Beetle-O's

I forget what began the conversation, but somehow or other we were in the car discussing crappy food and how we used to eat it in the good old days (aka dark ages) before the global hyper-awareness of processed food and chemicals, etc.

You know, when you could happily polish off an entire sleeve of Ritz crackers in one sitting and apart from the film that coated your mouth for the next three days and vague nausea, everything was groovy. You didn't have to do environmental penance for felled palm trees, nor go on a five day kale-cleanse to get rid of the partially hydrogenated sodium-infused death.

I'm not saying we were better off then. I'm just saying it was simpler. Unhealthier. But simpler.

ANYWAY. Listed alongside Ritz crackers were Milanos, Reddi-Whip, Pringles, and, surprisingly from Mum, Oreos. She's not really a chocolate person, so it was a bit of a shock to hear her mention them. I thought I was the only one scoffing them down in my grandmother's kitchen right before going to the beach, only to cramp spectacularly half an hour later on my surfboard and slowly drown in salt water and agony.*

*note: the best remedy for Oreo-induced stomach spasms, incidentally, happens to be fried clams. Medical research has yet to prove this conclusively, but I can give evidence in favour. Works like a charm.

I therefore offered to make said Oreos. Or, at least, a version of Oreos that were not flammable, could be used as flotation devices in case of shipwreck, and survive a nuclear holocaust. What I offered to make were chocolate cookie sandwiches with vanilla buttercream centres. What I offered to make, dear reader, were BEETLE-O's. 

BEETLE-O's
For the chocolate cookie part, I definitely needed something simple, chocolaty, and with the right amount of crunch. What would have been ideal would have been a chocolate version of the Butter Roll Out cookies I did for Christmas two weeks ago. However, Irma Rombauer, for the first time in history, didn't have what I was looking for. (I know, I was totally shocked too.) I toyed with the idea of making the cookies and just adding melted chocolate to the dough, but then I came across a Nigella recipe for Granny Boyd's Cookies. I had never made them before but always paused at the page and thought "some day soon." According to her, they would be dark, smoky, and chocolatey. And they were simple and easy and I realised the time had come.

BEETLE-O CHOCOLATE COOKIES
(doubled for this batch, incidentally)

• 2 sticks plus 2 tbs unsalted butter, at room temperature
• 7 tbs sugar
• 2 tbs unsweetened cocoa powder
• 2 cups all-purpose flour

Cream the butter and sugar together in a mixmaster until pale and fluffy. Sift the cocoa powder and flour together and add to the mixture, beating until well combined.

The dough is crumbly, not wet. But it does come together when you start working it with your hands. 

Form balls, according to Nigella, "about the size of a walnut" and space them evenly out on baking sheets. She says use a fork to flatten them out, to give them their characteristic ridging on top. I, having recently discovered a beautiful jelly spoon of my great-grandmother's the day before, decided to get all fancypants and use that instead. 

The spoon in question. Thank you, Great Grandmamma Georgiana.

BEHOLD.

Jelly spoons = Useless for eating applesauce.

Jelly Spoons = Really awesome for cookie printing.

Bake them at 350 degrees for 5 minutes, then reduce the oven to 300 degrees and bake for another 10-15. I took them out right at 10, and they seemed firm and done.

You can tell the dough was crumbly from the fact that the edges have gone all shortbread-y.
They crack when you flatten them. 

So. Cookies were done. You know what's coming next. 

Exactly. 

I used the Vanilla Buttercream that is on the side of the Domino Confectioner's Sugar Box. Why? Because it's the best damn Vanilla Buttercream recipe in existence. That's why.

THE DOMINO SUGAR VANILLA BUTTERCREAM RECIPE

• 3 3/4 cups confectioner's sugar
• 1 stick butter, softened
• 3-4 tbs milk
• 1 tsp vanilla extract

Mixmaster. Done. 

Why mess with the best? 

And now, dear reader, came the fun part. THE SANDWICH MAKING PART. 

I suppose, of course, if your tastes tend towards the more frugal, you can just top a single cookie with buttercream and have done with it. 

But then you wouldn't get to do this.

Or this. 

Or this. 

And really, that's kind of the point.

FINAL BEETLE NOTE

I do have to say that despite Nigella's promises that the cookies would be dark and smoky, I would have liked them to come out a bit more chocolatey. Perhaps I should have added more cocoa powder? Or thrown some melted bittersweet into the mix? I don't know. It's just that in general, she is so good at decadent, gluttonous-to-the-point-of-embarrassment recipes that I just assumed these would be super chocolate. When I make Beetle-O's again (because believe me, dear reader, there WILL be a next time) I'll either tweak this recipe, or find a dark chocolate wafer one somewhere and use that instead. 

Domino Sugar Vanilla Buttercream, on the other hand, proves itself once again. 

Hey, Domino. You'll always be MY sugar. 

So. From this: 

To this: 

I'm not saying they taste better. There is something about that chemical afterburn that even I appreciate, and you will not get that scary-yet-glorious jittery sugar high from these. But they are rather fetching, if I do say so myself, and at least after eating them you don't have to go work in a lemur-sanctuary in Uruguay for five years and eat nothing but lemon-ginger water until Valentine's Day. 

Which. Trade off. 

Happy New Year!

HAPPY NEW YEAR, DEAR READER! MAY 2014 BE LOVELY AND PROSPEROUS FOR US ALL!

It should be noted that the Leek Pie featured here was not the intended dinner for December 31st and January 1st. I had planned to do Vanilla Mashed Rutabagas for New Years Eve and Day to accompany the omnipresent smoked fish and pickled herring that we consume in industrial quantities at this time of year.

However.

A 24-hour bug swept through Beetle HQ the weekend before the 31st. Dairy products were removed from set menus. Chamomile tea was drunk by the bucketload. I drove to New Hampshire at 5.30 am on Saturday morning to the one open gas station in a 20 mile radius to buy Pepto Bismol. Leek pie fell by the wayside in favour of plain pasta and rice cakes, and rather than being mashed with cream and vanilla beans, the Rutabagas were steamed, dumped in a bowl, and eaten incredibly slowly. A lot of Danish police procedurals were watched. It was not the most active nor the most culinarily daring of weekends.

However.

By the time the 31st rolled around we were back on our feet. Leek Pie became a thing again. So here you have it.

LEEK PIE

or

NOT BREAD PUDDING, NOT GRATIN, BUT A MIX OF THE TWO I'M CALLING PIE

I looked up Leeks in Wikipedia to see if there was some kind of cultural or dietary significance attached, to perhaps give the serving of them for New Years an unintentional meaning I could then pass off as deliberate. Sadly, apart from being a good source of Manganese and Vitamin K, and being prominent in St. David's Day celebrations (yay Wales!), the Leek doesn't really have anything going for it at the moment. But it is delicious, and it goes very nicely with goat cheese and fish. And that's good enough for me. 

LEEK PIE

INGREDIENTS

• 3 decent sized leeks, washed, green bit discarded, chopped into 1/2 inch wedges
• 1 medium onion, chopped
• Olive oil
• 3/4 cup crumbled goat cheese (or another cheese you'd rather use, I won't judge) 
• Salt and Pepper
• Fresh dill

Heat the oil in a small casserole dish or skillet (I used one with a higher lip because I had just scrubbed the stovetop and didn't want to get it all dirty again. Add the leeks and onion and some salt and pepper and cook about 10 minutes until they are soft and brown but not crispy. 

These can actually be made beforehand, I did this the night before, and then assembled and baked finally right before serving. 

When you're ready, put half the leeks in the bottom of a buttered pie dish and spread them out evenly. Top with half the goat cheese, salt, pepper, and dill. 

Repeat. 

Depending on the circumference of your dish, this can be a thick pie or a thin one. I used my new pie plate because it's pretty and I love it, and with only three leeks and an onion it yielded a fairly thin pie, but according to Mum the thickness or thinness in no way impacts the taste. Good to know. 

Once you've assembled the entire thing, bake in the oven at 400 for 20-25 minutes, until the edges are crispy  and crackly and the cheese is beginning to bubble and brown. 

I did this New Year's Eve day at around 3pm, picked Mum up from work, then reheated it in the oven for about 10 minutes before we had dinner. It looked very festive and Mum said a) thanks for waiting until I wasn't sick anymore and b) can you make this again soon.

BEETLE NOTES

This checks off the following boxes of "New Year's Eve Dinner"

1. Isn't insanely complicated, labour intensive, or time consuming

2. Can be made without agonising over timing or reheating issues, where you end up standing in the kitchen waving a dishtowel around and screaming "IF WE DON'T EAT IN THE NEXT FIVE MINUTES THEN I MIGHT AS WELL JUST SERVE CEREAL." 

3. It goes beautifully with smoked and pickled fish. 

     3a. I realise the above point might not be applicable to everyone here. That's ok. More for me. 

4. Is clean and fresh and light tasting and says "New Year Yay!" rather than "Christmas Food Coma!" 

The goat cheese was because I wanted something sweet and creamy to balance out the leek sharpness. Goat cheese melts really well and doesn't becoming stringy and messy, so it's good to bake because it just gets gooier and gooier rather than burny and inedible. But it's still a pretty thick cheese, so it holds up when sandwiched between layers of leeks and doesn't just evaporate like, I feel, something like Parmesan would do. ALSO it's not salty. Which is key here. It's mellow and rich and sort of wraps up the leeks in a big goat cheesey hug and wishes it happy new year. 

Small beetle aside to sob quietly into my keyboard and whisper "I miss you, goat cheese. I miss you."

I write this, incidentally, from the library, from the depths of my ForeverLazy, the morning after a hell of a lot of snow fell in Massachusetts and New England. But we are plowed! The New York Times has been delivered! I have a cat on the arm of my chair! The aunt and uncle are coming tonight! All is well. 

I did assemble and fridge what looks like a delicious Gingerbread Trifle this morning (thank you, burnt Pfeffernusse!) so fingers crossed that a chilled bowl of Pfeffernusse, Vanilla Custard, Pfeffernusse, Vanilla Custard, Ginger Preserve, Whipped Cream, and Pfeffernusse in that exact order will be a success. 

But if it's not, hey, I tried. And, FIRST BIG TIP OF 2014, YOU GUYS, LISTEN UP when you realise your fridge contains approximately 7 million eggs, the best thing to do is make custard. Custard is like a black hole for eggs. You BLINK and they're gone. 

First dinner party of 2014 coming soon, but for the time being, HAPPY NEW YEAR, DEAR READER and here's to a year of yummy food, not burning myself, and (fingers super crossed) becoming gainfully employed yet again! 

And now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to put on my snowpants and shovel the front walk. If I'm not back in 10 days, call for reinforcements. 

CHRISTMAS EVE POST

This is the insert I put in the Lovely Librarians' Christmas Tins this morning:

A Very Happy Christmas To You

Chocolate Espresso Cookies

Oatmeal Walnut Cookies

Pfeffernüsse

Raspberry Jam Sandwiches

Fruitcake

Chocolate Peppermint Bars

xo

The Beetle

I'm going to let that serve as the intro here. I would type more but I've washed my hands and various bowls and mixers so many times since Friday that they have clawed into dry husks of their former selves and all I will be doing until 2014 is coating them in Bag Balm and whimpering quietly.

And so.

CHOCOLATE ESPRESSO COOKIES

We've talked about these. I made them for my boyfriend Chris Hemsworth's movie premiere and when I was deciding what cookies to make for the LL's, Mum said "You have to make those chocolate espresso things again. Except make sure you make enough that you can give them to the Library but also there are leftovers too." 

These cookies are like that perfect man at a Holiday Party . . . dark and handsome with just a hint of danger, but ultimately reliable and emotionally and financially stable. A man upon whom you develop a crush before you've even had time to take your coat off, and you spend the next three weeks fantasizing about your life together.

OATMEAL WALNUT COOKIES

THESE cookies are the equivalent of your grandparents when you arrive home for Christmas. Familiar, safe, the ultimate in comfy and cosy. And also slightly . . . um . . . nutty.

PFEFFERNUSSE

These were at the behest of Mum. They are, I think, her favourite cookie on earth, and I suspect her suggestion of them during "LL Gift Tin Planning" was a slightly biased contribution.

The dough after chilling overnight.
Essential for letting all the flavours blend together.  

Pre-sugared . . . 

 . . . and post.

These are like your favourite Aunt. The one you don't see very often. The one who is slightly snarky and cynical, hilarious, and who says exactly what's on her mind. And every time you see her you think "why don't we do this more often?" 

BEETLE NOTES

These are perfect at Christmas - they're like Gingerbread on steroids. So spicy, so warm, and oh so festive-looking.

I ended up making two batches. The first baking sheet cooked faster than I thought it was going to, and, if I'm honest, I could have used THEM instead of the snow shovel to break up the semi-melted ice on the front patio. HOWEVER. I am saving them, and am planning on using them in a custard trifle thing this coming weekend. So there. See? I totally planned to burn the crap out of them. Huh. 

RASPBERRY JAM SANDWICHES

I asked Father Christmas for a pastry mat. 

At the moment cookies like these involve the dough butcher block, which weighs more than me.

Mind you, rolling and cutting dough on a hunk of wood the size of a twin bed is incredibly soothing.

These cookies are the awesome girlfriend your brother or cousin brings home. She's beautiful, smart, stylish without seeming to make any effort at all, and you immediately want to be her best friend for life. 

BEETLE NOTES

This is the "Rich Butter Roll Out Cookie" recipe from Joy of Cooking. I'm keeping it on hand for the next time I want to make any kind of shaped or decorated cookie. On it's own, without jam, jimmies (sprinkles for those of you who do NOT speak New England), or icing, it makes a rich-yet-light, simple-yet-elegant, flaky-yet-decadent cookie.

See? It's the girlfriend about whom you grab your brother, drag him into the kitchen and hiss "marry her now dammit she's amazing." 

FRUITCAKE

I mean, it wouldn't be Christmas without a Fruitcake, would it?

My version has currants, apricots, figs, crystallised ginger, golden raisins, orange and lemon extracts, and a hell of a lot of molasses. 

This one is . . . well . . . the Fruitcake. The Uncle that's kind of weird but ultimately lovable. You roll your eyes at him but deep down you enjoy his company and you think his jokes are actually pretty funny. He probably wears socks and sandals. And maybe a sport eyeglass-chain around his neck.

He doesn't get any pop culture references and he tells the story, yet again, about the time you threw up during your school's Christmas pageant when you were seven, but he's sweet and he tries, and he's got your back when Aunt Ethel starts in on why you haven't gotten married yet. 

CHOCOLATE PEPPERMINT BARS

This is kind of like a York Peppermint Patty that went to Tibet to live with the monks for a year, became a Triathlete, got a PhD in Astrophysics, and started a charity for homeless kids all in the space of a single year. It's just . . . woah. The basic components remain the same as the original but the new version is just SO. MUCH. BETTER.

Chocolate cakey-biscuit bottom, peppermint buttercream-y middle, solid dark chocolate top with a sprinkling of crushed peppermint candies. Say it with me now . . . nom nom nom nom. 

Note the Peppermint Icing oozing up through the layers.
Less a "this is supposed to happen" and more of a "woops maybe I should have chilled it longer." 

This one, I think, is like your favourite cousin of all time. You've been thick as thieves since you were babies and the first thing you do when you see her is disappear upstairs to spill all your gossip. She makes you laugh until your stomach hurts, she pretends to vomit when Aunt Joyce gives you yet another "reclaimed yarn scarf", and she helps you dispose of Aunt Edna's Brussels Sprouts in your napkin. Basically, she's your girl.

BEETLE NOTES

This recipe (from Donna Hay) called for vegetable shortening, which I did not have, nor wanted to use. I substituted butter like I normally do, and I think that's why these came out significantly gooier than the magazine photos indicated. There is a NOTE at the bottom of it that says that vegetable shortening "allows the icing to set" and "gives the chocolate a glossy finish." Both, clearly, are true.

I'm not saying that I wish I had used vegetable shortening (or as I like to call it, industrial flame-retardant foam). What I AM saying is that these do need to be chilled before slicing, and preferably served cold as well.

Since I came to this realisation as I was packing them into Christmas tins, the LL's got this one separately, with instructions to keep in the fridge until ready to eat. (LL's, if Mum forgot to tell you this, which let's be honest she probably did, consider this your official advice.) This also necessitated packing the bag containing said Peppermint Slices in the trunk and wedging ice packs around it so that they would stay chilled until the moment of delivery. Because. That's how I roll. 

The super fun part of making these is that the topping involves smashing a bag of Peppermints WITH A HAMMER. Which. Is. So. Fun. I took myself out to the mudroom and spent a gloriously noisy 5 minutes beating the crap out out of them. If you are suffering from holiday stress, dear reader, I highly recommend it. It's incredibly therapeutic. And the added bonus is that whatever room you do it in smells like peppermint for the next few hours. 

 And so.

Monday morning found me, coffee in hand, OCD-ing to my little heart's content, double wrapping everything in tissue paper, checking it off on the colour-coded contents list, repacking the extras in their specially appointed tupperwares . . .  IT WAS GLORIOUS.

And so, dear reader, on Christmas Eve (because HOLY CRAP IT'S CHRISTMAS EVE NOW I GOTTA GET MOVING THERE IS LOTS OF PICKLED HERRING TO DISH OUT) I wish you all a very Happy Holidays (denominational and non). May visions of sugarplums dance in your heads as you drift off to sleep, and may tomorrow morning be bright and festive and filled with yummy and sparkly things. 

hmmm, I wonder which one of the above I'm going to leave out for Father Christmas . . .  

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT!