Baked Oatmeal for Breakfast

I think it is high-time we move Little Leo into his own room.  This business of having the noisy bugger sleep roughly one and a half feet away from my head is for the birds.  Every night it is the same thing -- he is sound asleep, but then tosses and turns and tosses and turns some more.  All the while he is shooting the breeze and having a nice little time, before he eventually conks out again and we are left, briefly, with a little peace and quiet.

This is the reason why I have found myself stumbling in the middle of the night, half asleep, to the couch in the study these days.  I love the little boy like nobody's business -- but I need sleep, or I simply cannot function as a pleasant person during the day.  Michael generally sleeps through all the racket -- only waking when the boy is screaming and wants a bottle.  That is when I totter off to the kitchen to make one, and Michael totters over to his crib to change his little bum.  But otherwise, he sleeps through it all.  Lucky bastard.

So I am relegated to the couch -- a cold hard leather affair (which I cover with every blanket I can locate in ten seconds flat), and my legs cramped up every which way (in an effort to keep them from touching said freezing couch).  But it more or less quiet in this room.  Ahhh.  I can still hear the little pipsqueak down the hallway, but it isn't right in my ear.  I can also hear Miss Emilia open her door and announce to the world in general, 'I have to go potty!'

This morning the girl woke up early.  After her trip to the potty, I got her all situated in the big green chair roughly one and a half feet from my head while on the couch -- beamies (two blankets that Grandma knit), a pillow, and a nice stack of books.  Then as the girl decided it would be a great time for some conversation, I reluctantly got up off the couch and headed to the kitchen to make breakfast.  And that is where the baked oatmeal comes in.

My new favorite thing in the morning is a recipe that takes only a few minutes to put together and then plenty of time in the oven so you can sit back and not be bothered with actually eating it just yet.  (Actually, this is when I usually give Leo his breakfast, kick Governor out for his morning constitutional, pour a cup or two of coffee, and sit around being quite grumpy with everyone.)  Emilia loves this approach to breakfast, because, normally, it goes something like this:  'Emilia, what do you want for breakfast?'  'I don't know.  I'm still thinking about it.'  Twenty minutes later, 'Emilia, what do you want for breakfast?'  'I don't know.  I'm still thinking about it.'  So, this is quite nice, really.  Besides, if the girl had her druthers, she would be getting Dutch Baby for breakfast every morning.  (Oi.)  Or Cheerios.  (Double Oi.)

The recipe is from Heidi Swanson's new and very fabulous book.  Everything I've made from it we've all loved. For this recipe I use regular sugar and I use Remlinger Farms frozen berries.  And I can safely say I am delighted with both.  (Not the biggest maple lover that ever was...well, unless it is on top of a pancake -- but that's it.)

On Cabbage, Leprechauns, and Unseemly Behaviour

'It is not ok to toot at church -- but it is ok to toot at the dinner table!', said the three-year-old.
'No, it's not ok.  It's disgusting, so knock it off'!', said her mama.
'But it is ok to toot at the ice-cream table, though.'  (As it happened, we were having ice-cream at the dining room table.)
'Stay classy, you nasty bugger.  And, no, it's not.'
'But I'm just a nasty cuss!  Governor is a nasty bugger!'
Well, I say!

We were sitting on a bench a few days later waiting for Emilia's swim lessons to start, when she nearly caused me to pass out on account of her new-found pride.  I was quite annoyed, and I had to decide if we should leave immediately in order to avoid further shame, or just ignore it and act like nothing happened.  And yet she just sat there smiling as brightly as she could, saying, 'I stink!  I tooted!'  Yes, to be sure. 

She has also become quite a fan of announcing the state of her gaseous health to all at Whole Foods, 'I stink!'  We've talked about it now and I've told her she cannot do such rude things in public, but she fails to understand why on earth not.  Apparently she does not find my argument all that compelling.

And so, why am I informing you of the gaseous state of our daughter, you ask?  Why, because today's lesson is on cabbage, beans, potatoes, and the like.  You know, leprechaun food.  Emilia has been operating under the pretence of becoming a leprechaun by morning if she stocks up on lots of cabbage (and other leprechaun foods) at night.  When she's feeling dangerous, she'll switch it over to Benjamin Bunny and Peter Rabbit, but since they also eat radishes (which she has decided are unfit for human consumption) this is not as attractive an option.  Anyway, she started picking out cabbage from the store a few months ago when I officially banned her from choosing parsnips (they aren't very springy, parsnips).  And cabbage, being ridiculously healthy, not to mention a nice cruciferous veg (always high on my list), I've been indulging the girl.  And I suppose I must now suffer the consequences.

As luck would have it, Heidi Swanson's new cookbook has the most gorgeous cabbage dish on the cover.  (I know what you are thinking, but yes, cabbage can look gorgeous.)  And I knew from the first moment I saw this recipe that we would be great friends.   Emilia resisted it the first time, but now eats it up on account of the leprechaun factor.  In fact, a few nights ago she ate her dinner and then demanded a hat and wellies so she could run around in the backyard in the manner of a leprechaun and 'do what I gotta do.'  What she had to do was simply run like a crazed lunatic, yelling 'I'm a leprechaun!' to her little heart's content.  'Twas a marvel to watch. 

And so, we've found a winner of a recipe.  Alas, I've already made it three times.  And alas, as good as it is, I now need to take a bit of a break from it.  Because as good as it is, it's rather unseemly having your little three-year-old standing at the swimming pool wearing her little red and white polka dot bikini, and laughing like nobody's business because she 'ripped' (to quote her).

White Beans & Cabbage (Parmesan, Potatoes, Shallots)
serves 4

1 tablespoons olive oil
4 ounces potatoes, unpeeled, scrubbed, and cut into tiny cubes
Fine-grain sea salt
1 large shallot, thinly sliced
2 cups cooked and cooled white beans
3 cups very finely shredded cabbage
A bit of freshly grated parmesan cheese

Pour the olive oil into a large saute pan or skillet.  Heat over medium-high.  Add the potatoes and some salt.  Stir, cover, and cook for 5 to 8 minutes, until the potatoes are cooked through.  Be sure to toss them a few times in the pan so they can cook uniformly and get nicely colored on all sides.  Stir in the shallot and the beans.  Let the mixture cook in a single layer for a few so the beans can brown.  Scrape, toss again, and let the beans brown some more and get crispy-ish.  Stir in the cabbage and cook for a few more minutes, until the cabbage loses some of its structure.  Serve with parmesan.  Recipe from Super Natural Cooking Every Day by Heidi Swanson.  Ten Speed Press, 2011.

Spelt and Yogurt Biscuits

Now then, if you happen to wake up one Saturday morning feeling slightly in the manner of a hippie genius, might I suggest whipping up a batch of these beauties?  The three of us ate them to our heart's content for breakfast, along with lots of butter, jam, and copious amounts of fresh fruit.  We also had cup after cup of coffee (for mama and dada), and a nice glass of milk (for Emilia)**.  I then froze the rest of the batch thinking I would pull them out later in the week, but ended up yanking them from the freezer late Saturday night for breakfast on Sunday.  (What can I say?  Sometimes the idea of cooking breakfast sounds like a royal pain in the arse, particularly when it is late at night and breakfast is not actually that far off.)  So we had them Sunday morning as well, then I had the last one for lunch a few hours later, and that was the end of our yummy biscuits. They were incredibly easy to make -- the dough is mixed entirely in the food processor, which makes them even easier than the scone recipe from Baking with Julia (my old stand-by).  But more importantly, they were so so good.  Julia Child's recipe is hands down the best scone recipe I've come across, but I'm sick to death of it and/or bored to tears by it.  So spelt and yogurt biscuits are completely where it's at for the moment -- not to mention being a very welcome diversion.

The recipe is from Heidi Swanson's new cookbook Super Natural Every Day, and after thumbing through it last week (it is hot off the presses, you know), I settled on the recipe for Yogurt Biscuits to try first, and the recipe on the cover to try next.  (I am always quite interested to know which recipe one chooses to do first in a brand new cookbook.  Odd, but there it is.  Could probably do all kinds of psycho-analysis just with that bit of information.  Or maybe not.  But still interesting, nonetheless.)  Anyway, the cookbook looks marvelous and I am so excited about it.  Usually I just check out her book called Super Natural Cooking from the library, but there is always such a long wait for it.  So a couple of months ago I got on Amazon's site thinking I would just buy my own copy of the damn thing already, when I saw that Miss Swanson had a new cookbook coming out-- rather soon, no less.  I immediately did the pre-order for it  (oh, how I do love a  pre-order!), and then I sat back and waited.  And waited and waited. 

Anyway, that's neither here nor there.  The book came, it looks fabulous, and this is the first recipe I did.

**Getting the girl to drink milk has turned into a nightmare -- she will only drink it if she thinks it is Michael's.  Michael, or dada for short, must then act like he is on the verge of having a bonafide tizzy fit because she is drinking all of his milk.  And yes, this act has been going on for months now.  How long does she expect us to keep it up, I wonder?  Until she is eighteen and has moved out of the house?  For hell's sake already.

Spelt and Yogurt Biscuits

1 ¼ cups spelt flour or whole what pastry flour
1 ¼ cups unbleached all-purpose flour
1 ½ teaspoons fine-grain sea-salt (I used my regular kosher salt and will happily do it again because the sea-salt was too far in the back of the cupboard to be bothered)
1 tablespoon aluminum-free baking powder

½ cup unsalted butter, chilled and cut into cubes

1 ⅓ cup greek-style plain yogurt

Preheat the oven to 450ºF.  Place an ungreased baking sheet in the oven at the same time to preheat along with it. 

Combine the flours, salt, and baking powder in the bowl of the food processor.  Scatter the butter across the top and pulse about 20 times.  The mixture should look nice and sandy with a few lumps here or there.  Add the yogurt and pulse again until incorporated.  Go easily here because it is very easy to over-mix.  Gather the dough into a ball and place on a lightly floured surface.  Knead five times until the dough comes together.  Press the dough until it is about half an inch thick and a nice square.  Cut the dough in half.  Place one half on top of the other and press again.  Do this two more times -- cut in half, stack, and then press.  Add a bit more flour if necessary, just to avoid stickiness.  This stacking process will give the biscuits their nice flaky layers once they have baked, and goodness knows that's the whole point of biscuits.

Press (or roll) the dough into a ¾-inch rectangle.  (Any higher and the biscuits will bake tilted and wonky.)  Cut the dough into twelve equal biscuits.

Take the baking sheet out of the oven, quickly place the biscuits on it, spacing about 2 inches in-between, and then place back in the oven.  Bake for 15-18 minutes.  Both the tops and bottom will be nicely golden and look divine.  (Recipe from Super Natural Every Day by Heidi Swanson. Ten Speed Press, 2011.)  

Sticky Teff-Kissed Spice Loaves

I can honestly say that never in my entire life have I pulled out the beaters and whipped up some cream, simply so that I might have a healthy dollop of the delicious stuff -- all by myself, in the middle of the afternoon.  But that officially changed as of roughly five minutes ago, because I decided to have a slice of the gingerbread I made, and was certainly not going to do it without some cream on top.  I'm so glad I did, too.  Because this is my favorite time of day to sit down with tea and something quite yummy to go with it.

We actually had this gingerbread a few nights ago after dinner.  And, to be perfectly honest, I liked it, but I immediately began to worry about what I was going to do with two loaves of the stuff.  (In case you were wondering, as per usual, I froze one.)  However, to be fair, it seems I've turned into a no-dessert-after-dinner sort of person.  On second thought, I am more of a if-I'm-going-to-eat-dessert-after-dinner-it-sure-as-hell-shouldn't-be-even-remotely-good-for-me sort of person.  But even then, I only like it sparingly.  (I can just see my mother right now.  If she knew this, there would certainly be a look given, probably even a few short words said.  But I can't help it.  I prefer my sweet in the middle of the afternoon.)

Anyway, that is neither here nor there.  What I am actually supposed to be talking about right now is this recipe for gingerbread.  It is from Heidi Swanson's cookbook, which is filled with whole foods -- not the grocery store chain, mind you, but actual whole foods.  You know, grains, vegetables, beans, butter.  That sort of thing.