Sourdough Waffles, Without Conflict

There is an art to living with another human.  It is a delicate dance of neuroses.  A safari of previously hidden late night eating habits, secret cigarette stashes, and video games, exhumed. The migration of two people into one space inevitably unearths certain questions.

How many bottles of mezcal can be comfortably housed in one 500-square-foot apartment?

Does one find the practice of yoga in the living room charming or repulsive?

Is it acceptable to leave a trail of breadcrumbs in the jar of mayonnaise?  (It is not.)

Can a meal of beer or ladyfingers or cheese be consumed for dinner without judgment? 
Must one wear pants while doing so?

Where does our loose change go?  Does it get combined into a repurposed tin? Become stacked side by side in arranged identical piles?  Get tossed in the trash to avoid the discussion altogether?

The answers to such questions—minus the mayo contamination, which is unforgivable—are a barometer of insanity.  Best to know if your lunacy matches up before buying bed frames together.

All this to say Brett officially moved in today. (!)  While we don’t have all our personal peccadillos unpacked just yet, we typically agree on matters that matter.  And we are a solid match when it comes to breakfast.

So waffles are a safe bet.

We have a semi-regular weekend routine wherein Brett cooks the softest scrambled eggs in the slowest and loveliest of ways with the care and craft one might take to build a bird’s nest.  If we have cheddar cheese on hand, shreds of it get swirled into the eggs during their final moments in the pan.

Meanwhile, I press three waffles using batter prepped the previous night.  The first waffle always sticks a bit—which typically causes cursing as I prod it out of the iron using a fork, with the patience of a kindergartener.   (Ample greasing and preheating usually prevents this problem.)

If we are feeling fancy there is also bacon or hollandaise to be had, or maple syrup if I am too fragile or tired to deal with egg yolks or pork grease.

The waffles puff up like Belgians, offering crispy exteriors and fluffy insides with a slight tang. Like most things worth waiting for they require some forethought and, unfortunately, some sourdough starter—which necessitates tracking down a human that has some.  Or, perhaps, make your own.  

It is worth it.  These are waffles of finest quality. And they are highly unlikely to cause any cohabitation conflicts.  Unless it is about who gets the last one.

Sourdough Waffles

Ingredients:

• 1 cup (200 grams) sourdough starter (not fed)
• ½ cup (55 grams) all-purpose flour
• ½ cup (60 grams) whole wheat flour
• 1 cup whole milk
• 1 tbsp sugar
• 1 egg
• ¼ tsp salt
• ½ tsp baking soda
• 2 tbsp olive or canola oil

Instructions:

the night before

In a large bowl, mix the starter, flours, milk, and sugar until well combined; cover with plastic wrap and place in the fridge overnight (ideally 10 to 20 hours ahead, see note below).

the day of

To the starter mixture, add the egg, salt, baking soda, and oil; stir to combine. 

To make the waffles, heat your waffle iron.  (Cooking instructions may vary slightly depending on the type you are using.  I have a Nordic Ware stovetop Belgian waffle maker and after greasing it with canola oil, I preheat each side a few minutes on the stovetop, flipping halfway through.)

Once the iron is preheated, pour in about 1/3 of your batter (or roughly 2/3 cup).  Close the iron and cook until the waffle is golden brown on both sides.  (If you are using a stovetop iron you’ll want to flip it after a few minutes to cook both sides evenly.)

Repeat with remaining batter.

Makes three 6-inch square waffles

Notes:

1. The whole wheat adds a nice nuttiness and I’d definitely encourage it.  The milk type can be swapped depending on your preference.
2. Because the sourdough mixture rests in the fridge overnight, it benefits from being left on the countertop an hour or so to let the microbes warm up; this helps the waffles rise better. (But this is a living product and may need some individual tweaking.)
3. They are best eaten the day of, but leftovers will keep a day or two in the fridge and can also be frozen.
    

Fruit and Nut Granola Bars with Cacao and Sea Salt: Achieving Homeostasis

I recently had my yearly physical. My lipid profile aligned me with the Ikarians.  However, I also had a walnut-sized lump in my left breast that dictated a mammogram.  I am not sure why so many women complain about them.  

Having your breasts smashed between two synthetic plates is nothing compared to having them biopsied, penetrated with a needle and then fished around in, like you were searching for car keys in an oversized purse.

Except instead of gathering keys, tissue samples are collected and sent to the lab for testing.  

Then a tiny piece of titanium in the shape of a microscopic pigtail is inserted into your breast to tag the lump, and to be with you forevermore. Your boob is bruised.  Then you wait to hear if you have cancer. 

No one talks about this.  Most stop after the electromagnetic radiation.

In an attempt to explain homeostasis, I remember my sixth grade science teacher said a system will desperately try to maintain stability, no matter the cost.  It knows no other path.  If you stop and think, it’s quite incredible—whether a human body, the plant earth, or a broken hollandaise—forces react involuntarily to protect against stimuli that threaten to disturb the balance.

The system doesn’t always succeed.  But the internal fight is there.  So while I await biopsy results, I choose to distract myself by mashing some fruit and oats into squares, operating within the bounds of snack homeostasis. 

The coordinated alliance of figs, cherries, pecans, seeds, and grain melds with maple and honey.  

Meanwhile, the added stick of butter threatens to make granola bars about as non-righteous as they can get; yet, also ensures equilibrium among the other ingredients.  It is browned until it becomes nutty and additionally harmonious.

I was worried the cacao would muck up the fruit and oat flavor.  That the nibs would become overpowering, an indolent shroud for the more virtuous bits.  But everything binds into something reminiscent of a seven-layer bar, with the malleable properties of a product put forth by the Quaker Oats man.

The result is glorious.

We tend to walk through life thinking in concrete terms.  Things are either healthy, or not.  Good or bad.  Yet, we are often standing on tectonic plates.

The best we can do is be open, and malleable, and have faith in the forces that bring us back to homeostasis. And in those that bring us granola bars.

Fruit and Nut Granola Bars with Cacao and Sea Salt

Inspired by Nigel Slater from Ripe: A Cook in the Orchard

Ingredients:

• 110 grams (1 stick) salted butter (includes butter to grease the pan)
• 70 grams (about ½ cup) dried whole figs
• 60 grams (about ½ cup) pecan halves
• 40 grams (about ¼ cup) dried sour cherries
• 30 grams (about ¼ cup) sunflower seeds
• 180 grams (about 1¼ cups) rolled oats
• 20 grams (about ¼ cup) shredded unsweetened coconut
• 35 grams (about ⅓ cup) almond meal
• 50 milliliters (about 3½ tbsp) honey
• 50 milliliters (about 3½ tbsp) maple syrup (grade B preferable)            
• 90 grams (about a scant ½ cup) superfine sugar (see note)
• 15 grams (about 2 tbsp) cacao nibs (not chocolate covered)
• heaping ⅛ tsp fleur de sel or other finishing sea salt

Instructions:

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees.  Butter a 9-inch square pan (I used a 11 x 7).  Remove the fig stems and quarter the figs.  In a food processor, finely chop the figs, pecans, cherries, and sunflower seeds until they hold together when pressed. (This can also be done by hand; the finer you chop the ingredients the better the bars will hold together.)  Place in a large bowl and mix in the oats, coconut, and almond meal.

In a large saucepan, melt the remaining butter on medium heat until it turns a deep golden brown and starts to give off nutty aromas; stir in the honey, syrup, and superfine sugar.  When the mixture comes to a rolling boil, add in the dry ingredients and mix thoroughly; stir in the cacao nibs.

Tip the mixture into the prepared pan and press it down firmly.  Scatter the salt evenly on top.  

Bake for 20 to 30 minutes.  As it cooks, the edges should start to slightly puff up.  It is done when the rim is golden and the middle puffs up to meet the edges.  As the mixture cools, press it down again. When the mixture is still warm, but cool enough to easily handle, cut into 12 bars.

Let cool completely and then store in an airtight container for 5 days (or freeze).

Makes 12 bars

Notes:

1. If you can’t find unsweetened coconut, you can use 200 grams (about 1⅓ cups) oats instead.
2. If you don’t have superfine sugar, whirl regular granulated sugar in a food processor.  It’ll take about ¾ cup to make the amount of superfine sugar that you’ll need for this recipe (you may have just a little bit extra).
3. If you use a 11 x 7 pan it may need a little more time to bake (closer to 30 minutes), whereas a 9-inch square pan will require a little less time.
    

Buttermilk Buckwheat Beet Crepes: A Brief Tutorial

Here is what I know about about crepe making.  Do not attempt them under the following circumstances:

If you do not have a sturdy sauté pan.  (It does not have to be non-stick, but you cannot be evangelically opposed to butter.)

If you have had more than two cocktails.

If you have had any cocktail named as follows: the Boilermaker (postmodern hipster version: Dad’s Manhattan and a Rolling Rock); Wrath; Sheena Easton; anything that comes in a Scorpion Bowl.

If you are down to a single pair of knee-high orange stripped socks and are procrastinating the laundry.

If you have said, “I don’t know why I’m crying,” in the past twenty-four hours.

If you are ovulating.

If you are someone who angers easily about ovulation jokes.

If you are over thirty and have recently been asked why you aren’t married.  Give yourself two points if it was a relative.

If you have just listened to Seger’s “Turn the Page,” as covered by Metallica.

The point is crepes require your full attention.  Distractions will only complicate matters.  You must have your mental prowess. You must not be easily shaken by emotional shrapnel, housekeeping interference, or more than two fingers of whiskey.  For at least a good 30 minutes.

I know this because the day I finally nailed this recipe, I was as calm as the ocean is blue.  It took a few attempts to work out the kinks.  But it certainly didn’t help that prior efforts were on less than six hours of sleep, with laundry piling, and a plague of circling fruit flies with aspirations of biblical proportions.

Crepes can sense these sorts of things.  I swear they collapse on purpose.

But they are worth making.  For one, the recipe is vetted.  It involved a weird two weeks during which I ate beets daily.  We won’t talk about the aftereffects.  The dedication was apparent.

But these are simply beautiful.  They are fuchsia-colored with black buckwheat specks.  They don’t taste particularly beet-y, but they have a slight lingering earthiness and resilient chew. The buttermilk lends its tang and all of this taken together nearly threatens sensory overload, until you remember that you are eating a crepe.

Never mind the pink. Actually, totally mind the pink.  The pink is the point. Never mind everything else.

Buttermilk Buckwheat Beet Crepes

Ingredients:

• 1 medium-large beet (about 3-inches), cooked and peeled
• 1 cup buttermilk (have extra around if your batter needs a little thinning, see below)
• 1/3 cup buckwheat flour, sifted
• 2/3 cup all-purpose flour, sifted
• 2 tsp sugar
• 4 eggs
• 2 tbsp butter, melted and slightly cooled, plus more for greasing the pan
• scant ½ tsp kosher salt

Instructions:

Puree the beet in food processor, thinning it out with a little water (about ¼ cup) until the mixture starts to loosen slightly.  Using a wire mesh strainer, separate out the pulp; reserve the solids for another use.  You should get about 1/3 cup of liquid.  Pour the beet juice into a measuring cup.  If it’s just a little shy of 1/3 cup, simply add a bit more buttermilk than called for: you’ll need 1-1/3 cups total liquid between the juice and the buttermilk.

In a medium bowl, combine the liquid with the flours, sugar, eggs, melted butter, and salt; whisk together. Let the batter sit for an hour (this is important).

When you are ready to prepare the crepes, heat a 9-inch sauté pan on medium-high heat. Butter the pan, discarding any pooling fat.  Pick the pan up and pour 1/3 cup of crepe batter in the center of the pan and quickly swirl it with your wrist to evenly distribute the batter.  This will probably take a few crepes to get the hang of it. 

The crepe will cook for about 30 to 60 seconds (until it starts to look dry to the touch on the top side).  Using a rubber spatula, gently flip the crepe and cook for another 15 to 30 seconds.

Re-butter the pan, as needed (I did about every other crepe, wiping out the excess butter).

Repeat until the batter is gone. 

Makes about 10 crepes

Notes:

1. Buttermilk provides a nice tang but it is a bit tricky to work with because brands have varying consistencies and some can make the batter a little thick.  If you want to avoid this altogether, just use milk. Ultimately, your crepe batter should be the texture of cream.  (I’ve thinned it out with a little water in a pinch, but it should also settle as it sits.)  Which reminds me: don’t neglect letting the batter sit, the crepes are easier to handle and hold together much better after resting. And hang tight, the first few crepes are typically troublemakers. 
2. The crepes will last about four days in the fridge.  Or you can freeze them between pieces of parchment or wax paper for longer.
3. To cook beets, I roast them in foil with some olive oil and salt at 425 degrees until they’re knife-tender.