It's Fall! Have A Cookie!

BEETLE BEDROOM RENOVATION UPDATE! So a lot of painting happened yesterday. Essentially, I woke up, went for a run, showered, had coffee, went upstairs, painted, painted, painted, painted, showered, had dinner, and passed out.

• Walls AND ceiling have been given their second and FINAL coat of paint! Woo! 
• Bookcases have been semi-glossed to within an inch of their LIVES and look gorgeous
• We now know that I WILL be obsessive about brush strokes all being in the same direction even if said brush strokes are going to be completely covered by books. Because, as I said yesterday: I will know they're not straight. And it will bother me. 
• Turns out that shrieking obscenities of frustration at TuneIn, and by extension at John Kerry and his endless faffing, is an excellent motivator.
• Wainstcotting has been primed, as has the inside of the closet door. Ready for semi-gloss! 
• Found out that the maps of Tudor England hanging up in there had been cleverly concealing some fairly large patches of peeling paint. Props to my 10 year-old self for realising this was the easiest and most effective method of cover up.  
• Gotta be said: Painting during a thunderstorm = AMAZINGLY FUN. 

The headscarf I opted for yesterday was one of those things you buy and instantly hate (I KNOW you've been there before, dear reader) and so I was delighted to find a use for it that would involve it getting ruined. It's one of those "million use" snood thingys that you can make into a bandanna, a scarf, a body bag, an evening gown, etc. When wrapped around my head which was already wrapped in Swedish milkmaid braids, it has the millionth and ONE use of making me look like a Lancastrian noblewoman from the mid-1400's (see fig. 52, bottom center, below).

Yep. Fig. 52. 

Or, as Mum preferred to make a comparison, like Novice Hame, one of the Sisters of Plenitude cat nuns from Doctor Who. 

I'm actually ok with either one. The Sisters of Plenitude USED to be bad and experiment on humans,
but they've since seen the error of their ways.

HOWEVER.

What's even more exciting than significant painting progress and me looking like a cat nun is the fact that AUTUMNAL BAKING SEASON IS UPON US. [cue Beetle Happy Kitchen Dance] Autumn is without a doubt my favourite kitchen season, and I know many of you will come with me on this. All year long I dream of making things with cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice and cloves, pumpkin and butternut squash, apples and caramel and maple syrup, and all year long I think as soon as it's September Imma kick this shindig off in style. 

Well guess what, dear reader. IT'S SEPTEMBER. 

The following cookies are always the first of the season. I just don't know of a more succinct way of saying YAY IT'S FALL other than HAVE A WHOLE WHEAT OATMEAL SPICE COOKIE.

I mean, if you can think of a better way, by all means . . . 

WHOLE WHEAT OATMEAL SPICE COOKIES

This is taken from my beloved imagined older bff Irma Rombauer and her Bible-like Joy of Cooking. It's an adaptation of her Oatmeal Raisin cookies, switching out all-purpose flour in favour of whole wheat, taking out the raisins and walnuts, and increasing the spices a little bit. 

Whisk together in a large bowl

• 1 3/4 cups whole wheat flour
• 3/4 tsp baking soda
• 3/4 tsp baking powder
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 1 heaping tsp cinnamon
• 1 heaping tsp nutmeg

In your mixmaster, beat together until pale and fluffy

• 2 sticks butter, softened
• 1/4 cup sugar
• 1 1/2 cups packed dark brown sugar
• 2 eggs
• 2 1/2 tsp vanilla

Add the flour mixture a little bit at a time, beating well after each addition and making sure you scrape down the sides of the bowl and get everything blended.

Off the mixmaster, stir in

• 3 1/2 cups rolled or pinhead oats

3 1/2 cups seems like a lot of oats at the time of mixing, but it does all come together in the end.

I promise.

It really does.

Spoon out the dough in your desired cookie-size spoonfuls and bake at 350 degrees for 12 - 14 minutes until the edges start to brown.

They really don't spread that much (especially using whole wheat flour)
so you can space them pretty close. Closer than I did, at any rate.

Remove on racks to cool completely. If you can make it that long.

Double dog dare you. 

BEETLE NOTES

Substituting whole wheat flour for white doesn't always work with cookies, but in the case of Oatmeal Spice, it does. They're already nutty and dark and mellow, so making them a little heavier and "healthier" tasting is only a small step towards Crunchytown and not really all that drastic and/or detrimental. As a matter of fact, if you're one of those people who LIKES their cookies on the healthy side, then this is a good flour-switching opportunity for you.

As per usual, I increased the spices by 1/2 tsp each. The reasons are threefold:

1. I always do. Other people are wimps. We Yankees like 'em good and strong.
2. Whole wheat flour has a much more significant taste than all-purpose, so you have to increase accordingly or they will get lost, and nobody wants that.
3. See reason 2 for the lack of nuts and raisins. If it's just oatmeal and cinnamon/nutmeg calling the shots, you wanna make sure they call them nice and loud.

LOUD ENOUGH FOR YOU? 

Don't be afraid to use Pinhead Oatmeal. I actually thought I was going to, but it turned out I had EXACTLY 3 1/2 cups of rolled oats [brushes off Beetle shoulders in an intensely self-satisfied manner] and so breaking into the Pinhead wasn't necessary. But I have used it before with really positive results. It won't absorb as much liquid as regular Rolled, and so will make whatever you're baking a bit wetter (aka cookies will spread out more, cakes will take a few more minutes) but it gives a really nice hearty crunch, and there's always this cool moment of this doesn't necessarily look like an oatmeal thing but OH HEY OATMEAL, and that's a kind of moment I think everyone should have at least once in life.

Pinhead  or Steelcut aka "unrolled"
aka "what I sometimes call Mum"

Rolled

As always, the smell of cinnamon and nutmeg baking in a warm kitchen is one of the greatest things ever. It just makes you feel so cosy and happy and safe . . . you know what I mean? Like everything is going to be ok, and there's no badness in the world. It's a lovely feeling, however fleeting it may be.

Granted, at the time it was 85 Fahrenheit and 90% humidity and I was baking in my underwear, but still. I HAD A MOMENT.  AND I TREASURED IT. THANK YOU, COOKIES.

So no, the leaves haven't started turning yet. Yes, I still think it's a bit too early for that let's-keep-them-nameless house on Main Street to have both a pumpkin AND a pumpkin wreath on its front door. And yes, I still slept with my fan on last night, but in all matters technical (and animal and vegetable and mineral, haha, obscure Gilbert & Sullivan reference) IT'S FALL, YOU GUYS. DO A HAPPY FALL DANCE.

If you wanna get REALLY technical, dear reader, put it this way: when I can buy a Martha Stewart Living with a depressingly intricately etched Jackolantern on the cover, IT'S ON.

Consider this my Game Face. 

Post-Renovation Dinners and In Defense of Smelly Fish

I may have mentioned this before, dear reader, but we are in the process of redoing my bedroom. It is the culmination of a house-wide redo that has been going on for approximately the last three years. When I was living in New York, I would come home once every month or so and play the super fun "what's different" game. I also got really good at emerging from the shower, realising that there were workmen downstairs, and sprinting, dripping and towel-clad, down the hallway towards the modesty of my bathrobe.

I did once, and only once mind you, crack my feminist exterior and make chocolate chip cookies for the housepainters. And then packaged them up and wandered around the house simpering and handing them out. In my defense, they were Irish. With accents. I defy anyone with an ounce of estrogen not to go completely gooey in the presence of a man who not only has a LILT, but is HANDY. It can't be done.

My bedroom was left until last, presumably because I wasn't living in it and therefore renovations weren't necessary. Now that I am home, though, I'm starting to tire of sleeping in the guest room, and I'm very much looking forward to having . . . Virginia Woolf pun coming . . . a room of my own.

So, dear reader, here is the first installment of BEETLE BEDROOM RENOVATION UPDATE!

• Walls, having been given two coats of primer, have now been given their first coat of proper paint
• Same goes for the ceiling
• Side note: the ceiling required extra spot-patching with primer, as we had to eradicate my 7th grade decision to cover it in purple glitter shooting stars. Amazing at the time. Not really the look I'm going for at the moment. 
• The bookcases (of which there are 5) have been primed, and are ready and waiting for their probably only one necessary coat of semi-gloss
• Same goes for the doors

But Beetle, you ask, what is your colour scheme? Well, thanks for asking, dear reader! My colour scheme is what I like to call "Scandinavian Country Estate."

Kind of like this. 

Or this. Except, you know, not in an 18th century estate in the Norwegian countryside. 

The ceilings and walls and trim will be White (not "scary white" but "normal white"); the floor will be something called "Jekyll Clubhouse Yellow", and the bed and doors will be something called "Filoli Dark Iris". Both, incidentally, are those neato-pants National Trust Heritage Colours, which a) good historical stuff and b) perfect if the above photos are what you're going for. ANYWAY. I'll keep you guys posted on the developments, which, if nothing else, will actively prompt me to HAVE developments by token of projected shame.  

Beetle Painting Lesson Of The Day: If you are wearing gloves that are covered in Eggshell-Gloss Off White, do NOT pull your yoga pants up without first removing said gloves. Otherwise . . . let's just say you shouldn't ever really have to turpentine that particular part of your body. 

MOVING ON. 

So yes, baking happened this week, but since a lot of time has been spent upstairs with a t-shirt wrapped around my head, the cooking has been kept to things that are quick and easy, healthy and yummy, and that can be made without doing a store run. HENCE. 

FAST EASY YUMMY AND HEALTHY DINNER SLIDESHOW

Spiced Tomato and Potato Soup

Spinach Salad with Lentils, Mushrooms, and Fennel

Mushroom and Fennel Broth for use in many things later on

Green Soup with Noodles and Fish

SPICED TOMATO AND POTATO SOUP

This one is crazypants easy and can be made in 20 minutes in one pot. Apologies in advance to all my Indian friends because imma use curry powder and various spices in the next few sentences and please don't judge and/or cut me off because I know I'm desecrating your food. Please remember how much you love me. Please.

Pretty, pretty, pretty. 

All you need for this is a few tomatoes (or a can of diced or chopped if you're desperate), a few potatoes, some vegetable broth and/or water, some olive oil, and a few curry-making spices. If you HAVE an onion, go ahead. If not, no worries.

And also oh so delicious.

We are lucky in that our handyman grows his own awesome tomatoes, and he brings us bags and bags of them whenever he comes to caulk or plaster something, which is . . . every day at the moment.

Chop up your tomatoes and potatoes and put them in a saucepot. Pour enough broth or water in so that they are JUST covered, then add a few tbs of olive oil and some salt and pepper. To this mixture I added 2 tsp of Turmeric, 2 tsp of Cumin, and 2 tbs of Curry Powder.

This is one of those dinners that you can finish painting, go downstairs to the kitchen, start it going, go back upstairs, wrap up your paintbrushes, rub turpentine all over your arms and hands, take a shower, put on your pjs, and come down to dinner being done. Which is kind of what all dinners should be like.

SPINACH AND LENTIL SALAD WITH MUSHROOMS AND FENNEL

This takes a bit more preparation, but really isn't that bad, and makes enough for a few nights. Think of it as an investment.

• 2 cups baby spinach leaves
• 2 cups mushrooms, washed and sliced
• 1 large fennel bulb, diced
• 1 medium onion, diced
• 1 can Lentils
• Olive Oil, salt, pepper 

Have I ever mentioned how much I love Fennel? I have? Oh. Well. I still love it. 

This is yet another take on my summer obsession with grain salads, and the concept of mixing cooked vegetables and carbs with leafy greens. It's an infinitely adaptable meal that really can involve anything you have in your fridge or cupboards.

Heat the olive oil in a large pan and add the chopped Fennel and Mushrooms. Cook them until they're good and browned, about 10 minutes. Remove from the pan into a bowl and set aside. In the same pan, add more oil and the chopped onion, cooking for about 7 minutes until it starts to go brown. Add the lentils and stir them around for another 3 minutes or so, then transfer them to the bowl containing the Fennel and Mushrooms, and combine, adding a bit more olive oil if you need to.

In a large bowl, toss the cooked veggies and beans with the baby spinach, and serve warm. 

SIDE BEETLE PROJECT: I steamed 1/2 a cup of the sliced Mushrooms and some of the Fennel, reserving the cooking water, and pureed them in a food processor. Adding the cooking water and puree together makes a Mushroom-Fennel soup that is not only amazing, but Beetle-Friendly too. Huzzah all round!

Number of times I asked Mum "so how do you feel about Mushrooms?"
Conservative estimate: 7 million

OTHER USES FOR MUSHROOM BROTH

My current guilty food habit is those Tofu Noodles you can buy with the rest of the veggie proteins in the grocery store. This is a mis-categorization, as they don't actually have any protein to speak of. As a matter of fact, they don't really have any nutritional content to speak of. As a matter of fact, they don't really have any TASTE to speak of. HOWEVER. When you add them to a Mushroom Broth thickened with Pureed Mushrooms and Fennel, and add to that a few handfuls of leafy greens (Kale, Spinach, Arugula in this case), it goes all awesome and delicious and turns into an earthy and mellow Bright Green Soup of Wonderful, and you end up burning your tongue because you're trying to eat it too fast because it's just. that. good.

In a very Thai-cuisine move, I added fish to the top of this. The fish happened to be sardines. I LIKE SARDINES YOU GUYS. AND I'M NOT ASHAMED TO ADMIT IT. I know, I know, I'm a weirdo, blah blah blah. Just pass me all of yours, AND all your pickled herring. I will give you all of my avocado and we'll never fight again, ok? Ok.

For the record, it was DELICIOUS. So there. And I imagine it would be delicious if you added a "normal person" fish like salmon or tuna or what have you.

Beetle Acquired Taste Note: Tofu noodles are not for everyone. I just think of my bff Liz looking at me when I order regular tofu in a restaurant and going " . . . it just doesn't taste like . . . anything." I can only imagine what she would say if I made her try the noodle version. They definitely need to be added to something. But if and once you do, you may be pleasantly surprised. Like tofu, they take on the flavour of whatever is around them. If that happens to be really yummy green soup, so much the better.

As for Sardines being an acquired taste . . .

Whatever. More for me. 

I will end this with a particularly lovely-looking loaf of Beetle Bread that happened on Monday. Like the Baking Powder Biscuits of last week, Beetle Bread is something that happens on a weekly or sometimes twice weekly basis, and as such is normally made in 20 minutes and I don't remember to stop and photograph it because I'm just doing it before folding the laundry or taking out the recycling or running outside to yell at the Bastard Cat next door or whatever. But when it comes out looking like this, I feel the need to share.

This particular loaf is Whole Wheat Rye, btw.
It's my current fav combo, although I did make Whole Wheat Five Grain Cereal on Sunday, too.

I'm getting better at scoring the top so it looks all cool and craggy like that. 

Dude I am TOTALLY drawing a Beetle on there next time. 

Transition Cake, and the Cake That Almost Was

I have a question for you, dear reader. Why is it that when you cut yourself when cooking, it is ALWAYS chopping onions (maximum stingage) and ALWAYS on the single most inconvenient part of your thumb for a) doing anything else for the next week or so and b) for bandaid placement? Seriously. We even have those "finger" bandaids (I made us buy them even though you should have SEEN the side-eye I got in the drugstore I'M SORRY I LIKE HAVING ALL THE NECESSARY PERMUTATIONS OF BANDAIDS IT MAKES ME FEEL PREPARED AND ORGANISED AND THEREFORE CALM) and not even those fit. The best I can do is sort of sadly perch a bandaid on the very edge of my thumb (as if to say oh hey no I'm not really here just ignore me) and then wrap it in paper tape and pray it doesn't fall off. THIS means a) I can't text. Which. Problems. and b) it looks a hell of a lot worse than it actually is which makes ME looking like I'm making a big deal out of nothing.

I realise that "making a big deal out of nothing" just involved writing a paragraph about the aforementioned "nothing." Moving on.

Two cakes happened this week. (I know, these plus Chocolate Marmalade Cake from last week = I'd better make some cookies pretty soon.) The first was a cake from good ol' Beatrice that I've been saving to make for what feels like an eternity. The second was what I'm calling "Transition Cake", one that has elements of both summer and fall, and hopefully makes the segue into seasons a little more, ahem, palatable. OH YES. I JUST WENT THERE. YOU'RE WELCOME.

Oh and I almost forgot Baking Powder Biscuits happened too.

I normally don't mention these, even though I make them every other week or so.
But these came out particularly nice-looking. So here you are.  

If you ever need to make Mum spill US governmental secrets, just wave one of these puppies in her face. 

She'll crack like an egg. 

But to business, dear reader, to business.

LINGONBERRY JAM CAKE
or
THE CAKE THAT ALMOST WAS

I think I've made it clear on several previous occasions how we as a household feel about Lingonberries. We're Finnish. We basically bleed Lingonberry Jam (and no, they don't make a Band aid for that, I checked). So when I came across this recipe in Beatrice's Bible I immediately "scientifically" bookmarked it with a torn-in-half index card and vowed on my honour to make it soon. The time came on September the First, which seemed to hold the appropriate amount of gravitas. I got started and waited for the magic to happen.

Oh, dear reader, come with me . . .

Everything started out so well . . . 

INGREDIENTS

• 1/2 cup (1 stick) butter
• 1 cup sugar
• 2 eggs
• 1 1/2 cups flour
• 1 teaspoon ground cardamom
• 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
• 1/4 teaspoon baking soda
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 cup sour cream
• 1/2 cup lingonberry jam

Look! IT'S PINK!

Cream the butter and sugar together. Beat in the eggs one at a time. Blend flour, spices, baking powder and soda, and salt together in a large bowl. In another bowl, combine sour cream and lingonberry jam. Add both to the butter mixture, alternating between the flour and the jam, mixing until smooth. 

Pour the batter out into either a 9 x 5 loaf pan or a Springform pan, and bake at 350 degrees for 55 - 60 minutes until a tester comes out clean and the cake is starting to pull away from the pan edges. Let it sit for 5 minutes before turning it out onto a rack to cool completely.

BEETLE NOTES

As I'm sure you've guessed from my preamble, things did not go completely according to plan. Under normal circumstances I would just shrug and go eh and maybe tweak the recipe in the future or maybe never make it again. But this is BEATRICE, you guys. BEATRICE. When I use the expression "she wrote the book on Scandinavian cooking" THAT'S ACTUALLY WHAT I MEAN SHE REALLY DID WRITE THE BOOK. To get a result from her that was less than incredible felt . . .  I don't know. I might have wept a little. I might have climbed a hillock in the rain wearing a bonnet and recited Shakespeare sonnets whilst looking morosely across the countryside and whispering "Beatrice. Oh, Beatrice." 

Now. To make it clear. When I say "less than amazing" I mean "still pretty damn good." A dud by Beatrice standards is still head and shoulders above the best other bakers have to offer. It's just that this one was supposed to be THE LINGONBERRY JAM CAKE. This was supposed to be the cake to end all cakes, you guys. It was supposed to be epic. And it just . . . wasn't. 

The consensus from my three testers is that there's too much cinnamon. Which. There's only half a teaspoon in there. If half a teaspoon tastes like too much cinnamon then you'd better take that sh*t out fast. There is also cardamom and ginger, though, both of which are quite powerful, so perhaps all three combined just pushed it over the edge. Cinnamon is amazing. It's warm and sharp and sweet and spicy at the same time. But by token of its power, it does tread a fine line between "mmm I feel that all the way down to my toes" and "my tongue is numb." And it's especially strange because I am ALWAYS the one to bump up the spices. In my experience even Beatrice errs too much on the side of caution. This is the first time in recorded Beetle History that I've gotten "too much spice." So. Interesting. 

I will say that in the "going for it" column I can put: moist, not too sweet, smells absolutely incredible, and actually tastes like it has Lingonberries in it (aka Point. Of. Cake.). But the spice was overpowering bordering on detrimental. If I give you a bite of Lingonberry Jam Cake and you think it's a Cinnamon Cake, we've got ourselves a cake situation. 

I would like to pause briefly at this stage and say that spellcheck REFUSES to recognise "lingonberry" as a word nay a viable food and keeps suggesting that perhaps I mean "loganberry." To which I reply THANKS BUT NO. 

This is a Loganberry (Rubus loganbaccus)                          This is a Lingonberry (Vaccinium vitis-idaea) 

Basically AMBROSIA

Basically a mutant raspberry

WE GOOD?

So. I would very much like to make this again. There's a lot of emotional weight riding on this recipe being amazing. Based on the reviews, I think I might take out the spices completely, and let the Lingon speak for itself. Maybe add a bit more jam this time. I read online that one baker had added frozen lingonberries, which, if the Hannafords in Lunenberg, MA sold frozen lingonberries, well . . . there would be a whole lot of things in my life that were better, let's just say that.

Bottom line, I fundamentally love the idea of a Lingonberry Jam Cake. And I refuse to believe that there is a universe in which this CANNOT be good. So stay tuned, and remind me to buy stock in Lingonberry Farms in the Arctic because imma start burning through this stuff pretty fast.

This is the cake shuffling abashedly from view . . . until next time . . . 

AND NOW TO TRANSITION WITH TRANSITION CAKE 

[Oh Beetle you're SO amusing]

LEMON PEAR HONEY CAKE

Transition cake happened primarily because I wanted to use up the rest of my sour cream, and also because I found a jar of Lemon Pear Jam that I knew Mum wasn't going to eat and figured I'd make a cake. This is normally how Sunday afternoons go up here on the farm, btw.

I took a break from my beloved Springform pan and broke out the Bundt pan (aka the Sandcastle pan), deciding that since I'd be adapting a Martha Stewart Bundt Cake recipe, using a Bundt pan would be a show of good faith. I started with the Lemon Ginger Bundt Cake that I'd made for Easter Supper back in March and tweaked it accordingly. Onward.

INGREDIENTS

• 1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature, plus more for pan
• 3 cups all-purpose flour (spooned and leveled), plus more for pan
• Juice from 1 lemon
• 1/2 cup Lemon Pear Jam
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1 1/2 cups granulated sugar
• 6 large eggs
• 1 cup sour cream
• 1/2 cup honey

Cream the butter and sugar together in your mixmaster until pale and whippy. Add in the eggs one at a time, beating well after each one. Add the jam and the lemon juice, and two tablespoons of the honey. Sift together the flour, baking soda, and salt together in a bowl. Alternate adding sour cream and the flour mixture, beating well after each addition, until everything's gone.

Pour the batter into a greased Bundt pan and bake at 350 degrees for 55 - 60 minutes until a tester comes out clean and the cake is starting to pull away from the edges. Let it cool for 5 minutes and then turn it out of the pan (this is the scary part, you have to invert an incredibly heavy pan containing a meticulously shaped cake that may or may not stick and/or fall out badly and it's one of those holy hell please let this work moments. don't worry, you got this.) and let it cool completely.

This is just after the above silent prayer. 

When it's cool, decorate the top with the remaining honey.

I did this from a squeeze bottle of honey, which is significantly easier for pretty purposes, but if you want to get all wild and crazy and Martha on your bad self then go ahead and do it with the edge of a fish fork or whatever and create actual spiraling falling leaves that move when the cake is sliced.

HEY. SHE PROBABLY DOES THAT.

Ain't nothin' wrong with a squeezy bottle. All I'm saying.

BEETLE NOTES

I call this Transition Cake because Lemon and Bundt Cakes are things I generally associate with "summer," whereas Pear and Honey are things I generally associate with "autumn." You start with summer, and by the time you finish eating it's autumn, but you don't care because you're eating cake.

See what I just did there? I made it seem like there was an actual aforethought to my making this cake, when in fact it was just huh, just made a Lingonberry cake gotta get rid of the sour cream . . . huh look at that jar of Lemon Pear Jam maybe I'll use that  . . . huh you know what might be fun to pour on top honey yeah let's try that . . . huh let's call this Transition Cake and it'll make it seem like I know what I'm talking about. 

That's really what happened.

But, gotta say, as Transition Cakes go, this one turned out nicely. And I'd like to think it helped ease the seasonal metamorphosis for my Lovely Librarians.

Unseen Bonus Element: When you decorate the top of the cake with honey, it soaks down into the top half. This changes the texture into a super-dense, super-sticky, super-moist cake-of-awesome. 

Again, looks like I planned it. Again, absolutely no pre-planning involved.


Hillbilly Beetle strikes again.

Let the Comfort Cooking Begin

Labour Day parties, from what I hear, generally involve barbecues, and bathing suits, and hanging out by the pool, and chatting with other pretty and stylish people.

I've never actually experienced one of these.

This is because a) I'm not what you'd consider "socially normal" and because b) generally, in Massachusetts and/or Maine, Labour Day is spent rocking sweatpants and a flannel shirt and watching the rain come down outside. No joke, you guys, Boston lost power due to FLOODING on Monday. Hey, that's just how we roll up here. Welcome to Fall. We got here a few weeks ago.

Labour Day for me consisted of trying to come to terms with the MILLION% humidity, and also sanding, scraping, and painting my bedroom doors, walls, and ceiling. If you ever want to test whether you will like a colour scheme, dear reader, here's a top tip: splatter it all over your arms, shoulders, and face, and then see how you feel after 72 hours. If you still like it, you're good to go.

I am also, thanks to the aforementioned humidity, in the time-honoured, runner-approved "chafing" situation, and spent Sunday in my underwear, covered in Bag Balm and bandaids from my knees to my neck, only allowed to sit down after I spread a towel on the couch.

This might be why I've never been to a Labour Day party.

BUT cooking had to be done. And so without further ado, I give you the first two Comfort Foods of the fall. 

BUTTERMILK CORN MUFFINS

This was adapted from Ken Haedrich's delightful and incredibly useful Country Baking (Bantam, 1994). He was the one who gave me the Blue Cheese Cornmeal Biscuits from earlier this summer, and I will say this: Dude knows his baked goods. It's an unassuming little cookbook, I picked it up secondhand for $7 in Peterborough, NH. It's got a . . . shall we say . . .  quaint illustrated cover that looks like it would be more comfortable on a Mary Engelbreit calendar. But crack that sucker open and what you get is a slew of really tasty, really healthy, really easy breads, cakes, muffins, and pies. He's a dark horse, is our Ken.

Anyway, this is an alteration of his Cornmeal Molasses Crumb Muffins. I took out the spices, and switched honey for molasses, and didn't put the crumbs on top. I also used buttermilk for the very scientific reason that we didn't have any actual milk left in the fridge. Hence:

Paper cups! Paper cups!
Come on, we ALL love peeling the wrapper off.
To me, this is just THE PROMISE OF AWESOMENESS.

BUTTERMILK CORN MUFFINS

• 1 cup all-purpose flour
• 3/4 cup cornmeal
• 1/2 cup whole wheat flour
• 2 tsp baking powder
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 1 egg, beaten
• 1 cup milk (or buttermilk) 
• 1/3 vegetable oil
• 1/4 cup honey

Combine the flours, cornmeal, salt, and baking powder in a large bowl. In separate bowl, combine the beaten egg, milk, vegetable oil and honey. Add the wet ingredients to the dry and stir until it's well combined. If your batter is a bit too thick add a little more milk and kept stirring. 

Either butter a muffin pan or line it with paper cups. In my opinion, paper cups are SO much easier, and they hold the possibility of pretty. Did you know they make Disney Princess ones? I went with them. (Not Disney Princess cups, just plain paper ones. I'm not crazy, you guys.) Divide the batter evenly between the cups, and bake at 400 degrees for 18-20 minutes, until the tops are nice and brown. 

Let them sit for a few minutes, then lift them out onto a wire rack and let cool completely. Or, if you are in a Beetle House, let your mum test one smoking hot just off the pan before she goes to work because it's just easier to say yes sometimes, you guys.

BEETLE NOTES

As I mentioned above, the recipe intends these to be lightly spiced corn muffins (cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger) with a streusel-like topping of cornmeal and brown sugar. I fully intend to make them verbatim at some later date, but it was still August at this point, and I felt like they should be, you know, the last summer muffins or whatever, and therefore traditional and . . . corny. The crumb topping wasn't going to happen anyway, I feel like it would have made them way too sweet. And whilst I like the idea of molasses, since I was nixing the spices I thought honey would be a simpler, lighter sweetener here.

I've already addressed the buttermilk issue. Purely circumstantial. It was shopping day when I made these, but the morning of shopping day, when the fridge contains jam, mustard, maybe an egg, and some carrots. Milk was not to be had for love or money. So buttermilk it was. It definitely made them richer, and probably moister, and if that's your thing than great. I plan on using straight up milk next time. I like my corn muffins as the Pilgrims intended, aka dry and free of sin.

These heat up really well later on, incidentally, so it's possible to have WARM corn muffins for breakfast for as many mornings as you can stretch these puppies out.

Which, it turns out, is not that many mornings. But for a little while, split, stuck in the oven for about 5 minutes, and smothered in butter and strawberry rhubarb jam . . . let's just say the Pilgrims would probably have opened a Hooters down on Plymouth Plantation if they were munching on these for breakfast.

CAULIFLOWER AND MUSHROOM MAC AND CHEESE

Remember when I mentioned that someone doesn't think she likes mushrooms and that I was going to try and fix that?

Well.

CONSIDER THAT SH*T FIXED.

I know it's been written about a million times before, but Cauliflower is a) awesome and b) totally perfect for macaroni and cheese. It's white, which means aesthetically it doesn't create any problems, and it goes so well with hearty, warm, comfort dishes like this. So when you add MUSHROOMS WHICH ARE BROWN they actually enhance the whole colour palette. If you have time to look at it, that is. Because by the time you look down, it might be all gone. Just saying. 

MUSHROOM AND CAULIFLOWER MAC AND CHEESE 

ok not "mac" and cheese because I haven't cooked "mac" in about a decade. So I guess

MUSHROOM AND CAULIFLOWER WHOLE WHEAT PENNE AND CHEESE

which totally doesn't have the same ring, right? but still. moving on. 

INGREDIENTS

The mushrooms in question

• 1 head of cauliflower, floret-ed
• 2 cups mushrooms, sliced thin (in this case, Crimini, but go nuts, people) 
• 1 lb whole wheat penne pasta
• 1 cup milk
• 4 tbs butter
• Cheese. Lots of cheese. Again, go nuts. This is YOUR mac and cheese party, my friend.
• Salt and pepper to taste

Put a pot of water on to boil. In a saucepan, melt 2 tbs of butter until bubbling and smoky, and throw in the mushrooms. Let them cook for a good long, browning and crisping time, about 10 minutes.

When the water boils add the pasta, stirring it frequently so it doesn't stick to the bottom. When it's JUST undercooked, dump it out into a colander and strain it completely. You're going to bake it in the oven so if you cook it completely by the time it's done it's going to be soggy and paste-like, and nobody wants that. 

Butter the bottom and sides of a big oven-proof pot, if you've got a French Oven, now would be a good time to break it out. Pour in the cooked pasta and add the cauliflower florets and the mushrooms out of the pan. Add the other 2 tbs of butter, salt and pepper generously, and stir to combine. 

In a saucepan, melt the cheese and the milk until bubbly. I had Emmental, Cheddar, Parmesan, and some good old fashioned Swiss. Pour the cheese and milk mixture over the pasta and vegetables and make sure everything is good and coated. Add a bit more salt and pepper, and sprinkle on some more cheese (in for a penny . . . )

Save your self-restraint for when it really matters. 

Bake, uncovered, at 400 degrees for about 20 minutes, then put the cover on and bake for about 10 minutes more. When the cauliflower is tender to a fork you're ready to go. If you need to keep it warm, turn the oven off and let it sit, nothing's going to happen.

Pretty hard to mess it up at this point.

BEETLE NOTES

Thanks to our recent Italian houseguest, we have a lot of what
I think is incredibly expensive Parmesan. Thanks, Marina. 

I've made a fair few mac and cheeses at this point. My jumping off point was a recipe from Martha about a year ago, and from there I've just extrapolated and pushed and poked and prodded and generally done my Hillbilly Beetle thing. This is a really, really, REALLY good dish to get rid of pantry supplies that have been kicking around. We all have at least ONE box of pasta at the back of our cupboards. And we all have various heels of various cheeses in our cheese drawers. Now's the time, dear reader, now's the time.

I would politely discourage you, at least if you are a first-timer, from using something crazy strong like Stilton. Just because it might overpower everything else. And whilst options such as Brie and Camembert are TOTALLY AMAZING, just remember to scoop out the creamy bit and leave the rest. Also from a technical standpoint, Mozzarella, whilst delicious, creates a whole slew of fork-to-mouth issues that you might want to avoid. I found this out the hard way, and I'm trying to save you a lot of discomfort. 

I'm a whole wheat pasta Beetle anyway, but when you're making something like this, you really need a carb that will stand up to both veggies AND cheese. Whole wheat won't wilt and disappear underneath the other tastes like white pasta will. It actually comes through and ends up complementing the rest. It also stands up to boiling and baking and won't come out of the oven as a tasteless gluey blob. 

This went down like the proverbial house on fire. And the mushroom situation? Let's just say it wasn't a problem. I'm looking forward to making LOTS OF THINGS THAT HAVE MUSHROOMS IN THEM in the near future. 

I've only mentioned this a few times. 

Soul of restraint, me.

The Williams-Sonoma Halloween catalogue came this morning. I feel that this, more than anything, says "Autumn is well and truly here." 

It'll be ok, you guys. Buy yourself some school supplies, pick up an apple at the farmer's market, and get excited. Fall is THE BEST.