Category: recipes

Galentine’s Day: Coffeecake And Connection

Apples

February is a challenging month in the Kolbeck household. It is bittersweet, being the month in which I had my first date with my husband in 1999 and also the month that he died in a car crash, 14 years to the exact day later on February 16th, 2013.

The universe is fucking crazy like that. Either it has a twisted sense of humor, or it is just ironic and strange with no real logic.

But the other part of the universe that is beautiful and brilliant and decidedly untwisted or ironic is that these strange and horrible coincidences give others a chance to show up for you.

I have had to become a fairly crusty soul; although I have been the beneficiary of the occasional helping hand, for the most part I have relied on myself and my own bootstraps – emotionally, psychically, physically, and financially.

I am not great at asking for help, and I am extra double-plus ungreat at showing anyone my gooey center.

Gross.

But when Dane died my eyes opened. And I had no idea they were closed. So there’s that.

Then all of these lovely people showed up for The Teenager and I.

They showed up with tools and expertise to literally help us raise the roof of the tiny house.

They showed up with loving support online as I posted raw and gut-wrenching blogs about grief, blogs that I myself cannot read today.

They showed up with cash at times, which, I’m not gonna lie, was helpful because I have no idea where all of the money went in that first year because everything was blurred and numb and decidedly not budget-oriented.

They showed up when they prayed for us but did not tell us Dane was in a better place or that god has a plan. #StowThatShit

As we approach the third anniversary of Dane’s death and truly settle in to a new life, it has become clearly apparent to me what is happy-making and good and valuable.

Connection.

This guy, a fancy researcher who is the 4th lead of a 75-year study on what makes people happy, totally agrees with me. #ScienceCatchesUpWithSuzannah

In this TEDTalk on what really makes people happy, Robert Waldinger uncovers what the secret to happiness is:

“So what have we learned? What are the lessons that come from the tens of thousands of pages of information that we’ve generated on these lives? Well, the lessons aren’t about wealth or fame or working harder and harder. The clearest message that we get from this 75-year study is this: Good relationships keep us happier and healthier. Period.”

Well.

While these findings make the introvert in me a little nervous and long for a quiet space to read and maybe have a drink, the deepest part of me recognizes that it’s true. It’s the quality of the connection that I have with the people in my life, the ones I choose as well as the ones I was born to/with.

As I move through this life, it seems like the connections I choose to have, as opposed to the ones I was born with, have become even more important to me. Part of working in the shadows is realizing which connections we are supposed to nurture and which should be let go. Which connections are toxic and harmful.

It’s about leaving behind the person I never wanted to be in the first place and learning to embrace the person I actually am.

Side note: As celebratory as this post should be, I had to go back through it and change everything I have written thus far into an “I” statement. I get philosophical when I get too close to the bone, which for me means I avoid actually talking about The Thing That Should Be Talked About. And in this case, that Thing is about choosing to stay connected with the people who fill me up. And that is hard to talk about because it also means truth-telling to those who are draining and should be left behind.

But on to the important things.

February 13th is Galentine’s Day, a made-up holiday if there ever was one. Amy Poehler’s character (Leslie Knope) from Parks & Rec made it up to celebrate female friendships.

Bresties before testes.

Uteruses before duderuses.

“It’s like Lilith Fair without the angst, plus frittatas.”

#HellYeahItIs

Crab and asparagus frittata, to be precise, plus this cream cheese apple coffee cake (among other things; I want the menu to be a surprise). The Teenager and I are inviting local female friends for brunch on February 13th, the first annual Galentine’s Day celebration at the Kolbeck house. We will be boozing it up with some of the best women we know, and raising a glass to the other best women we know who live far away or cannot attend. #NextYear

Even if you’re not a gal, there is no reason whatsoever why you cannot have this cake. Luscious and cinnamon-y and filled with apples and everything else good in the world (except chocolate, but that base will be covered elsewhere in brunch #NeverFear).

I won’t lie: this recipe a bit of a pain in the ass with lots of steps and dirty dishes, which is why it’s perfect for brunch when you have had some coffee to start with. Drink mimosas while you make it and you won’t care anyway.

Cream Cheese Apple Coffee Cake

This recipe is not mine; it’s from a site called Yammie’s Noshery that is chockablock full of ridiculous ads that make the site slow and unresponsive. I don’t want to send you there, so I have recreated it here. Some of the directions are different, and I, of course, made it gluten-free. Feel free to use regular AP flour in this one. 

Cake Ingredients

1/2 cup (1 stick) butter, softened

1/2 cup brown sugar

1/4 cup white sugar

1 egg

1/4 cup vegetable oil

1/2 tablespoon vanilla

1 1/2 cups gluten-free all-purpose flour

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon baking powder

1/4 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1 1/2 cups chopped apples (I didn’t peel mine. #TooLazy)

 

Cream Cheese Layer Ingredients

8 oz. softened cream cheese

1 teaspoon vanilla

3 tablespoons white sugar

 

Streusel Ingredients

3/4 cup white sugar

1/4 cup brown sugar

1/2 cup flour

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon baking powder

1/8 teaspoon salt

6 tablespoons cold butter

 

Method

1. Preheat oven to 350ºF and grease an 9″ x 13″ pan.

2. Combine the butter and sugars for the cake and mix until fluffy. Add the egg, oil, and vanilla and mix until combined.

3. Stir together the flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt, and cinnamon and add to the butter mixture, mixing just until combined. Stir in the chopped apples. Spread into the prepared pan.

4. Mix together the cream cheese, sugar, and vanilla for the cream cheese layer and spread over the cake batter in the pan.

5. Combine all the streusel ingredients using your hands or a pastry blender until well combined. Sprinkle over the cream cheese mixture.

6. Bake for about 45 minutes or until the topping is browned.

Let cool until you cannot take it anymore, then eat with a fork because it is gooey and still warm and so delicious you can hardly stand it. Definitely cut a piece and move away from the pan because if you stand over it with a fork you will eat it all and have none left for your loved ones. #GetYourOwnDamnCoffeeCake

Sunshine In The Rain: Candied Oranges

Pilfered produce. Felonious fruit.
Pilfered produce. Felonious fruit.

My grandmother is 97, and she steals fruit and vegetables from the cafeteria and gardens of her assisted living facility.

Perhaps I should backtrack a bit, lest you get the wrong idea.

My grandmother is, in truth, 97. I am not going to add that “years young” bullshit. Irene Kalman is 97. Sharp and witty and mentally all there but still every bit of 97 with Meuniere’s disease and vertigo and odd, fussy habits that the elderly seem to develop. She gets dizzy if she stands up too quickly and has recently conceded to a walker, only to store her keys and various bits and bobs that she travels around the facility with.

When The Teenager and I visit, she talks about being surrounded by “old people.” Obvi, she does not number herself among their ranks.

Every day she gets up and does her hair and puts on makeup. Her hair is that particular kind of spun white floss that envelops her skull like clouds and I always want to touch it but I don’t because #boundaries.

She wears sweaters from 1982 and shoes that may be at least as old as I am (44, if we are keeping track. Forty-five on March 14th, and, yes, appropriate tributes are accepted. #PleaseAndThankYou).

Our visits are always the same. We update her about all of the things we are doing, keeping the more challenging or troubling times out of our narrative and focusing on how busy, active, and healthy we are (even if that means we left the cheese off our tortilla chips when we sat on the couch and watched football all day). My grandmother has that Depression-era peculiarity of dwelling on bad news and glossing over it, concurrently. You wouldn’t think this was possible, but don’t get her started on the Dust Bowl or cooking when you have no money.

We avoid this tendency to fret by ignoring troubling topics and keeping everything light. Sometimes it’s unavoidable though, like The Unfortunate Time My Husband Died and The Fact That Donald Trump Exists In The World. When this happens, we shake our heads ruefully together and bemoan the fates while looking resolutely towards the future. There is no dwelling, although my grandmother and I are Champion Worriers, so we each of us dwell in our own private ways later. #SleepingPillsForHer #AnxietyMedsForMe

I think the hardest thing for my grandmother is the fact that she cannot really extend the basic hospitality of feeding her guests. When I was growing up, the main feature of a visit to grandma’s was the food. Fried chicken, lasagna, even once a homemade struedel that took up the entire table in the making. My grandmother is an excellent cook, both personally and professionally, and I think it pains her to be able to offer nothing to those who come to visit.

So she steals fruit from the cafeteria, hoarding it in her room until she has a guest, at which point she unloads her bounty on them, concealing it with wadded up grocery bags so the people who aren’t watching and don’t care won’t catch her.

I figured out awhile ago that this makes her feel good, so I accept whatever she wants to give me.

Unfortunately, this means that I often return home with a thousand navel oranges in the winter.

Citrus and I have an uneven relationship. I don’t even quite regard it as a food, which haz the dumb, I know, but it seems so…liquid. Great as a garnish or in a glass with champagne.

I will occasionally eat an entire box of clementines, mostly because I can’t get over how easy they are to peel and I don’t want to waste.

But still.

This past visit sent us home with ten oranges. And no juicer. And no one in this house who wants to peel them.

But guess what? CANDY. Orangettes, to be precise. Orangettes dipped in dark chocolate, even better.

The next time I visit my grandmother, I will tell her that we ate each one of the oranges and they were so sweet that it was just like candy.

Orangettes

Ingredients

3 cups simple syrup (DIY: combine a one-to-one ratio of sugar and water)

ten oranges, sliced into 1/4″ rounds and then cut in half

Optional: more sugar

Optional: melted chocolate

Method

Bring simple syrup to a low boil. Place oranges in the syrup and simmer for 30-45 minutes. You are looking for a slightly translucent flesh and the pith to be heading that way, too.

Remove from syrup and transfer to a cooling rack placed on a cookie sheet. Place in a 200 degree oven for 30 minutes or so, just until the orange peel is dry and the flesh feels a little tacky. You should certainly flip them over halfway, and no one would fault you for trying one at this stage. Turn off the oven and let cool, or keep them in there overnight.

At this point, you can toss in sugar, leave as they are, or dip in melted chocolate. I like to toss them in sugar and then dip them in bittersweet chocolate because DELICIOUS.

 

 

 

 

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Straight Up: Who Needs A Drink?

Conversation starter.
Conversation starter.

Say it straight or it will come out crooked. ~Dane Kolbeck~

Sometimes you just have to say it straight. And sometimes that is terrifying. Well, for me, always it is terrifying.

That’s not 100% accurate.

There are some things that will always be easy to say. To wit, for me, I have no problem speaking up about the following:

  • Racism/Homophobia/Sexism
  • Fundamentalists of any religion attempting to witness
  • Bullies
  • General assholery that includes but is not limited to elitist bullshit, overt hipster cynicism, high-brow condescension, etc.

However.

Some things are very, very hard for me to say. Can’t you tell by the veiled terms of this post?

Get at the point, you might be saying. Just spit it out.

The problem is this: in the past I have just spit it out, with sometimes-disastrous results. Speaking off-the-cuff and on-the-fly is not necessarily the best course of action for me these days. I like to be more measured in my responses, lest I send a nuclear warhead to settle what might best be handled by a fly swatter.

Or some such.

I want to say what I mean. Make promises I can keep. Be kind. Be honest and true to myself and the person I am speaking to. Recently, I have been unable to speak when spoken to in certain situations. The context of this does not really matter. What matters is that I have lost words in much the same way as I have continued to lose memories, a slow leaking of the past (and now the present) sliding away from my brain.

When I try to force myself to speak, everything comes out wrong. Like speaking-in-tongues wrong, quite literally – garbled sounds, half-started sentences, a mash of sibilant consonants and murky vowels sliding across my lips. #Confusion

So then I get quiet.

You know how you aren’t supposed to be afraid of the dog that barks? It’s true. The one that is barking is not the one you worry about. It’s the silent one, slinking towards you, that should be feared.

When I stop talking, people worry.

There has to be a way for me to come to the middle. At the risk of being one of those douches who quotes their therapists, if she were here she might ask me what happens to trigger this sudden loss of words.

To begin to consider this is also speech-defying.

Thus, we find ourselves again at an impasse. #DamnedIfIDoDamnedIfIDont

I find in these cases, as in most cases, that a cocktail works wonders. Not multiples. Just one.

And since you are having just one to get things flowing, it ought to be delicious. Although I am a fan of bourbon, neat, for conversational lubrication it is best to sip something slightly less boozy.

Enter Lillet Rouge.

My friend Kerry introduced me to Lillet, a crisp, slightly fruity libation that is delicious when teeth-achingly cold and sipped by itself or with a splash of similarly-chilled gin.

Lillet Rouge is Lillet’s redder, earthier, spicier cousin. Perfect for the heart of darkness that is winter and deep conversations that must be had, reluctantly, haltingly.

And since it is February, a month that simultaneously screams love and death in the Kolbeck household, red seems a perfect color. And ginger beer is appropriate anytime of year, but the bite of this one will wake you up, keep you focused, and make you talk.

Drink this with Florence + the Machine in the background, but just lightly. You know, so you can talk.

Redheaded Ginger

2 ounces Lillet Rouge

4 ounces ginger beer

splash of grapefruit juice OR dash of grapefruit bitters

Two possibilities here:

  1. Pour Lillet over ice in a collins glass, top with ginger beer and splash of grapefruit/bitters
  2. Combine Lillet/grapefruit/bitters in cocktail shaker and shake 30 seconds. Strain into martini glass, add ginger beer and serve with grapefruit slice.

Either way, makes one cocktail. Perfect for talking.

What do you do when the words just won’t come out?

 

 

 

Breaking Bread

Simple.
Simple.

Bread is elemental. Flour, water, salt, yeast: that’s it.

And yet.

Some of my best memories are wrapped around these four ingredients. The details are, as always, blurry-edged and cloudy, but the fragrance of baking bread is sharp and distinct in my mind. Something inside me unclenches every time  I gather bread-making ingredients and tools.

Funny thing about memory, though. Bread may have only four ingredients, but the success is in the practice/process. Time. Temperature. Precision (or not). In my memories of bread, as in all my memories, there is very little true understanding, in this case of what exactly it takes to make a perfect loaf of whatever I am making. I remember flat bread that shouldn’t have been and gummy, underbaked insides when the knocking technique just doesn’t quite work.

I come to bake bread when my brain won’t settle. When there is too much of something troubling, or happy-making, or any other too much of something floating around, making all other thinking impossible. When I need to get my hands into something that feels grounding and real and practical and not up-in-the-clouds where I usually reside.

Flour, water, salt, yeast. Hands in dough. Meditation. Kneading. Resting. Baking.

But as I am usually distracted and elsewhere in the brain when I settle into the practice of bread, my bread always seems to not…quite…work. Close. But not quite.

This seems to be the rule when it comes to distraction for me (maybe you, too). A temporary relief from whatever needs to be put away for a time, good or bad, but then whenever that distraction – bread, shopping, TV, whateverthefuck – is done, the thing you avoid comes roaring back.

“[People] can starve from a lack of self-realization as they can from lack of bread.” ~Richard Wright~

So the solution seems to be to focus as much on the bread as The Thing, not just as a distraction from The Other Thing. Not as an escape. #WhereeverYouGoThereYouAre

This morning I woke with Paris and chocolate and cafe au lait and love and baguettes on my mind. I give in, Universe. I give in to allofthethings, and I have made you bread.

Baguettes

NOTE: These are, as ever, gluten-free. Gluten-filled recipes for bread abound on the interwebs, and because it’s bread it is highly unlikely that merely swapping out regular AP or bread flours will work. 

Ingredients

250 grams (about 2 cups) gluten-free all purpose flour (or another one, but note that the recipe may not quite work. Avoid bean flours, as usual)

25 grams (about 1/4 cup) almond meal

3 T. powdered milk

1 T. xanthan gum

1 t. salt

2 room-temperature egg whites

2 T. olive oil

1/2 t. apple cider vinegar

3/4 c. warm (80 – 100 degrees) water

2 1/4 t. rapid-rise yeast (one packet)

egg wash (use the leftover egg yolks with a little water, an egg white with water, or skip this step)

spray bottle with water

Method

Preheat oven to 200 degrees.

In a small bowl, whisk together flour, almond meal, powdered milk, xanthan gum, and salt. Set aside.

In the bowl of a stand mixer with the whip attachment (or in a big bowl), combine egg whites, olive oil, vinegar, and water. Add flour mixture in and mix to combine, then add yeast and mix for two more minutes.

If you are not using a stand mixer, beat the crap out of the dough for as long as you possibly can. It will be stiff and sticky. #ThatsWhatSheSaid

At this point, you can prepare one of two types of pans:

  1. Fancypants baguette pan lined with parchment, which is really how it ought to be done except most people don’t have those and don’t want to get those because they are really only good for one thing (baguettes) and ain’t nobody got time for that.
  2. Plain old cookie sheet lined with lightly greased parchment paper. Errbody got time for that.

“Shaping” this dough is less like shaping and more like piping. There is no kneading because there is no gluten to develop, and the dough will be like very thick cake batter. Pour a splash of olive oil into a large freezer bag, then scoop the dough into the bag. Seal, then cut off one corner of the bag and pipe the baguettes into the pan you have prepared. This makes one big baguette or two thinner, smaller baguettes. Obvi, the size of the hole you cut out will determine the width of your baguettes and the cooking time. #KeepThatInMind

Brush the top of the loaves with egg wash if using, then use a very sharp knife to cut two or three diagonal slashes on the top of the bread. Place the loaves in the preheated-turned off oven for 30 minutes to rise.

Clean up your kitchen, surf the interwebs, navel gaze, meditate, write a letter to someone and mail it, call your mom, take a shower…whatever. There is nothing that really needs to be done while the bread is rising.

Remove bread and preheat oven to 375 degrees (regular oven) or 350 degrees (convection oven). Put bread back in the oven, spraying it with water as you close the door.

Baking times? Meh. They vary. 

I bake mine for ten minutes, spray, bake for ten minutes, spray, bake for ten minutes, spray, then let it go until it is beautifully brown. I have also been known to stick a toothpick in this bread, or use my beautiful new instant-read thermometer to make sure it is cooked in the middle (an issue for all bread but especially for gluten-free varieties).

Remove from the pan and cool on a rack.

Serve warm with tons of butter or Brie. Consider bringing this and a cup of hot chocolate to your darling child who is STILL SLEEPING, or maybe your lover if you are A) lucky enough to have one who will appreciate it, and B) they are within arm’s reach.

“A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou.” ~Omar Khayyam~

What is elemental for you? 

Hangover Sex: A Menu

leg

Coming hard on the heels of the last post about a particular vegetarian, one might be tempted to interpret this post.

Do as you like.

However.

It’s nearly Valentine’s Day, that most commercial of Hallmark holidays, and I prefer mine a little grubby.

A little gritty.

Don’t get me wrong: hearts and flowers and romance are all exquisite. Expressions of love in any form are always welcome and definitely needed in the world, at the mico- and macroscosmic levels.

#OM

But there is something…raw, vulnerable, visceral…about waking up feeling the previous night’s whiskey and then…feeling the previous night’s date next to you, warm. If you are lucky enough to be unencumbered by children or dogs or any type of responsibility for the day, the possibilities of how to spend that sharply fuzzy morning time together are…endless.

But you’re going to need some food.

When I am feeling the effects of overindulgence, my breakfast usually consists of an anti-nausea pill and some coffee, followed by a long nap and some Gatorade. This has been my MO of late also because I have not had a sleepover in, well, FUCKING FOREVER.

In theory, though, slumber party friend or no, when dinnertime rolls around, it’s on. I need fat, I need carbs, I need strong flavors and lots of them.

Lucky folks in Hampden might convince their sleepytime partner to trot up the The Corner for some kimchi fries to go. If I am being honest, which I always try to be, that place is hipster as fuck, annoyingly so, but I could take a bath in their kimchi fries. They are the perfect combination of salty, spicy, and not too greasy (but still), and one order is never enough.

If I can’t have fries, and I have very little food in the house (which is usually what happens), pasta is the business. But not just any pasta: cacio e pepe. Pasta with pepper and cheese.

Simple. Lusty. Roman peasant food.

The sauce, if you can call it that, is simple:  pecorino Romano,  freshly cracked black pepper, a little pasta water, and pasta.

In a recipe this basic, ingredients are important. The pasta is important.

Sure, you could go for dried pasta. This is a respectable option, especially when you may possibly be just a little bit drunk still. Fresh pasta from the refrigerated section of the grocery store is another way to go.

But.

FRESH PASTA.

That. Yes, there. THAT. 

Fresh pasta manages to somehow be an everyday staple food but still sexy as hell. It is simple to make, delicious, not time-consuming once you can figure out how to work the pasta machine (or eliminate that altogether by rolling out your pasta and hand cutting it), and infinitely satisfying in a recipe with such a simple sauce.

Infinitely satisfying, as in how all things should be the morning after the night before, yes?

Hmmm.

HangoverPasta

Fresh Pasta

Ingredients

10 ounces (about two cups) all-purpose gluten-free flour (regular works fine, too)

1 T xanthan gum

1/2 t. salt

4 eggs

2 T olive oil

Method

Combine dry ingredients in food processor and pulse to combine. Add eggs and olive oil and mix until dough forms. You can also use a big bowl, a fork, and some muscle. Or have your lover do this while you watch.

Turn out onto a lightly floured surface and knead until it feels a bit smooth (you aren’t developing gluten, so don’t overdo it. Just really incorporating all ingredients). Shape into a six-inch roll, then cut into six pieces.

Work with each piece individually to either hand cut, or use your pasta machine.

Pro tip #1: Dust pasta with flour before sending it through the pasta machine.

Pro tip #2: Send it through two times on each setting, starting with the widest and stopping when you can see your hand through the pasta.

Technically, cacio e pepe is for spaghetti, but I like linguine, so I use the linguine cutter on my pasta machine.

After you cut your pasta, you can freeze it in little bundles and drop into salted, boiling water for two or three minutes wheneverthefuck you want some fresh pasta, or you can let the little bundles sit around until you’re damn good and ready (about two hours before you need to make a decision about those little bundles).

Damn good and ready?

Bring a pot of salted water to boil. While you are waiting, grate about two cups of pecorino Romano. Boil your pasta for two minutes, reserving about a cup of pasta water. After you drain the pasta, add it to the cheese, and gradually add pasta water, a little at a time. If your sauce is too wet, add cheese. Too dry? Add water.

Salt to taste (even though the cheese is salty you will need more) and grate a TON of black pepper into the bowl. You can finish with a drizzle of best-quality olive oil if you like, then eat it off your fingers (or each other) when you head back to bed.

Buon appetito!

What’s your favorite hangover menu?