I’m smitten with a lowly flour.

It all started last year with a trip to upstate New York. I went to the teeny-tiny, mill town of Penn Yan. It was quaint. But what do you do in a mill town except buy flours and grain? Not a whole lot. So, I filled the trunk of my car with stone-ground polenta, finely milled pastry flour, groats, and buckwheat flour.

The buckwheat flour was excellent, nutty, chewy, and somehow fluffy. I made filling buttermilk pancakes and delicate crepes– enjoying every mouthful. A few months after my trip, my supply quickly diminishing, a dear, like-minded friend moved away.  He left behind a cache of baking ingredients for me. As I was unpacking my new muscavado sugar, whole wheat pastry flour, and vanilla paste, I found his supply of buckwheat flour. Great minds and hungry bellies think alike!

With my supply replenished without a trip to the health food store, I decided to mix things up a bit. Venturing away from the griddle, I made Buckwheat Cranberry-Walnut Scones. These scones gives the air of being healthy, but not obviously so. They are sturdy yet buttery, nutty from both the walnuts and the buckwheat flour, seasonal, from the cranberries, and meltingly tender.

See why I’m smitten? I guess it doesn’t take much for me. I have already started to think of different ways to incorporate this flour into the repertory. Let me know if there’s a way that you use buckwheat flour.

These scones just may be ascetic enough to make during your post-Thanksgiving weekend next week. Gobble, gobble!

Buckwheat Cranberry-Walnut Scones

1 egg
1/2 cup whole milk
1/4 cup heavy cream
1 1/3 cups all-purpose flour
3/4 cup buckwheat flour
1/3 cup brown sugar, packed
3 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
6 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cut into 1/2 inch pieces
1/2 cup walnuts
1/3 cup cranberries

In a small bowl, whisk egg, milk, and cream and set aside.

In a medium size bowl, whisk both flours, brown sugar, baking powder, and salt together. Add the butter. With your hands work the butter into the flour mixture creating a coarse meal. Add the walnuts and the cranberries, tossing until well-incorporated. Pour in the milk mixture. With a rubber spatula or your hands, but the mixture will be sticky, work minimally into a loose dough. Gather the dough into a ball, and knead it about 5 times in the bowl.

Turn the dough out onto a well-floured counter, and with floured hands, gently pat into an 8 or 9 inch square. Cut the dough into 9 scones, making 3 horizontal and vertical cuts. Place each scone on a parchment or Silpat lined baking sheet, about 1 inch apart. Place pan in the refrigerator and let the scones rest while oven is preheating, about 15 minutes.

Bake in a 425 degree oven for 15-18 minutes, or until golden brown on top. Cool on a rack and then serve warm or room temperature.

It’s also 4:30. Really?

Gag me. Daylight savings time has just ended.

I’ll get over it. It just takes me a few days. The highlight of standard time is, of course the fact that the mornings are a little brighter. (And it’s a good thing, I was beginning to feel like a farmer when my alarm went off.) Bright mornings mean bright breakfasts, and that to me means granola. Granola that’s just the slightest bit naughty.

How is this granola naughty you might ask? By the addition of cocoa nibs– roasted and cracked cocoa beans. I love a good nib. They give you a hit of chocolate flavor, without being sweet. In fact, I have always thought that they were rather fruity. A nib is crisp, dark, mysterious– and perfect for making granola.

The nibs in this granola are sort of like an additional nut, and tossed with tangy dried apricots it makes the perfect not too sweet granola. I would even call this granola restrained. (If you think that eating chocolate first thing in the morning is restrained.)

Cocoa Nib Granola

2 cups rolled oats
1/3 cup cocoa nibs
3/4 cup shredded coconut, unsweetened
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
2 tablespoons butter
1 tablespoon honey
1/4 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup chopped raw almonds
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
pinch of salt
1/4 cup chopped dried apricots

Preheat the oven to 300 degrees.

In a medium sized bowl toss oats, nibs and coconut together. Set aside.

In a saucepan over medium heat, melt the oil and butter. When entirely liquid, add the brown sugar, honey, and almonds, and cook for about 2 minutes, or fragrant. Turn off the heat and add the vanilla and the salt. Pour this mixture over the oat mixture. Toss well to coat, creating clumps of oats.

Pour onto a baking sheet and bake for 10 minutes, toss well, and then bake for an additional 10-15 minutes. Add the apricots, and toss again. Cool completely, and then store in an airtight container. Granola will last for quite some time, 2 weeks if you’re lucky.

Fall can be a confusing time. Don’t get me wrong– it’s one of my favorite seasons. (Out of four, it’s probably number one!) For one thing, there is always the crisis of what to wear. Tights or bare legs? Sandals still, or do you move on to flats? Light sweaters in the morning, jackets for an evening stroll. You see– these are serious issues.

Once you have managed to get yourself dressed for the day, there is the issue of what to eat. It’s a good thing that I don’t find this issue quite so vexing. In fact, I rather enjoy these crossovers.

I was at the farmers market last week, and one of the vendors was selling rhubarb. Spindly and springish, this vegetable cum fruit actually grows from high spring to early fall. I bought some, and stuck it in the fridge until I decided what to do with it. A few days later I spotted black mission figs at the market, and knew that the kitchen was calling.

I went home and made a galette– the lazy man’s pie. The tart acidity of the rhubarb mixed with the richness and potency of the figs making the perfect combination. Neither one of these “fruits” is overly juicy, so they were an ideal match for an open-faced dessert, but the juices that they did create were intoxicating.

Simply kissed with sugar, and baked with crushed hazelnuts on top, this galette was just the dessert to eat on a fall day. And to quote Little Edie Bouvier Beale, I even found “the best costume of the day,” to wear while chewing– sleeveless dress, cardigan sweater, and flats.

Fig-Rhubarb Galette

2 cups rhubarb, cut into 1/2 inch dice
1/2 cup sugar
pinch of salt
2 cups fresh figs, cut into quarters
2 tablespoons flour
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 cup hazelnuts, roughly chopped

1 disc pie dough

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

In a medium sized bowl, toss the rhubarb completely with sugar and salt. Add the figs, flour, and vanilla, and toss gently trying to keep the figs in tact. Set aside.

Roll out the pie dough, approximately 12-14 inches around. Transfer the dough to a parchment or Silpat lined cookie sheet. Spread the fruit filling, leaving about 2 inches free around the perimeter of the dough. Sprinkle on the nuts.

Fold the dough over the filling, gently pressing the dough together as you go. This creates the crust; and the galette will be free-form. If you would like, brush the crust in cream, and sprinkle with turbinado sugar.

Bake for 40-45 minutes, then let cool on the cookie sheet, before slicing.

My word, it’s been a long time. A really looooooooong time. And it’s my fault—that’s right—you can place the onus squarely on me. I guess you could say that I’m not too great about keeping in touch. Apologies.

I have an excuse, a rather good one in fact. But first, I’m going to butter you up—with muffins.

Muffins can be a tricky thing. Purchased on-the-go from a non-reputable coffee joint they can be a leaden, flavorless mass. Bought from a vendor at your local farmer’s market and they can have a crunchy sugar-coated top and chewy oats within. But when you are searching for the best muffin, when running to the farmer’s market, or even the bakery simply won’t do, you need to make them yourself.

This classic blueberry muffin recipe is actually based on a Sour Cream-Peach Muffin that I found in Jim Fobel’s Old Fashioned Baking Book. You will notice that from my pictures, those do not look anything like peaches. They’re not—I made classic Blueberry Muffins. Oh, and I used yogurt, not sour cream. So I guess this recipe is truly inspired by Mr. Fobel’s.

These muffins are tender and moist, slightly sweet, and bursting with blueberries (or peaches, or plums, or nectarines, really, anything you have on hand). Made on a Sunday morning and enjoyed while still warm from the oven, I would say that they’re a perfect way to start off the morning.

Blueberry Muffins

adapted from Jim Fobel’s Old Fashioned Baking Book

makes 12 muffins

for the topping:

¼ cup flour
¼ cup sugar
¼ teaspoon cinnamon
pinch of salt
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened

for the batter:

1 egg
½ cup yogurt (low or full fat)
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
4 tablespoon unsalted butter, melted
2 cups flour
½ cup sugar
1 tablespoon baking powder
¼ teaspoon baking soda
¼ teaspoon salt
1½ cups blueberries (if using frozen, don’t thaw)

Preheat the oven to 400°. Line twelve, 2½ inch muffin cups with paper liners and set aside.

Prepare the topping in a medium size bowl. Toss the flour, sugar, cinnamon and salt together. With a fork, or your fingers, work in the butter until oatmeal-like clumps are created. The topping should resemble streusel. Set aside.

In a medium size bowl, whisk egg, yogurt, milk, vanilla, and melted butter until smooth. In a large bowl, stir together the flour, sugar, baking soda, baking powder, and salt. Pour the yogurt mixture into the flour mixture. and stir quickly. Add the blueberries, and gently toss just until mixed. Batter will still be lumpy.

Spoon the batter equally into the muffin cups. The cups will be full. Quickly pat the topping onto the muffins.

Bake for 25-30 minutes. The tops should spring back when touched. Remove from the oven, let cool for 5 minutes, then remove from the pan. Serve warm. I like them split with a pat of butter smooshed inside.

I entered an apple pie, he entered a pumpkin.

Now I know that me, a California girl, was taking a risk entering an apple pie in New England– home of the apple pie. But I figured I live in Connecticut now, I had to experience local color. I might not be a died in the wool Blue Blood, but I could dabble. So I made an apple pie– an apple pie with cheddar cheese crust to be precise. Borrowing from the New England tradition of eating a wedge of cheese right along side of their apple pie, I instead incorporated the cheese into the filling. This was a pie I have made several times for friends, and it has received rave reviews. (Pardon my conceit.)

When I dropped off the pie I should have known. It was taken from me, along with my registration, and put in a plastic bag– never good for maintaining a flaky crust. The participants also did not have an opportunity to name their pies. No judge was even made aware of the cheddar in the crust. I can only imagine the peculiar looks my pie received upon tasting. When I left the pie my pie for judging the next day, I shook my head to my friend. “I don’t have my hopes up,” I said.

The next evening we drove to the country fair. We shouldered our way in to the agricultural/food tent, and peered at the pies. There was my apple pie, a tiny slice taken out, all by its lonesome. Not a ribbon to be seen. Not even an honorable mention. I said it before– I am not a competitive person– but this is one contest I would have liked to at least place.

If it makes me feel any better, my friend, a wonderful cook in his own right, didn’t place either. Who knows, I might just have to enter again next year. Maybe with a more basic pie. Or maybe I will have to befriend a judge. A little nepotism never hurt anyone.

I picked up my first few stalks of the season last week, and they were lovely– so astringent, beautifully pink, with just the right amount of pucker. I made a bit of compote with them. No, not the compote that is dowdy, and full of dried fruit. This compote was bright and cheery, scented with vanilla with just a kiss of sugar. I ate it as a topping for Greek yogurt during the week, and then had it as a scrumptious embellishment for buttermilk pancakes on the weekend.

The recipe is over on iVillage. Happy Spring!

I will be the first person to tell you that apple pie is not my favorite; I much prefer the typical pies of summer. I love pie; and I like apples, but I always feel so moderate about an apple pie. So this was a single crust pie that I literally threw together *. But while it was baking, it filled the house with that lovely aroma: of baking apples, of butter, of that remarkable smell of the imminence of the holidays. As I cut slices from the pie, when it had just cooled enough to still hold its shape, my mouth watered just a bit. Then I took a bite, and I have to say, it was a damn good pie.

Maybe it was those gigantic, fresh-picked Mutsu apples that did it. Maybe it was that the apples were roughly diced, rather than primly sliced; or maybe I have just outgrown my prejudice. Either way, eating this pie turned out to be the perfect welcome to the season.

Here is the recipe for an Oatmeal-Crumb Topping, that embellished my pie.

1/3 cup light brown sugar
1/2 cup flour
1/2 cup oatmeal
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

In a medium sized bowl, mix the brown sugar, flour, and oatmeal. Pour the butter over the mixture. With your fingertips, gently toss together, leaving some clumps of the mixture.

Gently pat on top of a raw, single-crusted apple pie. (I chopped my apples rather than sliced them.) Bake in a preheated 400 degree oven, immediately dropping temperature down to 375 degrees for 40-50 minutes, or until golden brown.

* My mother says that I should clarify: You should sweeten/season the apples for the pie however you choose, prior to baking. I tossed my diced apples in brown and white sugar, a few tablespoons of flour, and a modicum of cinnamon, before topping with the oatmeal-crumb mixture.

Over the weekend, I went with some friends to an orchard in Glastonbury, CT, not knowing what to expect. Would I have to climb ladders to pick some measly apples; what would the varieties be; and just how large was an apple orchard anyway? All of my questions were answered– and apple picking did not disappoint! Rows of trees were so heavy with fruit, the branches were bending to the ground, simply begging you to pluck an apple from the tree. Varieties that I have never heard of, ones for baking, others for sauce, and more still, for eating out of hand, each more tempting and delicious than the other. And the orchard was acres and acres of apples and pears, some not even ready to be picked. But it made no difference, there was more than enough to choose from. Each apple tasted more apple-y than any apple I have eaten before; they were fragrant, crisp, tart, and scrumptious.

I picked and picked, grabbing an apple off of a tree, and crunching away as I walked through the grounds. I must have eaten at least four apples that day alone, not to mention some hot-from-the-oil apple fritters and an ethereal apple cider donut. I went home with over 12 pounds of apples and pears, and have already canned a batch of brandied apple rings, and I have plans for cranberry-apple butter. Now I can say with confidence– bring on the apples.

When glancing at a recipe, there are some that read only like a list of ingredients. Nothing about it calls out to you, beckoning from the stove. Then there are the recipes that are utterly enticing. You make your ways through the basics: a bit of sugar (got it), some flour (yes?), buttermilk (mmm), lots of fresh lemon, and a bit of lemon (now you are walking to the market!). That was precisely what happened to me when I looked at the recipe for Meyer Lemon Cake in Chez Panisse Cooking.

The cake is essentially a genoise batter. Eggs are separated, the yolks beaten with sugar until pale and buttery yellow, the whites beaten until stiff peaks are formed, and then added to the rest of the batter. Oh… and don’t forget the stick of melted butter, how else would the cake become so rich and delicious? This cake is subtle, with a fine crumb, with a texture that is reminiscent of a fine silk blouse. The cake was topped simply with a glaze of lemon juice and confectioners sugar. The glaze soaked into the warm cake leaving behind a soft sheen.

I couldn’t find Meyer lemons here in Connecticut, but I couldn’t let that prevent me from making this delectable cake. The heartier sister, the standard lemon was a fine substitution.

Meyer Lemon Cake
from Chez Panisse Cooking

for the cake:

8 tablespoons unsalted butter
4 large eggs, separated
1 1/4 cups sugar
2/3 cups buttermilk
1/3 cup Meyer lemon juice
1 tablespoon Meyer lemon zest
2 cups cake flour
1 1/4 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt

for the glaze:

1/3 cup Meyer lemon juice
1 2/3 cups confectioners sugar

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees.

Melt butter in a saucepan, set aside to cool. In a mixing bowl, beat together the egg yolks with 1 cup of sugar, until thick and light in color. Beat in the buttermilk, lemon juice, and zest. Sift together the cake flour, baking powder, and salt. Beat the egg whites until soft peaks are formed. Add the remaining quarter cup of sugar, then continue beating until stiff peaks are formed.

Alternately fold half of the flour into the egg yolk mixture, followed by half of the egg whites. Fold carefully as not to deflate the batter. Repeat with remaining portions. Take approximatelycup of batter and stir into the melted butter. Gently fold the butter mixture into the cake batter. Pour into a buttered, and floured, 9-inch cake pan or springform pan. Bake for 50-60 minutes.

While the cake is baking, make the glaze. Combine the lemon juice and confectioners sugar. Heat in a saucepan just until sugar is melted. Set aside until cake is done.

When the cake is done baking, cool for 5 minutes in pan. Turn the cake out on a cooling rack, and invert. With a long toothpick or skewer, poke the top of the cake making small holes. Slowly spoon on the glaze. Wait for the glaze to sink in, then add more. Repeat process until all of the glaze is used. (I didn’t poke my cake. I simply brushed glaze on top and sides until no more glaze remained. This worked out well.) Cool cake completely, and enjoy!