchen still smells like Swedish Pancakes. Hell, my HAIR smells like Swedish pancakes. But this is a good thing. Because Swedish Pancakes smell like childhood. They smell like stuffing my face at the kitchen table, still in my pajamas with sleep in my eyes, planning a day of ridiculousness with my best friend. They smell like the rustle of the New York Times, my parents laughing over coffee, my Dad smiling and happy and promising to take me to the beach later. They smell of staring out the window at the sunshine and not worrying about anything at all.

So maybe it's good I made these over brioche. Because Mother's Day should be about those things. About warmth and safety and happiness and remembering all the awesomeness of your childhood.

Tonight we'll feast on pickled herring and smoked trout and dill potatoes and tomato salad and black bread. Granted not every Mother would request that for her Special Dinner, but that's why mine is awesome. Given the choice, she goes for fish soaked in vinegar every time.

So Happy Mother's Day to all the Mum's in the world. And especially to my Mum, who loves me SO MUCH that she let me read A section of her Sunday Times this morning before she did. 

That, dear reader, is maternal devotion that should be recognised. 

Post-Battle Sausages and Mash

Ok first. I think I need to give serious props to the template designer at Avery office supplies because he (or she but I have a feeling he) is singlehandedly responsible for a large chunk of my psychological wellbeing. Specifically, my ability, because of him, to create sheets of labels that I can then stick obsessively on things. Ordered, clean, identical labels. Neat labels. You see where I'm going here with the psychological wellbeing.

I bring this up because yesterday I spent probably a bit too much time reconstructing a shoe box so that it had partitions down the middle, then lining the entire thing with parchment paper, then packing excess cookies in it, then engineering an easily-liftable flap for it, then putting a FRESHLY PRINTED Beetle Bakery label on the front.

Because you see, I made Beetle Bakery labels, you guys. And they are so amazing. 

CHECK. IT. OUT.
RIGHT?!?!? Just looking at them makes me calm. 

Behold the box of deliciousness:

Partitionnnnssssss. Partitions are also things that make me happy. 

And here is the easily-liftable cover. Which opens and reattaches with a tinfoil clasp.
WHO SAYS ENGLISH MAJORS CAN'T DO ENGINEERING AND CONSTRUCTION, HUH? 

Anyway, those went to my Lovely Librarians and hopefully they are enjoying. You guys, I'm sorry about the slightly darker-than-maybe-they-should-be bottoms of the Mudslide cookies. Next time I make them I will take my own note about the cooking time. Proms.

All in all it was a calm, on and off rainy Thursday afternoon of Beetle Bakery deliveries, folding the seventy thousand sports bras I own, and watching an episode of Ke$ha: My Crazy Beautiful Life (HUSH it's cute and funny and I love Ke$ha and the ridiculous stupid dancing I can do to her songs plus she wears body glitter and as someone who used to wear a lot of that I feel a special kinship) I was enjoying listening to the rain fall outside and already anticipating the sheepdog day of awesomeness on Saturday (which is, yessss, tomorrow).

So I look out the dining room window all zenned out and what do I see? CFH! Cat From Hell! Fat, jerkface cat sitting in our yard STARING at me through the window. What is WITH HIM? Why can't he stare creepily at things in his own yard?

Mum was right outside on the terrace and I yelled to her but she had her headphones on and was fighting with the Peony stakes (We remembered this year you guys! It only took 16 YEARS of not putting them up!) so I banged REALLY HARD on the window and she looked up and saw me doing what I considered to be a clear sign language version of "Mummy dearest that cat from hell is sitting in the yard under the maple tree please may I draw your attention to it?" But which apparently looked a little different from the other end. Having no idea what I was saying and yelling back through the window "Do you think I can understand that? Hang on." she looked down to find her headphone off switch.

At which point, fueled by battle rage, a hand that is STILL lacerated, and fight-to-the-death-protectionist sensibilities for my own cats, I threw down the load of dishtowels I was holding and raced outside.

You guys, I really need to work on putting on something that is not leggings and legwarmers before appearing in public.

I launched myself out the door, wearing the above and also LL Bean shearling slippers, promptly stepped on a Peony stake which flipped up an impaled me in the shin, ignored the pain because I am a Warrior Beetle, and landed, yelling gutturally, in the middle of the driveway. CFH, possibly slightly nonplussed by this, took off towards the south wall. I couldn't follow on foot because slippers + lawn=no but Mum, in workout spandex and running shoes, could. Dear reader, she rose to the occasion magnificently. She raced across the lawn, trailing headphones, gesticulating wildly. CFH, definitely properly nonplussed at this point, disappeared over the stone wall. Hopefully never to be seen again. But hear this, CFH: I will be ready next time.

So you know how Celtic and Spartan soldiers would always chow down on mutton and, I don't know, ox, after a battle? Something about the adrenaline, blah blah, you're super hungry after you've faced death and you proceed to stuff your face.

Well.

We both came back inside and Mum says "I'm starving." and I say "Holy crap I am too." and then I realise that we haven't done the weekly shop yet and, unless cookies have been very recently recategorised as a food group, dinner is going to be a bit of a slap up operation.

HOWEVER, DEAR READER. I FOUND POTATOES.

I found potatoes, and fresh rosemary, and veggie sausage, and broccoli.

And after our battle experience, and considering the fact that it was still raining outside, what better dinner, really, could there be than. . . . wait for it . . .

POST BATTLE SAUSAGES AND MASH

All of you who, like me, went to either England, Scotland, or Ireland for University or year abroad no doubt breathed a sigh of nostalgia just now. My first sausages and mash was in a pub in Dublin and it was fantastic. Incidentally my first Spotted Dick was at Hall at Oxford, and I really think that's just the Brit's way of being ridiculous because it's just a very nice, warm, Oatmeal Raisin Custard. You guys just call it that to watch non-Brits squirm. I'm convinced of this.

Even adding potatoes to a blog post, for example.
SO MUCH BETTER NOW. 

Anyway. Sausages and Mash.

The basic equation for this, and for life in general, actually, is that Potatoes added to ANYTHING make it better. Potatoes are never NOT a good idea. Add potatoes whenever possible. So, continuing.

• 1 package veggie sausages (or proper sausages, whatever you like)
• 2 heads broccoli, floret-ed
• 6 medium potatoes, cut into rough chunks
• fresh rosemary
• olive oil
• sea salt

Steam the potatoes first, skins and all, and they take a little while so you can put them on and then do all your other prep whilst they do their thing.

Heat the olive oil in a pan until smoking and add the broccoli florets. After a few minutes add the rosemary. After a few minutes more add the sausages. 

Thus the mashing process. The trick is not to eat as you mash.
It's harder than it sounds. 

Note: this is for veggie sausages, which do not need to be "cooked" in the meat sense of the word. you just need to brown them. If you are using proper sausages obviously adjust accordingly and please do not die of e-coli poisoning. Follow cooking instructions, etc.

Cook, stirring frequently, adding more olive oil as needed, until the broccoli and sausages are brown and the broccoli is pierce-able with a fork.



When the potatoes are tender bordering on mushy, drain and put into a large bowl. Using a wide hand masher, just give them a good smash. Keep some lumps though because I think mashed potatoes should a. have skins and b. be rough and lumpy and rustic. As you are mashing, mix in some more rosemary, salt, and a little olive oil and keep mashing until it's all combined. Just think how awesome your triceps will look after this.

Beetle Mashed Potatoes. I suddenly am SO GLAD that there are more of these in the fridge. 

In the traditional manner, sausages should be served atop a bed of mashed potatoes. I put the broccoli a little to the side.

What ELSE are you supposed to eat after a day of label-making, cat rescue, and Ke$ha?
Exactly. 

So TOMORROW, dear reader, we are getting up early, donning tweed and wellies, and going SHEEPDOGGING I'M SO EXCITED. But I will tell you all about it. I promise. I may die of happiness. 

I also told Mum that because of that, and because Brioche, insanely, needs 15 hours (!!) to rise that she could have sheepdogs or Brioche. Guess what she chose. 

So now I just need to figure out another appropriately adoring breakfast pastry. One that says "Happy Mother's Day I love you even though you made me reprogram your speed dial for twenty minutes yesterday so that you could call me even though we live in the same house."