In Which I Make a Slice, and Learn to Spell Rhubarb

Yay freshly grown / uprooted rhubarb! 

There is something inherently comforting in having your cooking decisions made for you. I know, I know, the entirety of this blog so far has been Beetle Decision Headquarters but what I mean is, if one is thinking "hmm what shall I make this afternoon that I haven't made before" and then one's mother comes home with a massive bag of rhubarb and says "look what someone gave me from her garden at work" then one is, in some deep cranial recess, slightly relieved. Then at least one is able to say "ok what shall I make with RHUBARB today" and obviously that narrows it down immensely, and frees up your mind for other (perhaps more important) decisions. 

My decision to make a Rhubarb Crumble Slice came about because of the following factors:

1. On Tuesday is was the bday of a friend of Mum's and I wanted to make him something. But he doesn't like Hazelnuts, so obviously the previously made Honey/Amaranth cookies were not going to cut it. 
2. The above rhubarb conversation.
3. I was once again flipping, drooling, through the seventeen million back issues of Donna Hay magazine that I own (For serious, since Gourmet closed (DAMN YOU CONDE NAST), it is the best. cooking. magazine. ever. I would subscribe but it's Australian and obviously that means it costs a preposterous amount of money so I just buy it at newsstands every two months and pore over it obsessively.) and came upon the feature on "slices" and they had one for rhubarb and . . . you do the math. 
4. As a non Aussie, I find the word "slice" classy. I like the idea of making "a slice." It makes me feel mature and organised. 
5. I figured that maybe if I did an entire post on Rhubarb and used the word Rhubarb as much as possible in it, then maybe I could train myself to spell the word Rhubarb correctly. Rhubarb. 

I could probably spend about 18 paragraphs extolling the virtues of Donna Hay. [here's where I link to it] The photographs are some of the most beautiful things I've ever seen, the recipes are uniformly delicious, because it's Australian you get winter recipes in summer and summer recipes in winter, and it's refreshing to think about lemon custard in the depths of snow and 4pm sunsets. Also because it's Australian, you get some fantastic seafood recipes, and because of the Asian culinary influences, lots of ginger and noodle soups and stuff you wouldn't normally get from, say, Real Simple. Plus, no offense, England, but the Aussies have you beat in the savoury pie department. BEAT. 

Also, totally superficially, I like to pretend when I'm flipping through "Beach bbq" spreads that I, too, am an architect in Sydney out for the weekend, laughingly grilling corn cobs on an open flame as my gorgeous philanthropic banker husband unpacks homemade hamburger buns from a vintage cooler and my awesome and beautiful friends approach carrying freshly caught trout and a $500 hand-loomed sheep's wool blanket to sit on and watch the stars come out. 

BUT I DIGRESS. YET AGAIN. 

I've been wanting to crack the Slice spread for a long time, and since the rhubarb was just SITTING in the fridge calling to me, and since there were no hazelnuts in it, and since I suck at spelling, it really seemed like the fates had rolled the dice on this one. 

Beetle Note: I have a bestie who is Australian, and I know that as she is reading this (hello, E!) she is laughing her head off and probably texting to say MY PEOPLE ARE TAKING OVER THE WORLD. Which, gotta say, truth. (Just ask my boyfriend, Chris Hemsworth.) 

See? TRUTH. 

Also, Happy Birthday Vince! Hope you enjoy. (I put Flower Fairy birthday stickers on your slice so you'd know it was yours.) 

Blanket Beetle Note: Original recipe is just a Rhubarb Crumble Slice. The Warrior Beetle version is Rhubarb Raspberry Crumble Slice. If you don't like Raspberry, a) seek medical attention, and b) leave it out.

RHUBARB AND RASPBERRY CRUMBLE SLICE
Taken and converted from Donna Hay magazine, issue 51, June/July 2010

INGREDIENTS

• 1 stick butter, melted 
• 1/3 cup caster sugar 
• 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour, sifted 
• 1/2 tsp baking powder, sifted 
• 1 egg, lightly beaten

• 1 bunch rhubarb, trimmed and chopped 
• 1 cup raspberry jam
• 3/4 cup caster sugar, extra 
• 1 tsp vanilla extract 

• 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour, sifted 
• 1/3 cup caster sugar 
• 10 tbs cold butter, chopped

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Place butter, sugar, flour, baking powder, and egg in a bowl and mix to combine. Press into the base of a lightly greased baking tin (I used a non-stick brownie pan that was 9 x 12 inches) and bake for 20 - 25 minutes until golden and firm. 

*I used a spatula to press the base in. Seemed to work. 

Whilst the base is cooking, coarsely chop the rhubarb and combine with jam, sugar, and vanilla in a bowl. Set aside. 

I just love the way the sugar falls through the rhubarb cracks when you pour it in.
That's the only reason for this picture right now.

Rhubarb contains a surprising amount of liquid, incidentally,
so there is no issue of the sugar evenly coating the pieces.

To make the crumble topping, combine flour, sugar and butter, using your fingertips to rub the butter into the flour until it resembles coarse breadcrumbs. 

Spoon the rhubarb mixture onto the cooked base, then spoon the crumble topping over that. Bake in the same oven (still at 350) for 35 - 40 minutes until the top is starting to brown.

Spooned over before spreading in a casual way to maintain all-important crumbly texture.

And all browned and golden and crunchy-baked-jammy on the edges.

BEETLE NOTES

When you think about crumble slices, there's absolutely no way they can be bad. Especially with this recipe, it really is just a sandwich where gooey warm fruit is held together by two slices of "bread" that are really just butter and sugar and flour. This is exemplified by the conversation in our kitchen last night as I was cutting a slice (of the SLICE. Yesssss) for Mum. She was all what's the base? and I was all butter and sugar and flour and then she was all what's the topping? and I was all butter and sugar and flour and THEN she was all give it to me now. 

The addition of raspberry jam is a Beetle thing. Maybe I just like adding jam to things? I don't know. I certainly do love me some jam. But when I spooned the rhubarb mixture onto the crust, it looked . . . anemic. I didn't look substantial enough to produce a perfect squishy bite, you know? Like it needed to be thicker and yummier. But I was out of rhubarb [makes Munch-esque scream face].

See what I mean? You can totally see the crust through the filling. Which just seemed inherently wrong. 

So, obviously, jam to the rescue. 

I just feel like it makes everything better. And certainly in this instance squishier and gooier and more delicious.

Once I mixed that in, it became clear that I had made the right decision. I think part of it was that the recipe called for a 20cm x 30cm baking tin. Which (after I had googled cm to inch conversions thank you so much, Ronald Reagan, for my lack of metric knowledge, no really I LIKE being stupid) revealed itself to be 8 x 11 inches. So in all probability if I had had a smaller pan this "filling thinness" wouldn't have been an issue. 

But THEN, dear reader, BUT THEN, I wouldn't have added jam. And THEN I would never have made a jam crumble slice. And THEN . . . who knows? Maybe the world was just saved from apocalyptic alien invasion in 2145 because of the occurrence of a single slice of Rhubarb Raspberry Crumble. That's probably not the case, but stranger things have happened. 

The only versions of this recipe I could find online were different from the one in the magazine. The ones online included coconut (Which. Ew. Despise. Also this so does not need coconut.) and also switched out the egg in favour of milk. I'm sure it tastes fine, if you like that sort of thing. I prefer the print version, natch. 

Honestly. Who needs coconut when there is RASPBERRY JAM? 

For my first attempt at slices, I am rather impressed that it a)doesn't cause spontaneous vomiting and crying and b)actually remains in slice form. I have a knack for making things that look beautiful in the baking dish, but which collapse/muddle/disintegrate completely when removed. But THIS, dear reader, THIS, is still, without question, a slice. 

1. Cut nervously. 2. Cross Fingers. 3. Insert spatula with eyes closed and pray to the Gods.

4. DO BEETLE VICTORY DANCE 

It must be said that Mum's response to last night's "I made it for Vince's Birthday" elicited (through a mouthful of it) a resounding and instantaneous: 

Like HELL you did. 

This one even passed the "I bet this would be good for breakfast" test, which, as you know, is the equivalent of Pulitzer, Oscar, and Nobel rolled into one. Mum helpfully tested it from the other side, just to make sure that the entire thing was good and not just that one piece. (Always a team player, is my Mum.) And it's, ahem, beetling it's way to my Lovely Librarians right now. 

And get ready, dear reader, for a busy weekend. It's Midsummer on Friday (HUGE holiday in Finland), and MUM'S BIRTHDAY ON SUNDAY so you know what that means. Pancakes, black bread, lots of fish, potatoes, flower crowns, and a pavlova. I just want to prepare you all. If I emerge on Sunday, there will be a glorious write up. If I manage to post pictures before then, so much the better. And if you don't hear from me, someone send the SWAT team to the house. I'll be in the kitchen, encased, fly-in-amber-like, in whipped cream and egg whites.  

Final Beetle Note: Now we know what to do if I can't spell a word. RHUBARB RHUBARB RHUBARB RHUBARB RHUBARB.

The Cookies From Saturday - And Why They Are "Special"

All right peeps. I promised on Saturday that I would break down the Honey Hazelnut Amaranth cookies, and I would NEVER, EVER leave you hanging. That's just not the kind of Beetle I am. Obviously the Saturday post was taken up by HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN (rightly so) and I had intended to write this up yesterday but:

1. It was GLORIOUS outside and we explored a new walk.
2. The cat rolled in . . . something that was probably poo . . . and it was so foul that both Mum (holding her) and I (desperately scrubbing with baby wipes) had our shirts over our faces and were almost in tears by the end of the ordeal. The cat remains totally blasé about the entire affair.
3. We went to CVS as post poo-cat therapy (the entire car journey did consist of us taking turns going OMG I CAN STILL SMELL IS IT ON ME SOMEWHERE OH GOD IT'S AWFUL WHY IS IT STILL IN MY NOSE WHY??) where I had to explain to Mum why my body butter costs $12.99 and why that is a completely reasonable price.

(FYI - accomplished by ripping the protective cover off the container in the parking lot and shoving it under her nose, whereupon she went that smells AMAZING and I went I KNOW and she went I want some too and I went when you use up the three million bottles of lotion that you said you were going to use five years ago but are still kicking around in the powder room then we'll talk.)

Long story short, there was no time for a post.

Today, however, I am all yours.

HONEY HAZELNUT AMARANTH COOKIES

Because I did veer a little spastically off course, I'm going to link to Kim Boyce's original recipe here instead of including it below. I started out ready to follow it to the letter, considering that so far she has been spot on,  but things sort of devolved halfway through and these are classic Warrior Beetle "oh jesus I hope they still taste ok maybe this will work?" cookies. Maybe you'll have better luck than I did. My version is below. 

Beetle Note: I doubled the below from the outset.

INGREDIENTS

• 1/4 cup amaranth flour
• 1 cup all purpose flour
• 1/2 cup hazelnut meal
• 1/2 cup sugar 
• 1 1/2 tsp salt 
• 1 stick plus 2 tbs butter, room temperature
• 1/4 cup plus a bit honey, warmed

Deceptively crumbly.
But honey makes it all better. 

In a mixing bowl, combine the flours, hazelnut meal, sugar, and salt. Add in the butter and beat until combined, then add the honey. 

Line baking sheets with parchment paper. Using your hands, form dough balls and space them evenly apart. 

The dough will look crumbly, but don't worry it does come together nicely thanks to the honey, and it sticks together pretty easily. You will be ok. I got you. 

Squash the dough balls a bit with the back of a soup spoon to flatten them and create that all important "rustic cookie" look.  

Pre and post soup-spoon-flattening

Bake them at 350 degrees for 18 - 20 minutes until they are golden brown and starting to darken around the edges. Let them cool for a few minutes before transferring to a baking rack. 

BEETLE NOTES

or

WHY THESE ARE TOTALLY DIFFERENT FROM THE ORIGINAL RECIPE 

No seriously. These are NOT THE COOKIES FROM THE COOKBOOK. 

These are: 

1. not rolled and cut out cookies 

2. not uniform in shape at all, or flat at all

3. not glazed with a delicious honey/cardamom/orange mixture

I will understand if you stop reading in disgust at this point and go to someone else's, far superior, cooking blog. 

The possible John Doe, right. 

I'm not really sure what happened, you guys. I think everything might have stemmed from my use of hazelnut meal as opposed to freshly toasted then food processed hazelnuts? Which. Fine. I did the easy version. I have no one to blame but myself. And maybe hazelnut meal is just drier and grainier than freshly ground hazelnuts? I don't know. The universe of hand-ground nuts is (gasp!) completely uncharted territory for me. 

I can't imagine that hazelnut meal is that different from ground
hazelnuts, I think that's actually the definition (?)
APPARENTLY I AM WRONG ABOUT THIS.

Suffice it to say that even when Kim Boyce indicates, verbatim, that "the dough will just barely come together", even that, dear reader, even that, is optimistic to the point of ludicrousness.  

For whatever reason, unless I added something else to bind it together, I had basically made hazelnut amaranth powdered baby formula. 

Freaking slightly, I added more butter and turned the mixer on again. Still baby formula. There was clearly no way in hell that these were going to stand up to rolling out and cutting out. I mean. No. Way. And the concept of attempting to do that instantly conjured up an image of me crying quietly in the kitchen, curled, rocking, in a fetal ball, covered in hazelnut meal, to be found by Mum when she got home several hours later. What was Beetle going to do? Add more butter? But I'd already almost doubled it, and that just seemed like a bad choice. 

Then I remembered that after I had rolled out my dough and cut my perfect amaranth cookies into interesting and whimsical shapes with my cookie cutters that are in no way dented and strange (why do we have three brontosauri?) I would of course be glazing them with a honey mixture infused with whole cardamom pods and orange blossom water. 

LIKE YOU DO. 

But Beetle, I asked myself, what if you skipped the craycray glaze and added the honey to the dough? Then maybe it would come together enough to form an actual cookie? And also, obviously, you don't have orange blossom water because you realised last weekend at the health food store that it's $10.99 a bottle and nobody needs orange blossom-infused honey that badly.

SO, dear reader, I took the honey that I was saving for the glaze, which was going to be completely substandard anyway, and melted it a little bit and beat it into the dough. And do you know what? 

IT TOTALLY WORKED. 

Beetle = Warrior. 

Squishing = highly satisfying

After that (really after I gave up the idea that these were going to be by the cookbook) it was totally easy and fun to make the dough balls. I knew they weren't going to flatten in the oven and I wanted them to, so a pre-squish was in order.

The cooking time in the actual recipe said 20 - 24 minutes. 18 minutes in my oven almost burnt them (the black ones are Mum's obvi). So for the second round of pans I set the timer for 15 minutes and then sort of sat in front of the oven watching them until they were ready to come out. 

I gotta say, not too shabby. 

So the honey that was supposed to be brushed elegantly on top went into the dough instead. You're still getting the honey experience, just delivered in a different way. There is no cardamom, and there is no orange blossom water. Perhaps next time I make these I will add some cardamom for flavour (I never met a pod I didn't like, after all) but considering how far I had deviated already, I thought it was best to count my losses and get out with as much dignity as possible. The fact that I had managed to make cookies AT ALL at that point, let alone cookies that smelled, looked, and tasted amazing, seemed like achievement enough. 

I do love me some flecks of hazelnut. So pretty. 

Good Beetle daughter that I am, I met Mum at the door with one that was still warm. We were in business. They are crunchy and nutty (thank you, Amaranth) and even though the honey went into the dough with the sugar, they are not too sweet. 

The Lovely Librarians are getting these today and tomorrow (no, you guys, I didn't let her decimate them over the weekend, I love you too much) so I await their final judgement. Hopefully they will concur that these are keepers. Apologies to Kim Boyce for destroying her lovingly crafted recipe, but I hope she will take comfort in the fact that this proves that she is a professional and highly talented pastry chef, and I am a Yankee Hillbilly Warrior Beetle Who Is Too Lazy to Toast Her Own Hazelnuts And Thinks the World Can Be Held Together With Butter. 

God Save The Good China

There is only one way to begin this post.

Happy Birthday, Ma'am. God Save You. 

Coincidentally (though I shall pretend it was with aforethought) today has included not only Afternoon Tea but also A BRITISH PERSON. Between her, cold salad and biscuits, dainty cups and saucers, and a discussion of whether one pours the tea or the milk first (to be explained below in detail) we felt we behaved in an appropriately celebratory fashion. 

I will admit, though, that we FAILED on the bunting front. But it will not happen again. There will be bunting for ever after. 

AFTERNOON TEA IN HONOUR OF HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN

Cold Salad of Tomatoes, Green Olives, and Feta with Basil

Smoked Trout 

Rosemary and Honey Bread

Cheese (Cheddar and Blue) 

---

Tea / Coffee

Hazelnut and Honey Amaranth Cookies

Today was the first day since, seriously, last Sunday, that the sun came out, and it was actually possible to wear only one sweater without dying of cold. Up until last night we had rejected the idea of tea on the side porch as the single most miserable prospect on earth. But then, dear reader, today dawned sunny and glorious. Huzzah. 

Easy peasy lemon squeezy

This also meant it was possible to have cold salads and not, say, a huge bowl of hot soup. Which obviously widens the culinary options a bit. 

We got some lovely red and yellow cherry tomatoes yesterday, and there is  really nothing nicer on a warm summer day than a fresh tomato salad. Cherries are the greatest for this because all you have to do is slice them in half and hey presto you're done. 

 Mixed with green olives, feta, and torn basil leaves, it becomes a pretty perfect dish. The tomatoes are sweet, the feta is salty, and the olives are halfway between both. It's also one of those things you can make way ahead of time because the longer it sits the better the flavours mix together. It's summer peeps! Make the most of the tomatoes because you will miss them when they're gone.

The smoked trout was, obviously, because we try to include smoked fish in as many meals as is humanly possible. (It's humanly possible a lot of the time, turns out, if you are determined enough.) As a cold salad it works perfectly, and in case you didn't know this, smoked fish and tomatoes is THE MOST AMAZING COMBINATION EVER. Honestly, try it. Then go ahead and thank me for the rest of your life. 

The Rosemary Honey Bread was an emergency bread this morning because I made 5-Grain Rye bread yesterday and it was not a, shall we say, resounding success. I made up the recipe, which is probably why it turned out a bit odd. Suffice it to say that I love dense bread, I have gone on record as loving dense bread several times here before. But this took dense to a whole new level. A level to which perhaps it should not be taken. I decided during my spin session this morning to chuck it (you should have heard the thunk it made in the trash can. It was SONOROUS.) and make more. 

This is Nigel Slater's from the Guardian, and it is quick, easy, and freakishly good. I was able to make it running the mixer with one hand and drinking coffee with the other. 

Now THAT, dear reader, IS SKILL. 

Side note: When I put these loves in the oven and went out to pick some flowers, I set the timer for 25 minutes. After returning with a bouquet, I mooched around the kitchen doing last minute things, calmly waiting for the timer to ding. Looking up randomly a while later I realised it had stopped. But how could that be? I asked myself. It totally hasn't been 25 minutes. WELL. Upon questioning (ok, interrogation) it turns out for reasons best known to her Mum had TURNED OFF THE TIMER AND HADN'T BOTHERED TO TELL ME. FOR SERIOUS, YOU GUYS. The bread was fine, but only just. 

As you can imagine, I put her in her place, as only a Warrior Beetle can do. And do you know what her response was?

You guessed it. 

The cookies are part of my continuing alternate flour kick, and I'll do a full post on them tomorrow because I HAVE BEETLE NOTES, YOU GUYS. They turned out quite well, but there was some serious Warrior Beetle last minute salvage going on. However, they are pretty pretty pretty and smell delightful (I forgot how good the smell of honey is when it's cooking) and went down a treat. 

Hazelnut and Honey Amaranth Cookies (Warrior Beetle version) 

Now. I know all of you have been scrolling impatiently through food photos because obviously all you want to know is DO I POUR THE TEA OR THE MILK FIRST OH PLEASE GOD TELL ME. Well scroll no longer, dear reader, because . . . 

IT'S TEA. 

This explanation is two fold. A story and a fantastically esoteric fact. 

1. THE STORY. The story came from Mum's bff, who was at tea herself last month with two lovely old ladies, and the subject came up, like it does. (For this, imagine the most cut glass English accent you can . . . then double it . . . that's what they apparently sounded like.) In this retelling, let's name one of them "Countess of Grantham" and the other "Countess of Trentham" (both Maggie Smith film characters. Hey, that's where my brain goes.) 

CoG: "Well. I know that [gesturing] the CoT always does the tea first. [knowing yet totally refined smile] And there's a very good reason why . . . "

CoT: [apparently begins laughing hysterically yet totally elegantly]

[all guests press for this amazing reason]

CoG: Oh go on, tell them!

CoT: [still laughing, even more elegant than before]

CoG: Well, I will then.

CoG: [pausing for dramatic effect] The CoT does the tea first because [giggles girlishly yet aristocratically] the MAID only brought round the milk after she'd poured out!

[all guests fall about laughing. party is resounding success]

2. FANTASTICALLY ESOTERIC FACT. Get this. Apparently, if your china was exceptionally delicate (as of course it would be), pouring the tea in first would a)stain it and b)potentially cause a crack. Pouring the milk in first mitigated both of these risks. 

I know what you're saying, dear reader. Beetle, you just said that it was TEA first WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME? 

WELL. Also apparently, if your china was even more exceptionally delicate, it would not only NOT stain, it would NOT crack. LIKE YOUR SOCIAL STATUS, IT WAS IMPERVIOUS TO EVERYTHING, leaving you perfectly free to pour the tea out first and share it with your noble relatives in the comfort and safety of one of your many country estates.

IN SNOBBISH CONCLUSION. If you were common and bourgeois, then you had only super nice china, and you poured the milk in first. If you were, say, the THE QUEEN FOR EXAMPLE, then you had even more super nice china, and you didn't have to stoop to the level of worrying about your teacups. Or, you know . . . anything. The best thing to come out of this is that you could TOTALLY TELL IF SOMEONE WAS FAKING AN ELEVATED STATUS. 

MILK = FAKER

TEA = THE REAL THING

If I don't use this in a detective novel some day, then please someone else do, because it's such an awesome fact I LOVE IT.

So Happy Birthday to Her Majesty, long may she reign etc., and for future reference, only plebs do milk first. Obviously. 

Rain and Potatoes and Cakes That Are Green

So first, dear reader, I must address the Fig Bun issue.

FIG BUN UPDATE

I figured that these would go down pretty well. Not epically. But pretty well. And so it was with a fair amount of resignation that I packaged up the buns to be delivered to my Lovely Librarians on Tuesday. I even had a conversation with Mum about whether I should even pull a Beetle Bakery, or whether I should just force her to eat them all. In the end we decided on Beetle Bakery, and I sent in the less "brown around the edges" of the lot. And crossed my fingers.

You can IMAGINE my shock and delight when Mum, on coming home Tuesday night (once she physically grabbed the remote and stopped me (!!!) watching the season premiere of Pretty Little Liars so that I would listen to her instead of staring at the TV with my mouth open) reported that not ONLY had the buns been received favourably, they had been DEVOURED and LAUDED and LOVED.

Well. You can imagine how pleased I was. And how fetchingly I blushed.

ALSO.

Our household guardian (HG for future reference), Ralph is, I think I mentioned, replacing windows in the dining room and living room. The house smells like paint and wood shavings and there are books EVERYWHERE MORE THAN THE NORMAL PSYCHOTIC AMOUNT because we had to empty and move the bookshelves that are of course in front of Every. Single. Wall. In. The. House. So this morning Ralph showed up and on whim I yelled from the library did he like Fig Newtons. (Don't let the flannel shirt and tool belt fool you - Ralph is a total foodie, and one of my best guinea pigs.) He responded that he LOVED them. Whee! Still in running gear I skipped into the kitchen and presented the tray of fig buns with a flourish. You SHOULD have seen his eyes light up. It was amazing. But given that he had what I think was a power drill (?) in his hands, he said he'd take one on his way out. I went back to stretching and was in the shower when he peaced out for the day due to exorbitant amounts of rain. When I came down, Mum informed me that he had specifically asked for one before he left, and that he had taken not just one but three. This pleases me greatly. I will await his judgement with baited breath upon the morrow.

So for the time being, FIG BUNS FTW.

And yes, it is biblically raining outside right now. But pretty and biblical. So when the house uproots and floats down the mountain I will be gazing serenely out the window thinking "Wow, everything looks so green and fresh." right before the end. There are better ways to go I suppose. HOWEVER the fun thing about pretty rain is RAIN WALKING which I did this afternoon. I am currently without a raincoat of my own (Target . . . I'm looking at you . . . ) so wore what used to be my raincoat when I was in 6th grade and now is Mum's raincoat because after 6th grade I told her that it was huge and also bright orange and also lined with orange gingham and that I would rather soak to the bone and die of pneumonia than wear it in public again. That's the raincoat I wore today. Over a running shirt, fleece, and running parka. With my headphones. It was an epic rain walk and I enjoyed it immensely. Upon returning I realised two things: 1. I really had to pee. 2. I had not realised how wet my pants and socks and wrists were. And so what should have been a calm ending to a gorgeous bright green tramp through countryside full of deer and foxes and geese and bunnies (no, seriously, I saw all of those things today, I'm not kidding) turned into a frantic strip to my undies, swearing quietly, hopping from one foot to the other, followed by a naked dash through the labyrinthine book passages on the dining room floor and up the stairs. Poor cats. All they wanted was to say hello and maybe get some lunch and what they got instead was a whirlwind of expletives and sodden spandex. I gave them extra treats, don't worry.

Moving on.

Remember when I said that Mum wasn't a huge tofu fan, but that she loved edamame? It's ok if you don't, I just reminded you. Dinner last night arose from me rooting in the freezer for an ice pack (love you too, running) and realising that, somehow unbeknownst to both of us, we had accumulated enough frozen edamame to singlehandedly prop up the Chinese soybean market for a year. What I had thought were garden peas were edamame. What I had thought was spinach was edamame. What I had thought was puff pastry was edamame (it's a colourful package). You guys, it was time to make edamame. Also to make a sign and tape it to where we make shopping lists that reads in all capital letters WE DON'T NEED EDAMAME. NO REALLY. WE DON'T.

Pretty much the entire contents of our freezer apart from Ice Packs. 

So obviously I don't need to tell you what dinner last night involved. What I can tell you is that it was a Beetle recipe, that it was delicious, albeit a little thrown together and scraptastic, and that even though it involved a food processor, it was actually very simple.

POTATO AND EDAMAME CAKES (or BURGERS? I don't know, you decide) 

You'll notice, perhaps, that I have eschewed the word "croquettes." This is because I went to boarding school. If you went to boarding school, then you understand what I am about to say. The word "croquette" will forever and a day evoke a mental image of a mass-produced-frozen-then-reheated lump of something probably involving instant potato flakes and maybe a meat-based substance and very possibly fake cheese. I am unable even to TYPE the word without visions of years and years of these floating through my mind's eye. Oh I ate them, dear reader. We all did. Everyone who went to boarding school in New England in the late 90's early 00's will know EXACTLY what I mean when I say "Broc Chix." Yep. I ate my WEIGHT in Broc Chix. And I loved every single bite. However, hindsight is a bitch when it comes to "food you ate your weight of in boarding school" and that includes tuna melts for lunch every day for four years and enough Marshmallow Fluff out of the jar that the dining hall manager once (I am not making this up) offered me his daily insulin.

BOTTOM LINE, YOU GUYS, THESE AREN'T CROQUETTES. 

I will eventually just rename this blog
"Gratuitous Amounts of Potato Pictures."

I used red-skinned Fingerling potatoes (more purple coming this weekend yaaaayy), cutting them in half and leaving them to steam whilst I went upstairs, changed into sweats, and did some yoga (and yes I did run down halfway through Standing Head to Knee to check on them, I'm not a complete reprobate). Once they were done I mashed them up good and proper with some olive oil and salt, keeping skins on, obvs, and set that aside.

Which is also a super cool band name. 

Edamame post food processor.
Kind of like the Incredible Hulk had an accident.
But at least his protein levels are up.

I knew that even with sticky potato awesomeness holding everything together if the edamame were in original bean form the cakes would disintegrate in the pan and I'd be left with a massive mess. (A delicious one, but still a mess).Therefore, they were placed in my adorable little food processor and pulsed a few times.









Then it was pretty easy to combine potatoes and edamame mash, and, yay, using hands, super fun kindergarten throwback, and form them into cakes (or burgers, but not croquettes).

Cute, no? 

It's true what they say. Cornmeal makes everything better. 

I thought about baking them in the oven but I wanted a little bit of a sear on the tops and bottoms, so I got the pan ready with olive oil, and dredged (yes, word love) them in a bit of cornmeal before giving them a quick fry, three or four at a time. And that did the trick quite well.

Best of all was the inevitable flake-offs that got all crunchy in the pan as the cakes cooked, THAT was the best by far.

Crunchy salty potatoey edamamey cornmealy awesomeness. 


I left the extras on a baking sheet so when Mum came home all she had to do was give them a quick warm in the oven. AND one carton Fingerlings plus one package Edamame made about 12 decent sized cakes. So you know what that means, dear reader.

1. NO WE DID NOT EAT THEM ALL

2. ALTHOUGH YOU COULD BE FORGIVEN FOR THINKING THAT
I'VE BEEN KNOWN TO DO WORSE

3. No, what I MEANT to say is

4. LEFTOVER NIGHT