We woke up to the first frost on the ground two mornings ago, and today it was overcast, calm, and smelling clean, so naturally I got up thinking about apple and cinnamon muffins.
Autumn is starting to gently ring its dulcet doorbell through hearth-based memories of fireplaces, root vegetables and warm spices. I begin thinking about how, over candlelight dinners, we’ll sustain ourselves through the long, cold, and quiet winter nights ahead with the telling and retelling of cherished stories set in the heat and sun and merriment of high summer. And we’ll plan with unblemished optimism for the days to come.
I think I’m finally getting the value of this “seasons” thing.
I made the Apple Cinnamon Muffins found in [easyazon-link asin=”1551522349″ locale=”us”]Get It Ripe[/easyazon-link] by the great and magical Torontonian cookbook author, [easyazon-link asin=”1551522543″ locale=”us”]Jae Steele[/easyazon-link].
Jae can’t help being a Canadian vegan who cooks AMAZING things that even omnivores love to eat. That’s just how she rolls. (And by the way, that’s a very teeny demographic, as yet.)
I only had two apples, and by the time I had made a quarter recipe of the jiffy-quick homemade applesauce (also in Jae’s book) with the only two apples we had in residence, I realized I was one apple short of a load for the muffin recipe. So I used a peach we had canned last year instead.
So… technically this is a Peach Cinnamon Muffin with Apple Sauce.
Autumn can be unpredictable. You just need to go all French cuisine with it and roll with what’s available.
That’s why the French enjoy their food so much. No one year is the same as the next, and the combination of what’s available today for tonight’s dinner and what’s available next week, next month, or next year will never be the same. You just need to fully appreciate what’s in front of you, now, knowing this meal and this moment will never pass this way again.
Savor whatever muffin emerges warm with cheddar cheese so old it schisms into techtonic plates of creamy, pungent flakes.
With virtually no salt, less than a teaspoon of olive oil and sugar (in the form of maple syrup) per muffin, and loaded with whole-grain spelt flour, apples, peaches, walnuts, raisins, apple cider vinegar, and a touch of cinnamon, there are worse ways to welcome in your own personal autumn.
I was completely gobsmacked by the once-in-a-lifetime pink moon ascending over the Seine as we stood with our evening bike tour on the Pont des Arts, surrounded by young lovers asking one another if they would care to dance at a mutual until-death-do-us party.
And then I got gobsmacked again by riding a bike around the almost completely empty courtyard of the Louvre at sunset on an incredible warm April night with my own as-long-as-we-both-shall-live partyner.
Apparently, two gobsmacking events in close proximity was enough to shake me loose of my blogging saddle for a month or four.
It’s time to catch up.
So here we are the next day reflected on the top of one of the highest and most ugly modern buildings in Paris, Montparnasse, which is really ideal since the view affords you the magnificence of the city without the visual blight of the building you’re standing on.
Those French. They really know how to make a gobsmacked tourist feel right at Pluto, n’est ce pas?
To sum up, we ate at a lot of these…
… and did a lot of this. (Picnicking in parks with a lot of incredible cheese and baguettes, I mean.)
We marveled at a lot of these…
… and visited a fair amount of old that.
Not everything was old. Young love blooms everywhere in Paris.
We indulged in a bit of shopping…
… sampled a fair whack of this…
… and did some of this that we could come back some day.
You know the French departure farewell, “Au revoir?”
It means, “Until we see again,” which turns out to be now, except this time, I won’t wait so long.
It’s only 1.5 hours on the bullet train from Paris to Dijon, and we like mustard and traveling at 300 km/h across gorgeous pastoral landscapes, so… why not?
Plus, 12 seconds of online research had informed us that Tuesday is Dijon market day, and we love markets, so… why not some more?
While markets in France certainly sound different in the specifics than those in North America, the experience in general is the same.
Farmers proudly arrange their spring produce…
… and happily discuss the merits of sunshine, good health, and perfect radishes.
People of all ages wander to gander the stalls, the wandering being as much a part of the day as the gandering.
Olives? Check. Candied popcorn? Check.
Assortments of old clocks and inner workings? Yup.
Fashion-forward accordionist? Certainment!
The produce was glorious. I didn’t inquire, but these heirloom tomatoes looked like the gene pool probably started in the kitchen gardens of Versailles.
There were dozens of different kinds of everything, a few of which we even recognized.
The cafes were perfectly crowded with satisfied shoppers, soaking up sun and killer caffeine in equal measure…
… while other attendees were just waiting for someone to kick a stray sausage their way.
(The truth is this critter is probably another canine super-model, disdaining meat and carbs in preference for a daily handful of those exquisite radishes and a nice Cote du Rhone. He and Winston would make perfect room-mates.)
In the center of the market square was a huge indoor market, perfect for ending the shopping trip out of the sun and picking up goods from the refrigerator section.
Oh my word! Who can resist those cheeses?!
Not Rick and his trusty neon-orange bulging backpack.
Note how quickly he has picked up the local sign language. He was either telling the proprietor “Close enough!” or, “Sure… give me the whole block.”
(He doesn’t mean to be easy to spot in a crowd. He’s just drawn that way.)
We wandered a ways from the market to a quiet cafe where we stopped for some lunch and “un pichet du vin.”
Rick took a moment to try out his handful of new coloring markers, bought at an art store across from the market.
They worked so nicely in his cartoon journal (some samples to follow here in the next post or two) that we decided to head back to the market to buy a whole set, et…
… Voila! The market, she was gone!
Apparently, market “day” is a term thrown around loosely in the literature. We were informed by the art store proprietor that promptly at one o’clock, everyone rolls up their radishes and smoked eels and heads for the hills.
On walking into the now completely silent grand hall, Rick stood for a moment to take it all in, then pronounced, “Wow. If you don’t get your fromage before midi, you are shit outta bon voyage!”
On the plus side, our language skills have advanced to “Franglais 101.”
We have a fabulous new sous chef in residence at Chez Wee Teton Farmhouse this week.
Officially, her name is “Vitamix 5200,” but she’s so easy going and such a trustworthy soul, we’re already operating on a first-name basis.
We love our Mixie.
Not only is she stunning to behold in her glossy red coat as she whips together an amazing soup or perfectly dices a cup of eye-stinging onion in a blink with no tears, she’s also a ninja nutrition powerhouse.
There’s almost nothing you can image coming out of her capable container that isn’t chocker-block full of screamin’ good for you vitamins, minerals, fiber, macronutrients, and all the stuff Dr. Joel Fuhrman and others insist will should might could maybe possibly* cause you to lose weight, reduce high blood pressure, and help your body recover from inflammation-related immune-system disease.
Have I mentioned here yet that between the two of us, Rick and I lost over 70 pounds in the past year? And that I’m off blood pressure medication (114/80 as of last Monday!), and that ALL my dermatitis has cleared up, my hair is thicker, and my joint pain has backed off?
Of course, this isn’t all simply the result of having stuffed Mixie’s predecessor full of fresh goodies ‘til he conked. (At an impressive 15-years old, VitaMix 5000 had lived a good long life, bless his dearly departed heart .)
We also substantially reduced our intake of meat, wheat, dairy, and sugar, and amped our calorie burn starting in May by buying and using our new fitness trackers, the FitBit.
But I can tell you for sure: the VitaMix was a HUGE factor in being able to eat WAY MORE of what was beneficial, and once you start piling all the stuff on to your plate or into your glass that helps a body heal, there’s WAY LESS room for the nasty stuff.
This was our breakfast on Tuesday.
See that green stuff? It’s kale.
There. I said it.
We eat raw kale for breakfast, along with home-frozen peaches, strawberries and bananas, as well as fresh apples and oranges and carrots. I think there was a quarter cup of hemp seeds in there as well.
Just start up Mixie on Variable Speed 1, wind ‘er up to 10, switch to high, and stand back.
In under a minute, a VitaMix can take an entire days worth of recommended daily intake of fruit and vegetables and turn it into this:
Absolutely delicious, full of stick-to-your-ribs life-giving vittles, at a fraction of both the time and the six bucks it would cost you at your local juice joint. Each.
Plus, I now get to share my kitchen with Rick, Winston**, AND our new best mixin’ vixen, Mixie.
*Out of fear of respect for a vigilant Federal Trade Commission always on the lookout for potentially misleading information, no one now claims that anything “will” do anything, or that results are typical or even to be expected at all, or that an apple a day is good for much. Of course, Grandma knew better….
To be clear, though: we at rickandkathy.com aren’t claiming that owning and actually using a VitaMix will make you healthier, leaner, more attractive, or have a longer, happier life. We just are 100% certain it has had that impact on us. Just sayin’….
** Winston would like his fans to know he doesn’t care for smoothies. He feels they are “just empty calories” and interfere with the proper digestion of the Chardonnay.
These table-bangin’ good fluffy buckwheat pancakes will have your breakfast crowd crowing for more.
And remember, you’rre under no legal obligation to tell them that it’s a vegan recipe that’s gluten-free, low-fat, inexpensive, easy, and jam-packed with enough power nutrients to fuel a spectacular day.
That part can be our little secret.
The only tricky part of this recipe is to remember to put 2 cups of buckwheat groats (not kasha… groats) in about 3 cups of water to soak overnight (or for at least 5 hours) before you want to make them so you end up with about 4 cups of the bloated little gems by the time you’re ready to start cooking.
Don’t worry… after you’ve made these once, you won’t forget. And even if you do, your family will remind you.
Buckwheat is not actually wheat or even a cereal or grass of any kind at all.
These are actually seeds of the buckwheat plant and are closely related to rhubarb and sorrel. They contain a high concentration of all essential amino acids, good news for vegans and moms everywhere. It’s also now being used to make gluten-free beer.
Enough said.
After draining and taking a good look at the triangular little nuggets of beauty, I almost felt badly putting them in the Vitamix to blend them into the smooth creamy base of the pancakes, but I got over it.
You can use any blender, but this is our 10-year old workhorse of choice. It’s now starting to object to being put to vigorous use by emitting odd burnt rubber aromas.
While it will be sad to say goodbye when that day comes, I’ve already got my eye on the one waiting in the wings, recommended by Cook’s Illustrated in their list of essential kitchen equipment: the [easyazon-link asin=”B005OCFHHK” locale=”us”]Nimbus 2000[/easyazon-link] [easyazon-link asin=”B0062U6GBY” locale=”us”]Vitamix 5200[/easyazon-link].
After draining and putting the groats in the blender, add the liquid ingredients: 1 1/2 cups of water 2 tbsp lemon juice 2 tbsp non-hydrogenated coconut, sunflower or olive oil 2 tbsp liquid sweetener (blackstrap molasses, date syrup, agave syrup, maple syrup, etc.)
Blend well until either the Vitamix gives out or you have a smooth, medium-body pancake batter consistency. You may need to add a bit of extra water if the batter is too thick (or if the ancient blender starts to smell funny).
Heat an oiled heavy-bottomed skillet (we love our cast iron jobber) to medium smokage.
Use about 1/3 of a cup of batter for the first one…
… then wing it for subsequent cakes once you know about how much is enough.
This is the way your Grandmothers used to cook, and if it was good enough for them and your parents, it should work for you too.
Watch for the bubbles to form across the entire surface of the pancake, marveling at the photogenic magic of the steam escaping from them like l’il volcanoes.
Once you can see the bottoms have browned and the surface is covered with bubbles and several actual holes, flip ’em.
There’s a reason these are called “cakes.” They rise before your eyes.
Peek at the undersides, and once they are uniformly brown and the side walls have lost that glossy look, shifting to an opaque “I’m done, already!” look, remove to an awaiting warmed plate…
… add a sliver of tasty slick, if so desired (we desire)…
… and let the [easyazon-link asin=”B00555HUDA” locale=”us”]maple syrup[/easyazon-link] (and here’s why we love Springtree syrup) and table-banging flow!
Ingredients and Measures
2 cups buckwheat groats
1 1/2 cups of water
2 tbsp lemon juice
2 tbsp non-hydrogenated coconut, sunflower or olive oil
2 tbsp liquid sweetener (blackstrap molasses, date syrup, agave syrup, maple syrup, etc.)
1/4 cup flax meal
1/4 cup chia seeds
1 tbsp baking powder
1 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp sea salt
Start with two bunches of beautiful fresh kale. If you don’t see kale in the vegetable section, ask at the deli counter.
Seriously, this is how we buy kale at our little local market. Apparently there isn’t enough demand to stock it in their wee produce section, but the deli always has it on hand as a display garnish, meaning, something you’re not intended to eat.
This boggles my marbles.
Kale, a member of the cabbage family and one of the most nutritionally dense foods on the planet, is super high in beta carotene, vitamin K, vitamin C, and a host of other vitamins and minerals that must be very important, although I don’t what they do or how to spell without help. And once you figure out how to tame the chewy factor with correct cooking techniques and flavoring, it is also intensely delicious.
And crispy, flavorful melt-in-your-mouth kale chips are a sure-fire way to successfully introduce the whole kale concept to any household.
Hold your heaviest chef’s knife somewhat loosely in one hand, grip the stem in the other, and run the blade along the stem from bottom to top, neatly slicing off the leaves. If you’ve got a good knife, you can let the weight of the blade do all the work, steering it along the stem rather than actively chopping away at the leaves. This is not only effective, but it also makes you feel like a real chef without the funky hat.
Discard (or compost) the stems…
…and pull apart the leaves into 1-2″ sections.
Rinse the kale thoroughly, dry it in a salad spinner, and place the kale in a big mixing bowl. You’ll need space not only for the kale, but also for some elbow room to toss it around a bit without half of it going AWOL and landing on the floor.
Add the olive oil and balsamic vinegar, tossing generously to coat. Sprinkle in turn with the nutritional yeast, garlic powder, and sea salt, tossing until evenly coated between each addition.
For those not familiar with nutritional yeast flakes, you’re in for a treat. It has a nutty/creamy/cheese flavor and is often used by vegans as a condiment where others would use, say, Parmesan cheese. Some movie theaters even offer it as a topping for popcorn.
Coupled with the olive oil, balsamic vinegar, garlic, and salt, it transforms the kale chips from delicious to dangerously addictive.
Arrange the kale in a single layer on a rack nestled into a rimmed cookie sheet. You will probably need at least two sheets or a couple of rounds of baking. The trick is to avoid overcrowding the pan: you want air circulating around each separate piece.
Take a moment to admire the stuff. Whoever thought up kale really put some effort into it.
Bake @ 325° (or 300° with convection, if that’s available to you) and start checking them at around 20 minutes or so. This is a loose timing recommendation as cooking time varies oven by oven, by altitude, etc.
If you have two (or more) pans in at the same time, rotate them in the oven every time you check them. (Upper racks will cook faster than the lower ones.) You want them to be crispy but still green. Limp specimens will not win you any neighborhood culinary awards.
This takes some careful monitoring towards the end, and as soon as you see any signs of browning, call ‘er done.
While there is some minor nutrient loss in the process, kale is so packed full to begin with that you will still get a huge bang for your buck, plus they are a delicious, low-calorie snacking option. In addition to just nibbling from the bowl, we often use it as a condiment, grabbing a handful and crushing it over quinoa (flavored with sesame chili oil) and scrambled eggs for breakfast.
Betcha can’t eat just one!
Ingredients and Measures
Fresh Kale, 2 bunches
Olive Oil, 2 tablespoons
Balsamic Vinegar, 2 tablespoons
Nutritional Yeast, 2 teaspoons
Garlic Powder, 1 teaspoon
Sea Salt, 1/2 teaspoon (or to taste)
Kitchen equipment that makes the recipe easy to prepare:
Black bean recipes are hot stuff these days, and not just for the vegan Birkenstocks/natural fiber sporting set, either. Rick and I eat them, too. Although I do own several hemp t-shirts and a cotton broom-stick skirt… and we’re intensely bothered by factory farming practices… and we’re eating WAY less meat these days…
Rick made this dish for lunch on Monday. Why? Well, for one thing, the time is always right for a new table-banging good black bean recipe.
Also, I had a cup of fresh quinoa already simmering on the back burner. We had leftovers from two days earlier when we had soaked a bag of black beans overnight, drained and then cooked ’em for six hours in the slow cooker with a couple of bay leaves and salt. There was about a third of a cup of previously caramelized onions in the fridge that weren’t getting any younger. I had some chia seeds looking for a dish to be experimented in, and we have enough fun spices in the drawer that we could start our own British girl band.
Ack! Now I’ll tell you what I want, what I really, really want: I wannabe rid of this earworm, right now. Maybe focusing on the recipe might help…
Dice three or four gloves of garlic, chopped like this, in enough hottish olive oil to slick up the bottom of the pan.
Retrieve the aging carmelized onions from your fridge, or if you don’t have any, chop about a third of a cup, give ‘er take, and saute them alongside the garlic. You don’t want the garlic and onions to get brown, just translucent. If they look like they might be getting away on you, you can always “stop” them by splashing in some water or wine.
At least, that’s why Rick says there’s almost always an open bottle of wine nearby when he’s cooking. It’s a classic case of “It’s not for me… it’s for the children garlic.”
While the garlicy onioness bubbles, chop a tomato.
I post this photo not because I don’t think you know what a tomato is, but rather because you might not know the PROFESSIONAL way to chop a round slippery squishy ingredient, which is this, demonstrated by Rick’s lovely and intact fingers:
Dig your nails into the top of the tomato, holding your fingers completely vertical, and then place the flat side of the scary blade firmly against the flat of your fingers, and push briskly.
You cannot hurt yourself, unless you are one of those people who simply cannot remember which way is horizontal and which way is vertical. If this is the case, step away from the knife, open a 14 oz. can of diced tomatoes, and use about half.
Did you know that, botanically speaking, a tomato is a fruit? Here it looks like a cross between a plum and a watermelon, only more tomatoery.
I digress… Chop the tomato in a medium dice and turf in the pot.
Let the tomato and alliums mingle a while until the ‘maters give it up and begin to release their juice.
Go ahead… stir the pot. You know you want to.
Spice girls! Ready? Welcome to the stage… a teaspoon of Cumin Spice!
Same with “O-Re-Gane-Oh.”
Add two-ish cups (or soup ladles, whatever is handy) of black beans.
Prepare yer own, or open a big can. Both work: PYO is less expensive but requires a continual kitchen (aka “planning”). Cans also require planning, but only the “put on the grocery list” type.
Add “chia seeds” while you’re at it. Buy them locally if you can, but if not, this is a decent price.
As I said, both work. Just save the bean liquid to top up the moisture at the end if needed.
Either way, it should amount to a hill of beans.
Here comes the secret seed for our secret sauce. We added two tablespoons.
Chia seeds absorb liquid. This means that for any recipe needing a thickener, or maybe just a new millennium make-over to impress guests with how you know that they’re are hot, throw in about 2 tablespoons of chia seeds, and… POOF! Problem solved.
Of course, if the viscosity of your dish is already perfect but you want to add the chia anyways (and who doesn’t want to be that cool?), add about a quarter cup of liquid per tablespoon of seeds.
Our black bean beauties were swimming around in a fair whack of liquid at this point, which is what inspired the “Quick! Chia seeds to the rescue!” move.
Salt according to your doctor’s concern about your blood pressure.
Let the wonderfulness simmer until the liquid is reduced to where you want it, and you can’t stand the fabulous aroma another second.
Before we leave this page, however, let’s zoom in on the chia darlings.
See how their outer layer has dissolved into this lovely gel? They still retain a slight “pop!” when you bite on them, somewhat akin to nibbling on a delicate caviar. The interesting thing about chia seeds is that they have almost zero flavor of their own, instead taking on the flavor of what’s around them.
They’re flavor agnostic.
Cilantro, on the other hand, is definitely not a fence-sitting kind of herb. Its extraordinary list of health benefits notwithstanding, people either like it or hate it, period.
If you’re pro-cilantro, chop a bunch and toss it in. If you’re anti-cilantro, skip it.
Mmmmm… quinoa. It ranks at the top of the list beside rice for usage flexibility, except it’s roughly a bajillion times better for your insulin stability, colon health, and breath. (I just made up the breath part, but I wouldn’t be surprised.)
How to cook quinoa: Soak a cup in hot water for at least 15 minutes. (I know… much of it is sold as “pre-rinsed,” but soaking even for that short period will cause the little tasties to sprout and amps the nutrition that becomes available.) Rinse and put in a pot with 1.5 cups of water. Cover and bring to a boil, immediately reduce to the gentlest of simmers, and cook for 20 minutes. Remove from heat and let stand, lid on, for another five. Remove lid and fluff. And… voila! It’s that easy, that quick, and that friggin’ delicious.
We often will add a dash of sesame chili oil and a sprinkle of salt, but that’s driven by personal preference and whatever else shows up on the plate. In the case of our black bean chia bowl, the quinoa was served naked, but at the table, Rick decided the dish wanted a bit of heat, so he added a splash of the mild green Tabasco sauce. I tasted his and then added some to my serving as well.
Serve with carrot fingerlings, pinky side up. Even the steam will “heart” this dish.
