Fresh Tomato Shakshuka

For those not in the know, making shakshuka goes like this:

Step 1: Make tomato sauce.
Step 2: Add eggs.
Step 3: Scoop up with bread, impress/delight guests/self.

Seriously, shakshuka gives you a very impressive bang for your buck. It's a Middle Eastern favorite, and I can't for the life of me figure out why it's not more popular here. Because really, it's delicious. And easy.

You can make your tomato sauce the night before, and just crack in the eggs in the morning for an insta-brunch. You can use half the tomato sauce, and freeze the other for an all-you-need-is-eggs meal. Or you can, as I did, pour your sauce into a jar, tuck it in your bike bag along with a carton of eggs, and use an office hot plate to make a truly spectacular workday meal (ah, lunch club!).

Shakshuka usually features sauteed peppers, but I'm not the biggest fan. So instead I just did the usually smattering of favorites: onions, garlic, tomatoes, with a bit of depth and interest from cumin, paprika, and caraway (the latter isn't necessary, but it's nice). You can make shakshuka all year long with canned tomatoes, but this version, with a pile of fresh ones, is especially lovely. And did I mention easy?

Fresh Tomato Shakshuka

adapted, loosely, from Einat Admony
Serves 6-8
 
1/4 cup olive oil
2 medium yellow onions, finely chopped
6 cloves garlic, finely chopped
1 tablespoon paprika (you can swap out half or all for smoked paprika)
1 tablespoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon crushed caraway seeds (optional)
1⁄4 cup tomato paste
1 bay leaf
6 good-sized fresh tomatoes, chopped
salt, pepper and sugar to taste
12 large eggs

Heat a large pot over a medium high heat, and pour in the olive oil. Add the onions, along with a pinch of salt, and cook until translucent and slumped but not colored, ~10 minutes, turning down the heat if needed to keep them from browning. Add the garlic, and stir another 3-5 minutes until softened. Add the paprika, cumin, and caraway (if using), stir for a minute or two to toast, then mix in the tomato paste, then add the bay leaf and fresh tomatoes, and salt, pepper and sugar to taste. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the mixture cooks down entirely, and the oil begins to come out — about 30—40 minutes.

When the mixture has cooked down, add enough water to restore it to a somewhat soupy tomato-sauce consistency, and taste to adjust seasonings. At this point you can proceed with the recipe, hold it until later, or freeze (all or half) of the mixture until you're ready to serve.

When it's time to cook, pour half of the sauce into a large skillet. Turn the heat to medium-high, until the mixture starts to bubble, and crack in a half-dozen eggs. Cover, turning down the heat if it's sputtering too much, and cook until the eggs are set to your liking — it should take less than 10 minutes to get a nice, set-but-runny consistency, where the whites have set but the yolks are still a bit saucy. Serve with crusty bread, and feta, olives and hot sauce on the side. Repeat with remaining sauce and eggs, or reserve for another meal.

Everday Granola

I'm calling this everyday granola, because I eat it almost every day. This is not an exaggeration. After going through a spate of leftovers-for-breakfast, and then the boiled egg years, I am now firmly in a delicious rut of granola. It's my new go-to gift for friends who need a little culinary love. It's something I'm sure I have a fresh batch of before my friend arrives for house-/dog-sitting duty. It's something I just can't seem to get tired of.

This recipe came from Cook's Illustrated, as flagged by my dear friend Rebecca (though I've tweaked it a wee bit further). It's basic, brown, and, comparatively, not so exciting. It's also ridiculously delicious. I canNOT STOP making this.

This granola is, of course, perfect for breakfast. But it's also a perfect hold-me-over snack. And a perfect I'm-walking-by-the-jar-I-might-as-well-grab-a-handful indulgence. It's lightly sweetened, and clumps into crunchy clusters (thanks to a nice tamping-down before the oven). These summer days, I'm fond of it mixed with a bit of tart yogurt and juicy nectarines, but it's also lovely with just a splash of almond milk. I've occasionally dressed it up with a handful of buckwheat (which toasts to a surprisingly light crispness), and recently even tried a spoonful of fennel (lesson learned: don't). But mostly, I make it just as written. Again and again and again.

Everyday Granola

yields ~8 cups 

1/3 cup light brown sugar
1/3 cup maple syrup
1/2 cup oil (olive oil is nice, though others work too)
1 tablespoon vanilla
1/2 teaspoon coarse salt
4 1/2 cups rolled oats
1 cup raw almonds, coarsely chopped
1/4 cup sunflower seeds
2 tablespoons flax seeds

Move your rack to the top third of the oven, and preheat your oven to 325° Fahrenheit (make sure it's fully preheated, or you risk scorching the bottom). Line a large rimmed baking sheet with parchment or silpat liner (reportedly this is not optional, unless you fancy chipping granola off a pan).

In a large bowl, whisk together the brown sugar, maple syrup, oil, vanilla, and salt, until well combined. Add the oats, almonds, sunflower and flax seeds, and stir, scooping the goo from the bottom, until everything is well coated.

Transfer the mixture to your pan, and smooth it into an even layer. Using a pancake spatula, press down firmly and evenly — like really, really firmly — to compress the mixture as much as you can. If you don't have a flat spatula, you can place another sheet of parchment on top, and then press down with another pan.

Transfer the pan to the oven, and bake ~30-40 minutes, until just lightly browned. Turn off the oven, and leave the pan in the residual heat for another 10 minutes. Remove the pan, and let it cool fully — this will take longer than you'd think (about an hour), but you need to wait in order for your granola to set and not crumble to bits. When cool, break into chunks of your desired size, and store in a covered container.

Ful Medames (fava puree)

I have split and peeled fava beans in my pantry, and they are generally there for one purpose only: to make falafel. This is a noble purpose, enough to warrant them permanent residence on my over-full shelves. But still, it seems a little silly. I can't but wish I had something else I could do with them. Which is why I was quite excited to come across a recipe for ful medames.

Ful medames are a beloved Middle Eastern fava bean preparation. Not the ridiculous-amount-of-work fresh favas, but the fully mature beans, cooked into a simple yet satisfying dish. I'm a big fan of the dish, but pretty much exclusively from a can. My local Middle Eastern store stocks a full shelf of ful cans with enthusiastic banners on the label — Egyptian style! Saudi style! Palestinian style! — each a slight tweak on whole or pureed beans, maybe some cumin, lemon juice, possible garlic or tomato paste. I love em all. But while the can is easy-peasy, I figured fresh was best. And cheapest. Also: I had the favas on my shelf.

And so I tried this recipe. And I liked it. It's sort of like a tweak on your usual hummous, but with the favas' slightly deeper flavor (and, thanks to the dried beans being peeled and split, quicker cooking time). I soaked the beans overnight, then simmered them up to a mush (which I then pureed into an even smoother mush). Garlic, tomato paste, and lemon juice give it a nice balance, but really the fun comes in the toppings. I brought it to a brunch (as this dish is actually a common breakfast offering in the region), and sprinkled on some olive oil, cilantro leaves, and the *sniffle* last of the garden tomatoes. But you could just as easily go with a dollop of tahini, drizzle of yogurt, or sprinkle of aleppo pepper or sumac. With favas as your canvas, it's hard to go wrong.

Ful Medames (split fava puree)

adapted from Ya Salam Cooking
yields ~2 cups

1 cup dried split fava beans, soaked overnight
1 tablespoon tomato paste
3 cloves garlic, peeled
1 teaspoon cumin
1 tablespoon lemon juice
salt to taste
toppings: cilantro leaves, chopped tomato, olive oil, plain yogurt

Place the beans in a pot with water to cover by an inch or two. Bring to a boil over high heat, then reduce the heat until it's just high enough to maintain a simmer, and cook until the beans are totally soft, ~30-40 minutes. Halfway through, add the tomato paste and garlic cloves.

When the beans are cooked through, drain off the excess water, and transfer to a blender or food processor. Add the cumin and lemon juice, and a bit of salt, and process until smooth.  Taste and adjust flavors — feel free to doctor it up to your taste (and keep in mind the lemon will fade upon standing).

Transfer the ful into a bowl (I like to create a bit of a depression, so as to better contain what's coming next), and top with any or all of the toppings. Scoop up with wedges of pita bread.

Braided Sweet Tahini Bread

In general, I am a big fan of traditional pastry fillings. Almondy frangipane, rich and smooth pastry cream, tangy cheese mixtures. But recently I made a braided loaf filled with a swipe of sweetened tahini. And it was just lovely (especially paired with a cup of black tea). I love the brioche-like richness paired with the nutty filling, though I'm also now eying some variations that match the tahini filling with a leaner, pita-type dough. Because once you go down this tahini path, evidently it's hard to stop.

We tend to think of tahini, if we think of it at all, as a topping for falafel. Or for some ill-conceived hippie sauce. But it can be so much more. In the Middle East, it is used much as we use butter or margarine, to add richness and body (along with its own nutty nature) to a variety of preparations, both sweet and savory. You can read about this recipe, and other lovely tahini treatments, over at NPR's Kitchen Window.

Orange Pistachio Muffins

I am something of a teacher-pleaser. I am also somewhat lazy, which means I was never consistently A+ material. But that desire to meet expectations, to be thought of as a pleasure (and not, as those of us with questionable parenting occasionally fear, a burden) runs deep. And this compulsion extends to surprising places. Such as, on a recent Tuesday, doggie daycare.

Now, I am wholly convinced of the virtues of my dog, and the appeal of his gentle nature and all-around positive attitude (not a family trait). But I figure it doesn't hurt to stack the deck. And so, when I drop him off to spend a few hours at doggie daycare, I'm not above throwing in a little sugar to help make him the teachers' pet. Like these orange pistachio muffins.

I am normally a hard sell on the sweet breakfast, preferring the protein hit of the humble egg. But these muffins are perfect — a light and lovely mix of rich green pistachios and punchy orange zest, tender and sweet without veering into cupcake territory. While I do love to start the day with an apple (I've been obsessed with the Pink Lady recently), I'd argue that these make an even better gift for the teacher. Gold star!

Orange Pistachio Muffins 

yields 10 muffins (you can portion the batter to make an even dozen, but I favor a nearly-overflowing muffin, as what's the fun of a muffin without a nice muffintop?)

1 1/2 cups flour
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon coarse salt
1/2 stick butter, melted and slightly cooled (if you fancy, brown the butter in a small saucepan, melting it until it takes on a toasty color, for an even more delicious depth of flavor)
2/3 cup sugar, plus additional for topping
1 egg
3/4 cup sour cream
1/4 cup orange juice
zest from 1 orange
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon orange blossom or rosewater (optional)
1/2 heaping cup chopped pistachios, plus additional for topping

Preheat your oven to 375° Fahrenheit. Grease 10 muffin cups, and set aside.

Sift together the flour, baking soda, baking powder, and salt. Set aside.

In a separate bowl, mix together the melted butter, sugar, egg, sour cream, orange juice and zest, and extract(s) until well combined. Add the wet ingredients to the dries, give a turn or two, then sprinkle in the pistachios. Mix until just barely combined (better to under- than over-mix).

Quickly divide the mixture into muffin cups, coming just a bit below the lip of the cup. Sprinkle a dusting of sugar over the batter (you should need just a few spoonfuls for the whole tray), and then top with a sprinkling of pistachios. Bake until lightly golden and a tester comes out clean, ~15-20 minutes. Let cool slightly, then pop out of the muffin tin, wrap in a clean tea towel, and present to your teacher (or anyone else you desire).

Challah with Chocolate and Salt

Sometimes there are ideas that are so simple — and yet so deliciously perfect — that you wonder why it took you so long to come up with them. Like using pomegranate seeds to garnish absolutely everything you make while they're in season (in my case, including, but not limited to: salads, oven-roasted squash, a bowl of hummous, etc). And dry-toasting garlic before making garlic bread (more on that later). And adding chunks of chocolate and flaky sea salt to challah.

This long-overdue combination comes from the brilliant Sassy Radish. Admittedly, it's a relatively simple tweak — all of the ingredients are basic staples, nothing too surprising. But when you take this slightly sweet, eggy dough, and then tuck in some big  chunks of chocolate and a generous sprinkling of flaky salt, the results are so, so good.

Challah, with its rich-yet-light-softness, perfectly offsets the chunks of chocolate. And the salt, which may seem a bit excessive at the outset, turns out to be just what the combination needs. The resulting loaf is savory-sweet enough for a grown-up dessert, and makes a perfect match for your morning/afternoon cup of coffee. And compared to buttery brioche or pan au chocolate, it even seems somewhat healthy. But more than anything else, it just seems meant to be. I don't know why it took us so long to realize.

And in news of elegantly simple solutions from elsewhere in the internets, here's a story I produced for NPR on cooking with a mortar and pestle. Also, I had the good fortune to sit down with the queen of good kitchen ideas, Deb Perelman of Smitten Kitchen. You can read that interview over at The Oregonian.


Challah with Chocolate and Salt

adapted from Sassy Radish

3/4 cup apple cider (you can also substitute all or part orange juice, or water in a pinch)
1 tablespoon active dry yeast
1 large egg
2 large egg yolks
1/3 cup olive oil
1/3 cup honey
1 tsp coarse salt
~4 — 4 1/2 cups flour
3/4 cup chopped chocolate
1 egg, lightly beaten with a splash of water (henceforth known as the egg wash)
flaky salt for sprinkling

Pour the cider in the bowl of a stand mixer, then sprinkle in the yeast. Let sit ~5 minutes, to allow the yeast to soften and bloom.

Add the egg, egg yolks, oil, honey and salt. Fit the mixer with a whisk attachment, and mix until the liquid is well-blended. Add a few cups of the flour, mixing until it forms a batter.

Remove the whisk attachment, and fit the mixer with a dough hook. Add the remaining flour, bit by bit, until a soft and sticky dough is formed that just clears the sides of the mixing bowl, but still sticks to the bottom. Continue kneading with the dough hook for a few more minutes, to form supple, sticky, and well-developed dough.

Lightly oil a large bowl, and turn the dough out into it. Swish it around, then flip it over, so that the top is oiled as well. Cover the bowl, and let rise until doubled, ~1-2 hours, depending upon the temperature of the room. When risen, punch it down to deflate (I like to flip it over at this point, but it's not necessary), and let rise another hour or so (it doesn't need to entirely double this time, but you want to see some rising). The dough can be refrigerated overnight for either of these rises — just remove it and give it an hour to come to room temperature before proceeding with the recipe.

After the dough has risen for the second time, line a baking sheet with parchment or dust it with cornmeal. On a lightly-floured countertop, divide the dough into strands for the braid of your choosing — you can do a standard three-strand braid, or search the internet for an ornate braiding method of your choosing (I'm still obsessed with this foursquare braid, which seems to work particularly well for this challah). After you've divided the dough into portions for your braid, press each portion into a rough oval, and scatter on the chocolate chunks. Roll the dough up into a cylinder, squeezing out any air and sealing the seam. Roll the dough strands out into long ropes (if the dough resists, let it sit for a few minutes to relax). The chocolate chunks may remain inside the dough, or work to the outside — either will make for a good result. Weave the strands into the challah, and place on the prepared sheet.

Brush the dough with the egg wash (a brush is best for this, but I've made do with my fingers at times), and let it rise until it's increased by half, ~45 minutes to 1 1/2 hours, depending upon the room temperature (you want to make sure the final rising is complete — if the challah hasn't risen enough, it can end up either too dense, or expand raggedly in the oven, ruining your pretty shape).

While the dough is rising, preheat the oven to 375° Fahrenheit.

When the dough has completed its final rise, give it another brush with the egg wash (be delicate to avoid deflate all that nice rising that's just happened), and sprinkle generously with the flaky salt. In fact, even more than you think is generous, taking care to sprinkle in the seams and towards the sides, for maximum salty coverage after baking. Transfer to the oven, and bake until the bread is burnished to a dark brown and smells done, ~35-45 minutes (if it's browning too quickly, you can dome with foil for the final 15 minutes of baking, but I tend to favor a dark challah). Transfer to a rack, and allow to cool before slicing. Don't worry — the chocolate will be nice and melty for a few hours.

Fig, Pistachio and Goat Cheese Danish

I have this theory that the bulk of electric items that malfunction do so because they are, on some level, either:

1. unplugged
or
2. dirty

Sure, I understand that there are a wealth of complex problems that afflict larger machinery (as my recent $1,600 car repair bill can attest). But when a bike light/toaster/mixer stops working, I find that if I unscrew the back plate, and then either blow out a clot of dust or reconnect some wires that are clearly no longer connected, nine times out of ten the thing will blink back into life. It's enough to give a girl a false sense of prowess. I can fix things! Okay, maybe I don't fully understand how a circuit works, but still! I can fix things! Similarly, I have no culinary degree, and don't really understand the intricacies of pastry and what-have-you. But with a few small tweaks, I managed to come up with a breakfast creation that makes me feel like I've got this whole cooking thing down backwards and forwards. I can fix breakfast!

To be clear, I'm not usually a big fan of figs. Or so-inviting-yet-so-often-one-dimensional-and-disappointing sticky buns. Yet somehow, I bravely soldiered through these twin adversities and came up with a sweet figgy breakfast that is crazy good: the fig, pistachio and goat cheese danish.

Figs have a lot going for them. Namely, they grow all over Portland, plopping down on sidewalks (or, in this case, your neighbor's yard), free for the taking. And they're beautiful, especially the Adriatics, with their light green skins hiding comically bright fuscia centers. But flavor-wise? Meh. As someone who always likes a bit of punch to my desserts (well, to all my meals, really), figs are just a bit too one-note for my tastes. They're all syrupy sweetness, no citrus sourness or berry brightness or appley snap. But luckily, these problems can be solved. With pistachios and goat cheese.

Instead of the stales-within-minutes standard sticky bun dough, I started off with a rich danish dough instead (I used Nigella Lawson's brilliant cheater method, which is really just an easy combination of cutting butter into flour like pie crust, and then mixing in a yeasty, eggy slurry and giving the results a few turns). After folding and rising (you can stretch this out between a few days), you roll it out and spread on a rich-and-nutty-but-not-too-sweet pistachio paste, crumbles of tangy goat cheese, and those figs. The end result is perfect: the sweetness of the figs kept from becoming too cloying by the slight sourness of the goat cheese and the buttery, yeasty lightness of the dough. The pistachio paste keeps everything rich and creamy without overwhelming, and the figs are also just plain pretty. Yes, I'll acknowledge that creating this recipe didn't really take too much specialized knowledge — I just unscrewed the back plate off the standard sticky bun, and connected it with some of my favorite flavor (and, if we're being honest, color) combinations. But the end result is so good, I'd swear I actually knew what I was doing.

Fig, Pistachio and Goat Cheese Danish

yields 12 danish

dough adapted from Nigella Lawson's How to be a Domestic Goddess, the rest of the bad ideas are my own

The danish dough isn't difficult to make, but it does take time, between the cutting and folding and rising. You can divide the stages across several days, or double the recipe, and then freeze half of it to thaw out at a later date.
 

For the pastry:

3/4 cup milk 

2 tsp active dry yeast

1 large egg, room temperature

2 1/4 cups flour (I like a split of 2 cups white flour, 1/4 cup whole wheat flour)

3 Tbsp sugar

1 tsp salt

2 sticks unsalted butter, cold, cut into pats

Filling:

3/4 cup shelled raw pistachios (you can use roasted if that's all you can find, but the subtler flavor of raw works a bit better)

2 Tbsp sugar

1/2 stick butter, softened to room temperature

1 Tbsp flour

1 egg

pinch salt

splash rosewater (optional, but adds a nice perfume)

1/4 cup crumbled goat cheese

6 large figs — cut 4 into a small dice for the filling, and the remaining two into slices for garnishing the top

1 egg, beaten with a splash of water (aka 'the egg wash')

coarse sugar

In a small bowl, mix together the milk, yeast, and egg. Let sit for a few minutes for the yeast to soften.

In a food processor or large bowl, mix together the flour, sugar and salt.  Add the butter, and pulse or press with the heel of your hand until the butter is reduced to 1/2" pieces (you don't need it quite as well-mixed as for a pie crust). If using a food processor, transfer to a bowl at this point. Add the yeast mixture, stirring until it's well-combined (it'll be a fairly goopy mass with lumps of butter — don't fret!). Cover the bowl, and refrigerate overnight or up to four days (if the latter, you might need to punch it down to deflate every day or two if it's rising a lot).

To turn the dough into pastry, remove the dough from the refrigerator and let it come to room temperature. Dust a work surface with flour, and turn the dough out onto it. Roll until it forms a rectangle, about 18" in length (no worries about being terribly precise). Fold into thirds, like a business letter, then rotate 90 degrees. Repeat the process three more times — the clumps of butter will roll out into nice long flakes, and the dough will begin to become more cohesive and dough-like. Cover and let rest half an hour (you can also re-refrigerate for another day or two at this point if needed).

When you're ready to assemble the danish, line an 8-inch square pan with parchment and make the filling. Place the nuts and sugar in a food processor, and process until reduced to bits. Add the butter, flour, egg, salt and rosewater, and process until it forms a relatively smooth paste (scraping down the sides of the mixer as needed).

Roll the dough out into a rectangle about 18" in length. Spread with the pistachio filling — go right up to the short side edges, but leave about 1/4" on each long edge. Sprinkle the chopped figs and crumbled goat cheese, then roll the long side in and pinch to seal. Using a sharp knife, cut the roll into 12 equal pieces. Place the pieces, with either swirled cut side up, into your prepared pan (you may need to squash them down slightly). Top each roll with one of the fig slices. Let sit for ~30-40 minutes to rise (they will have some space between them, but that will be filled in as they rise and then bake).

While the Danish are rising, preheat your oven to 375° Farenheit. 

When the Danish are slightly risen, brush with the egg wash, and sprinkle generously with coarse sugar. Bake until browned, ~20-25 minutes. 

Bagel Bombs

There's something about being from New York (and, more specifically, being a New York Jew) that makes you feel entitled to hold forth on the subject of bagels. To speak cavalierly of your runs to H&H, of high-gluten flour and barley malt and the ineffable quality of the water. But the truth is, while I may talk smack about the bagel offerings on this side of the country, it's pretty rare that I actually buckle down and make my own.

Partly this is because there actually are a few solid bagel places in town. And partly it's because I'm lazy. But mostly it's because bagels really are at their best within a few hours of being baked. I'll eat a fresh bagel, marvel at its deliciousness, and by the end of the day be packing up the better part of a dozen for the freezer. It seems like a waste.

But recently I was invited to a brunch potluck, which meant a whole lot of hungry people to eat just-baked bagels at their peak. And, at just about the same time, I came across the concept of the bagel bomb.

This long-overdue idea—the doughnut hole of the bagel world—comes from Christina Tosi, the mad genius behind the salty-sweet compost cookies. She wraps dough (softer and more pleasant to work with than a traditional bagel dough) around a frozen packet of seasoned cream cheese, then coats the bombs with traditional bagel toppings and bakes them up to hot, crusty, cream cheese explosions.

Ingrate that I am, I couldn't help tweaking the recipe: upping the quantities to yield an even dozen, tossing some barley malt in the dough for that sweet depth of flavor, dropping the bacon from the filling (sorry), giving the bombs a quick simmer for a true bagel finish, and upping the baking temperature for a nice crisp crust. The end result is just amazing, especially for a group who can eat em up while they're still warm, crusty and oozy at the same time. It's like the best of New York in one messy mouthful.

Bagel Bombs

adapted, a bit heavily, from Momofuku Milk Bar
yields 12 bombs

Dough:
1 1/3 cups water, at room temperature (275 grams)
1 tablespoon barley malt syrup
1 generous teaspoon active dry yeast
scant tablespoon coarse salt
2 2/3 cups flour (412 grams)

Filling:
12 ounces cream cheese
1/2 bunch scallions, thinly sliced
1 teaspoon sugar
1 teaspoon coarse salt

Topping:
2 teaspoons coarse salt
2 heaping tablespoons sesame seeds (a mix of white and black is nice, if you've got it)
1 tablespoon poppy seeds
2 tablespoons dried onions
1 tablespoon dried chopped garlic

To Finish:
1 tablespoon baking soda
1 tablespoon barley malt

To make the dough: Place the water in the bowl of a mixer, and add the barley malt and yeast. Let sit a few minutes, for the yeast to soften and bloom. Add the salt and flour, and mix on a low speed with a dough hook until fully blended. cover with a dish towel, and let sit for 5 minutes to relax and hydrate. Mix again on low speed for several minutes, until it forms a soft yet cohesive dough that springs back when you poke it. Pour a bit of neutral oil into a bowl, scrape the dough into it, and then flip to coat with the oil (if you're insane and have a digital scale, you can weigh your bowl before transferring the dough so that you know the weight of the entire dough ball, and then can divide by 12 when it comes to shaping the bombs). Cover the bowl with a plastic bag, and let sit at room temperature for about 45 minutes or longer, until the dough no longer springs back when you press a finger into it.

If you have the forethought, you can let the dough rise overnight (or up to two days) covered in the refrigerator, which will result in a better bomb. Just let come to room temperature for half an hour before proceeding with the recipe.


To make the filling: Mix together all of the filling ingredients until well combined (you can do this by hand, or using the paddle attachment of a mixer). Scoop the dough out into 12 equal-sized blobs on a cookie sheet using two spoons or a cookie scoop (and yes, I weighed it out). Transfer to a freezer, and freeze until solid, ~1 hour.

To assemble the bombs: Preheat your oven to 400 degrees Farenheit, and line a sheet tray with parchment paper. Set a large pot of water to boil, and drop in the baking soda and barley malt (keep on high until it boils, then lower until it maintains a gentle boil).

Mix together the topping ingredients into a shallow bowl and set aside.

On a lightly-floured countertop, divide the dough into twelve equal lumps, and form each one into a ball (I like to pull the edges of the dough underneath and pinch together, to form a sort of skin on the top pulling it into a round). When your dough balls are formed, remove your balls of cream cheese from the freezer, and loosen with a spatula if necessary.

Take a ball of dough, flatten it into a chubby disk, and place a frozen cream cheese ball in the center. Pull the edges of the dough over the cream cheese, and pinch to seal. Repeat until you have formed three filled bombs. Gently drop in the simmering water, and simmer for about a minute and a half, while you fill three more bombs. Because of the cream cheese, the dough should sink (and thus simmer on all sides), but then float up by the end of its boiling time. Remove one by one with a slotted spoon, and place, top (aka non-seam side) down in your bowl of topping. Grab by the bottom, turn to coat the top and sides fully (no need to coat the bottom), then transfer, right-side up, to your prepared cookie sheet. Repeat with remaining simmering bombs, then repeat the process until all of the bombs have been filled, simmered, and topped.

Bake the bombs until nicely browned, ~25-30 minutes (I tend to like them on the darker side). A few might explode (I had three mild ruptures out of twelve), but just continue baking. Remove when done, let cool only slightly, then devour.

Quesadillas (Salvadoran Savory-Sweet Cakelets)

I'm often a creature of habit. To an embarrassing degree. In theory I am in favor of change -- but when it affects the constants of my own life, I tend to reconsider. I get huge comfort from the familiar, sometimes even clinging to it when it's a bad idea (when I should, you know, select something more growth-inducing instead). But I try to shake out of my routine. And there's nothing like a good trip to do it.

At home, I often have trouble breaking out of my usual work-write-cook-sleep-insomnia regimen. But last weekend I traveled to the Bay Area to celebrate my birthday with dear friends, and remembered how much fun change can be (and how I can minimize my aaah-things-are-different anxiety with trusted companions and stiff cocktails). I traded in the wintery slog of Portland for breezy sunshine. I picked meyer lemons off the tree, lingered at a museum, hiked windy bluffs, had a frighteningly thorough scrub at a Korean spa, and ate out more in 5 days than I normally do in several months. It was great fun, all of it. And amidst the adventure, I did get in a bit of cooking. Including these quesadillas.

As befitting the new-experiences-of-vacation mindset, these are like nothing I've ever had before. They're undeniably rich, thanks to the butter and sour cream, but are also light, with a moist, short texture. They take savory cheese (we used a dry old wedge of romano), and put it in a lightly sweet context. And they are, hands down, my favorite snack to enjoy with a cup of coffee. Change, you are delicious.

Quesadillas (Salvadoran Savory-Sweet Cakelets)

via The Food52 Cookbook
yields 18 muffins

I'm normally a fan of hulkingly large muffin-topped muffins, but these are so rich that just a small one suffices (that said, I have eaten two in a sitting).

1 cup rice flour
1 tsp baking powder
1 pinch salt
1 cup butter, softened to room temperature
1 cup sugar
3 eggs
1 cup sour cream
1/2 cup grated hard cheese, such as parmesan or romano
a few spoonfuls sesame seeds (these are optional, but add a nice nubbly counterpoint to the rich muffins)

Preheat the oven to 350, and grease 18 muffin cups.

Whisk together the rice flour, baking powder, and salt. Set aside.

In a mixing bowl, cream together the flour and sugar until light and fluffy. Add the eggs, one by one, mixing until incorporated and scraping down the sides as needed. Add the sour cream and cheese, mix, and then add the rice flour mixture (since this is gluten-free, you don't have to worry about making the muffins tough). Pour mixture evenly into muffin cups, then top with the sesame seeds.

Bake until set and just beginning to color, ~15-20 minutes. Let cool, and then enjoy with a cup of tea or coffee.

Tempeh Sausages

The word "hippie" gets bandied about a lot at my house, mock-branding various offenses against the sensibilities of our modern and disposable culture. Washing and reusing plastic bags, for one. Bringing one's own pyrex containers for leftovers to a restaurant (because, as I like to tell people, I am just that cool). Applying curry powder to any dish that doesn't really warrant it. There's a chance I'm over-applying the term.

But every so often I make a dish that is truly, undeniably deserving of the hippie label. Like these tempeh sausages (or, if you will, "soysages"). Their offenses are numerous: they're a mock meat, involve use of inappropriate seasonings (although that's partially my fault), and, most damningly, were developed at an actual honest-to-juice commune founded in the 1970s. Also? They're pretty darned good.

If you're looking for a vegetarian breakfast accompaniment, these are hard to beat. To be fair, my heart does belong to the Morningstar Farms veggie bacon, but every now and then it seems like a good idea to consume breakfast foods that don't feature disodium guanylate and artificial flavors (from non-meat sources, they point out, but still). At those times, I heartily recommend these tempeh sausages. Tempeh is steamed and grated, then mixed with a series of seasonings that give it a somewhat meaty depth. It's formed into patties and pan-fried, perfect for accompanying your waffles. Let it be known, I have no illusions that anyone would confuse these soysauges for the real thing. But I think they're pretty great in their own right. Yeah, I know I'm a hippie.

And if you're hungering for food that you wouldn't be embarrassed to serve to company, I present instead a dispatch from a Sephardic-style dinner party a friend recently hosted. The recipes are drawn from several sources, and together make for a menu that would be perfect for a sunny Passover Seder. Or any celebration of spring, really. You can read the details at Mix Magazine.


Tempeh Sausage

adapted from The New Farm Vegetarian Cookbook
yields ~12 sausages, depending on size (serves ~4)

8 ounces tempeh
1/2 tsp dried sage
1/2 tsp thyme
large pinch asafoetida (this is my addition, and optional, but it gives a nice funky depth if you've got it)
2 Tbsp flour
2 Tbsp warm water
2 Tbsp oil (I use canola)
2 Tbsp soy sauce
oil for pan-frying

Steam the tempeh over simmering water for 15 minutes. Let cool slightly, then grate on the coarse holes of a box grater. Add dry ingredients (sage, thyme, asafoetida, flour) and stir to combine, then add liquid ingredients (water, oil and soy sauce) and mix until combined. The finished product should be neither too wet nor too dry, and easily hold a shape when squeezed together.

Heat a small amount of oil in a skillet over a medium flame. Pinch off small amounts of the sausage mixture (a tablespoon or two), and press into thin patties. Pan-fry the patties until brown, and then flip and brown the other side (they should only take a few minutes per side). Serve hot.

Old-Fashioned Scones

At some point in my childhood, I developed the theory that when I was Grown Up, I would buy myself a container of frosting for my birthday and eat the entire thing. This plan makes me slightly ill to contemplate, and I'm not sure where it came from--I didn't even have too much experience with pre-made frostings. But somehow this act embodied the Best Present Ever to my little mind: someday I was going to get myself exactly what I wanted, and ain't no man (or, more accurately, mom) could hold me back.

Little did I know that when I finally had enough agency and income to act on this plan, my desperate need for sugar would be gone. It's a sad fact of adulthood. Don't misunderstand me, I still like a good sweet now and then (as the ample presence of cookies and cakes and tarts on these pages can attest). But setting aside the obvious hydrogenated shortcomings of a container of Betty Crocker, the sad truth is that I only crave sweets for dessert, not for the bulk of my meal.

This is especially true at breakfast. I am all eggs and potatoes, beans and cheese, looking on in confusion as other diners order almond french toast and pumpkin waffles. I can't imagine feeling satisfied with that dessert-for-brunch approach, but I do covet a taste -- just enough to give my meal a sweet little coda. This is where a small scone like this is absolutely perfect.

If you've ever wondered what the whole scone hoopla is about, these will answer your question. They're delicately flaky, like a biscuit, and just sweet enough to satisfy. Oats and cornmeal add a nubby edge of whole grains (and a slight earthy sweetness of their own), and buttermilk adds just a bit of tang. I'm especially fond of making these with punchy dried sour cherries, but really any sort of dried fruit would work nicely. And although my seven-year-old self wouldn't believe me, I swear it's way better than a jar of frosting.

Old-Fashioned Scones

Inspired by the scones of the same name from the Baker's Cafe, though this noodled variation is pretty much all my own. As with other pastries, a light touch in mixing yields tender scones.

yields ~10 small scones (you'll probably want to double the recipe if you're cooking for any sort of crowd)

3/4 cup rolled oats

1 1/4 cup flour (can swap out some ww pastry flour if desired)

1/2 cup cornmeal

1/2 tsp salt

1 tsp baking powder

1/4 tsp baking soda

1/4 cup sugar, plus additional for sprinkling

1 stick cold butter, cut into tablespoons

1/2 cup dried sour cherries, or other dried fruit

~1/2 - 3/4 cup buttermilk

1 egg, beaten with 1 Tbsp milk or water (aka the egg wash)

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees, and grease or line a cookie sheet.

Place the oats in the bowl of a food processor, and pulse until they're blitzed to a mostly floury powder, with a few bits here and there. Add the flour, cornmeal, salt, baking powder, baking soda, and sugar, and pulse until evenly mixed. Add the cold butter, and pulse a few times until the largest pieces of butter are about oatmeal-sized -- do not overmix. Turn the mixture into a bowl. Add the dried fruit, and stir until combined. Add the buttermilk until the dough comes together -- it will be moister than pie crust, but try not to add so much buttermilk so that it becomes gloppy. Form the dough into a cohesive mass, and turn out onto a lightly floured countertop.

Roll the dough out to a thickness of 1", and cut into circles with a 2.5" cutter. Place shaped scones on the tray, and lightly mush together and re-roll the scraps until you've formed all the dough. Brush the tops of the scones with the egg wash, and sprinkle with a light dusting of sugar (you'll just need a few spoonfuls for the whole tray). Bake ~15-20 minutes, until they are starting to get lightly browned. Let cool on a rack and enjoy.

Huevos Rancheros (My Way)

I flirted with giving this recipe another name, since calling it huevos rancheros will cause me to lose serious cred with a certain demographic. So by way of disclaimer, I'm aware it's likely nothing resembling this dish has ever gone by this name in Mexico. Or New Mexico. Or Texas. But man is it good.

This particular creation was born after a glut of leftover salsa, and is in the tradition of the breakfast all-star shakshouka, or the invitingly-named eggs in purgatory. Instead of following the usual huevos rancheros policy of frying up eggs and topping them with salsa, eggs are poached directly in the salsa. You just warm up an inch or so in a pan, crack in as many eggs as needed, and cover the pan until they're cooked to your runny-or-not liking. This move is brilliant for several reasons:

1. The eggs sop up the salsa, becoming infused with its spicy flavor

2. You can cook up a whole pan of eggs at the same time, making it ideal brunch-party fare

We fed six adults at a recent brunch, and it was ridiculously easy -- I prepped the fixings ahead of time, then just cracked the eggs into a large pot of salsa, covered them, and rejoined my guests for another cup of coffee until they were done. Breakfast burrito coma ensued. After your eggs are cooked, where you go next is up to you. I tend to toss them in a warmed corn tortilla with a slick of refried beans (the vegetarian version of these are my guilty pleasure), cilantro, guacamole, sour cream (or its house substitute, yogurt), and maybe some radishes or chopped red onions if I'm feeling fancy. Who needs authenticity when you could be having this for brunch?

Huevos Rancheros

serves 2, but take this as a rough template and adjust to your taste/crowd size

3/4 - 1 cup salsa, depending on your pan size (I'm especially fond of this, and buy ridiculous amounts when it goes on sale)

4 eggs

4 small corn tortillas

3/4 cup refried beans, warmed

1/2 cup guacamole, or 1/2 avocado, diced

2 radishes, thinly-sliced

1/3 cup crumbled Mexican white cheese (such as queso fresco), or creamy French- or Israeli-style feta

1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro

additional hot sauce and lime wedges for serving

Pour the salsa in a pan large enough to accommodate 4 eggs, and warm over medium heat until it's just simmering. Crack the eggs into the pan, cover, and keep the heat just high enough to maintain a simmer. Cook until the eggs are done to your liking (I go for somewhere between runny and set, ~7 minutes). While the eggs are cooking, you can assemble your topping ingredients and warm the beans.

When the eggs are almost done, heat the tortillas directly over a burner to warm and soften them (a small amount of char is fine withe me as well). Ladle an egg into a warmed tortilla, top with whatever other ingredients you desire, and enjoy.

Swedish Breakfast Sandwich

Swedish food gets an unfairly bad rap. Sure, there are tons of meatballs in cream sauce, and a dearth of vegetables outside of the arctic-friendly root category. And for a reason I never determined, pizza is invariably served with pickled cabbage salad. But there are some great things. Cream-filled buns, scented with saffron or cardamom. Crayfish parties, complete with paper hats, aquavit, and sing-a-longs. And breakfasts.

Breakfast in Sweden is seldom just a bowl of cereal. There might be some hot porridge with a dollop of jam for your sweet tooth, but also a boiled egg with some crispbread for a shot of protein. And while we're at it: herring!

Sweden has nearly 5,000 miles of coastline, so it's not surprising that seafood features heavily into the national diet. It's enjoyed fresh, pickled, smoked, and salted. And, in this case, made into a paste that can be squeezed on top of your open-faced sandwich.

Kalles Kaviar is a product of the Abba company, and ubiquitous in Sweden. Luckily you can find it in American Ikea stores, if you don't have a European import shop nearby. There are a few variations, but the basic Kalles is made from cod roe, with a bit of seasoning and some potatoes to give it body. If you love a bagel with lox, you will love a slice of toast with egg and Kalles. Crisp toast, slightly bland boiled egg, and the salty, fishy paste come together for one of my absolute favorite breakfasts. This recipe is so simple I feel a bit embarrassed posting it. But if I can win one new convert, it will have been worth it.


Swedish Breakfast Sandwich

1 slice toast
1 egg
Kalles Kaviar
pepper

Place the egg in a small pot of water, and bring to a boil. When the water is at a full boil, turn off the heat, cover the pot, and let sit for 10 minutes. Peel the egg, and thinly slice. Layer the slices on the toast, and top with a hefty squeeze of Kalles. Sprinkle with pepper if desired (the Kalles will provide ample salt). Enjoy, to the horror of your non-fish-loving friends.

Apple Ricotta Coffee Cake

You're probably thinking that you don't need another coffee cake recipe. Until last week, that's what I thought too. But then I had a bite of this cake.

Like many of the best recipe discoveries, this was born out of necessity. An evening at a friend's house turned into an impromptu sleepover (it turns out that reading a bedtime story to a five-year-old can have the unintended side effect of leaving you asleep on the couch), which led to an impromptu brunch the next morning. There was a cup of ricotta cheese in the fridge left over from a previous recipe, a few apples in the fruit basket, and a pantry full of baking supplies. A bit of internet searching turned up this delicious recipe.

This is a pretty hefty cake, weighing a staggering amount and filling the springform pan up to the brim. But luckily it keeps for several days, thanks to the ricotta cheese that creates a lusciously moist crumb. A layer of apples and struesel are snuck into the center, and crunchy pecans seasoned with more streusel crumbs flavor the top. This is a cake that makes you want to take a coffee break.


Apple Ricotta Coffee Cake

adapted from Seriously Good

Streusel Filling/Topping:
2/3 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup flour
1/2 cup rolled oats
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/4 tsp salt
6 Tbsp butter, cut into 6 pieces

Cake:
1 3/4 cups flour
3/4 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 cup (1 stick) butter, softened
1 cup sugar
1 tsp vanilla
2 eggs
1 cup ricotta cheese

2 small crisp apples (or, in our case, one frighteningly large one), peeled and diced into 1/2" cubes, tossed with lemon juice
1/2 cup chopped pecans

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Grease and flour a 9" springform pan, set aside.

To make the streusel: Place the brown sugar, flour, rolled oats, cinnamon and salt in a food processor. Pulse a few times to combine. Add the 6 tablespoons of butter, and pulse several times until you can no longer see lumps of butter. Set aside.

To make the cake batter: Sift together the flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt in a bowl. Set aside. In a mixer, cream the butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add the vanilla and eggs one by one, beating well after each addition. Add half the ricotta, mix to combine, and then add half the flour and mix well. Repeat with the remaining ricotta and flour mixture.

To assemble the cake: Spread half the batter into the prepared pan. Sprinkle with half of the streusel filling, and all of the apples. Spread the remaining batter of the top -- it is a somewhat thick batter, so plop spoonfuls over the top and spread gently. Sprinkle the top with the pecans and remaining streusel. Bake until a tester comes out clean, about an hour or longer. Cool somewhat to allow the cake to set before eating.

Kolaches

A few years ago I was taking evening classes at a local college. One of my classmates lived downtown, and would commute by bus. Mostly this worked out fine, but every now and then class let out a bit early or late, and he'd be facing a long wait for the next bus. I gave him a ride a few times, as did another student who lived nearby. His apartment wasn't too far out of the way, and he was a nice guy, so we were glad to help.

On the last day of class, he presented me (and his other wheelman) a plate of handmade cookies, to say thanks for the rides. When I brought them home to my boyfriend (the few I managed to not eat right away), he remarked approvingly, through a mouthful of cookie, "That's what you're supposed to do." And he's right. We're happy to give and receive favors for friends, even when these favors involve a bit of expense or inconvenience. But in our post-Miss Manners age, we often forgo recognizing these favors. Which is a shame. It's understandable -- despite the best intentions of our mothers, the official Thank You Note can feel a bit too formal in most contexts. But the Thank You Baked Good is almost always appropriate.

This past weekend, I joined friends in another bulk canning throwdown. We turned 80 pounds of Honeycrisp apples into sauce, which took up much of the day. And while our kitchen is great for most projects, extraordinary amounts of apples call for extraordinary amounts of stovetop space. Our neighbors graciously volunteered to host in their large kitchen. They let us run four burners for five hours, and cover every available surface with sauce. The household welcomed our sticky invasion with good humor, but it seemed that an additional thanks was in order. Which brought me to Kolaches.

I'd been lusting after this recipe for a few months, and it did not disappoint. Rich, buttery and eggy yeasted dough is filled with sweet cheese and jam fillings, and topped with a sandy sugar-crumb topping. It's one of those baked goods that looks ridiculously pretty, like it should have sprung, fully formed, from the head of the brunch gods. But it turns out to be not much more difficult than scooping out a batch of cookies. The recipe also allows for plenty of time to clean up mixing bowls and kitchen counters while the dough rises and bakes, which makes it a great choice if you're hosting a brunch. Or if you need a sweet way to say thanks. We nibbled these all morning as we chopped, simmered, milled and boiled, and five hours later we were all trembling from an overdose of sugar (at the expense of actual food). Perhaps next time I'll think of a savory Thank You as well.

Kolaches

adapted by Lottie + Doof from a "crazypants" recipe in Saveur, further adapted by me

makes 15-16 kolache

This recipe yields enough cheese filling for half the batch (especially if you cram it into deep wells, as I did). You can double the cheese filling to make an all-cheese batch, or fill the remainder with jam (I used apricot and strawberry, and both were delicious).

Dough:
1 package (2 1/4 tsp) active dry yeast
1/2 cup warm water
1/4 cup sugar
4 Tbsp (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 egg yolk
1/2 tsp coarse salt
3 1/4 cups flour
3/4 cup milk

Cheese Filling:
1/2 cup cottage cheese
1/4 cup cream cheese
3 Tbsp sugar
squeeze of lemon juice
1 egg yolk

Crumb Topping:
1/4 cup sugar
1/4 cup flour
1 Tbsp melted butter

Also: jam of your choice, and 1 Tbsp melted butter

Make the dough: Sprinkle the yeast and 1 tsp of the sugar in a bowl, let sit 5 minutes until the yeast bubbles. While the yeast is proofing, beat the butter and remaining sugar in a bowl until well combined. Add the salt and egg yolk, beat until smooth. Add the yeast/water mixture, and then the flour and milk. Knead until it comes together in a smooth dough (it will be fairly soft and sticky). Give the dough a few turns on a floured countertop, adding additional flour if needed (try to add as little as needed), and form it into a ball. Return the dough to a bowl, cover, and set aside to rise until doubled in volume, about 1 hour.

In the meanwhile, make the filling: Beat the cottage cheese, cream cheese, sugar, lemon and egg yolk until smooth. Set aside.

Make the crumb topping: Mix together the sugar and flour, and drizzle in the melted butter. Rub together with your fingers until well distributed, yielding a sandy topping with occasional clumps.

Assemble the kolaches: Divide the dough into 16 pieces. Shape into slightly flattened balls, and place them 4x4 on a greased baking sheet about 1/2" apart (I had a particularly narrow baking dish, so I made 15 doughballs, and arranged them in rows 3x5). Brush the doughballs with the melted butter, cover tightly with plastic wrap or a plastic bag, and let rise another 30 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

When the kolache balls have risen 30 minutes, remove the plastic and have your crumb topping and jam and cheese fillings ready. Using your fingers or a spoon, make a deep indentation in the top of each dough ball, enough to accommodate a heaping tablespoon of filling. Place the filling of your choice in each hole, and then sprinkle the crumb topping over everything (don't worry as the sandy crumbs cover your pretty jam -- the heat of the jam will melt the covering crumbs as they bake). Place the kolaches in the oven, and bake until browned and set, about 30-40 minutes.

These are best eaten the day they're made (in case you needed an excuse).

Garlicky Breakfast Fried Rice

There are some leftovers that you choke down, out of a sense of responsibility and thrift. And then there are some leftovers that are better than the original. Garlicky fried rice, topped with a fried egg, is one of my favorite things to do with leftover rice the next morning. And although I used the word "fried" twice in the previous sentence, this isn't the traditional hangover greasebomb breakfast. Yeah, it's got some oil, but it's rich and savory from the garlic, tangy with hot sauce and cilantro, and sauced with a runny fried egg (if you'd like). On second thought, maybe it is good for a hangover.

I'm not entirely sure how and when I came up with the current version of this dish. I had the Sundays at Moosewood Restaurant cookbook years ago, which has an ethnic/regional focus. In the Southeast Asian section, the author said that a breakfast of garlicky fried rice topped with a fried egg and vinegared chiles took him back to the Philippines like nothing else. I think I might have started there, but quickly moved into a more Mexican adaptation.

My current version uses an ingredient that might not be in your pantry: achiote. Also called annatto, they're the seeds of a tropical plant. You can find them in Latin American or Asian markets. Even if you've never cooked with them, you've probably eaten them many times: annatto is used to dye everything from orange cheddar to red-coated roast pork. In home cooking, the hard seeds are heated with oil at the start of a recipe, and then removed. The achiote-scented oil contributes a slightly peppery, nutmeggy fustiness to the finished dish. But you can certainly make this dish without it. I haven't done a side-by-side comparison, but I think it's subtle enough that you won't miss it, especially with everything else going on in this dish.

The recipe below is just a loose outline -- the actual dish tends to vary greatly depending on the contents of my refrigerator. I've made it with short-grain rice, long-grain rice, white and brown. All work well (I think I'm partial to fragrant basmati, but brown rice makes me feel a wee bit more virtuous). I toss cubed avocado on the top when I've got it, or stir in shredded cheese at the end when I want a particularly gooey variation. However you make it, just make it.


Garlicky Fried Breakfast Rice
Serves 2

Like most fried rice made by those who don't have industrial woks, this might stick somewhat to your pan. Just work over a hot flame, frying as quickly as you can. Cast iron seems to work best.

1 Tbsp olive oil
1/2 tsp achiote seeds
1 large (or 2 small) cloves garlic
1 small tomato, chopped (optional)
2 cups leftover rice, somewhat dried out
2 heaping tablespoons chopped cilantro
salt and pepper
2 eggs
lime wedges and hot sauce for serving

Place the achiote seeds and oil in a heavy skillet, and heat over a medium flame. As the oil warms, it will take on color from the seeds. When the oil is very hot (but not smoking) and reddish from the achiote, fish the seeds out and discard them.

Drop the chopped garlic in the hot red oil, and stir quickly as they sizzle. Turn the flame up if needed. When they're lightly browned, add the tomato and fry until the heat comes back up and the tomato softens but doesn't break down (barely a minute or so). Add the rice and cilantro. Stir frequently with a spatula or spoon, breaking up the rice clumps and coating each grain with the garlicky red oil (without mashing them too much). Season to taste with salt and pepper. When the rice is well-oiled and heated through, remove to two plates.

Quickly fry the eggs as you like them, and slide one on top of each plate of rice. Season with a few shakes of hot sauce, a squirt of lime, and additional salt and pepper.

Yeast-Raised Whole Wheat Waffles

I have an inner core of thriftiness that can make me something of a killjoy. Yes, it helps in our personal home economics, when I can add a handful of something-or-other from our garden to a can from the pantry, and turn out a passable meal. But it backfires when we go out to eat. I'll try to enjoy our meal, both the food and the occasion, but inside I'm thinking: I'm paying good money for this? I could make this at home! Easily! Needless to say, remarks like this don't really enhance the quality of an evening.

This problem comes on especially strong at brunch. Every now and then we get a particularly interesting breakfast confection, or a greasy plate that seems like manna to our hung-over stomaches. But often, brunch is an overpriced combination of basic ingredients -- some eggs and flour -- thrown together by a line cook struggling to keep pace with a pile of orders. I could make this at home.

But while this inner broken record makes me lousy dining company, it also makes me a good breakfast cook. In an effort to avoid disappointing brunches out, I've spent a lot of time working out home-cooked options. This waffle recipe is one of the best.

These waffles are surprisingly easy. The batter is mixed up the night before, and left out on the counter. The yeast provides a light airiness, and the long fermentation gives a complex flavor. And, shh, these are actually vegan. And healthy. The ground flax provides a shot of those good omega-3 fatty acids, in addition to binding the batter. The whole wheat flour provides a nice whole-grain flavor, but thanks to the yeast, there's no heaviness. Now, those with sharp eyes may notice that I topped my serving with butter and syrup. But perhaps you're more virtuous than I am.


Yeast-Raised Whole Wheat Waffles
veganized from the Raised Waffles recipe in Marion Cunningham's The Fannie Farmer Cookbook
makes 4 8-inch round waffles (about 2 servings, depending on your waffle-eating ability)

1 1/2 cups milk alternative (or, alternatively, milk)
1/2 packet active dry yeast (1 1/8 tsp)
1/4 cup neutral oil (like canola)
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp sugar
1 cup whole wheat pastry flour
1/4 cup coarsely ground flax seeds (sold as "flax meal")

Whisk all ingredients together in a bowl the night before you'd like your waffles. Cover the bowl with a dish towel, and let sit on the counter at room temperature overnight. The batter will rise and fall overnight (don't worry, it will still rise in the waffle iron). In the morning, mix again. The consistency will be somewhat thicker than a standard waffle batter. Heat a waffle iron, and grease well. Pour the batter into the hot iron (about 1/2-3/4 cup batter for a standard size iron), and cook according to manufacturer's instructions.