Cappuccino Brownies

1. My plans to go fishing on Thanksgiving Day have been thwarted.
2. I have a busted shredder, and oodles of paperwork that I must rip up by hand.
3. Kindergarten is kicking my butt, and Little Miss Hazelnut has discovered that watercolors make fabulous designs on fabric.
4. The living room needs to be swept for the second time today, I can barely see the porch for the pile of leaves that keep blowing onto it, and we now have a pet snake. A snake. With a name and a heat lamp and it’s very own little terrarium perched jauntily on the antique bookshelf in the living room.

This is only a short list of the justifications that I came up with when I needed a reason to indulge my sweet tooth. There is more, of course, but I would hate to bore anyone with the absurdities that complicate what should be an otherwise serene and lovely life out in the country.

Just know that I had earned these brownies fair and square. It is important no one misunderstand me on this point.

Truly, I just wanted to bake a simple pan of brownies today, something with dark chocolate chips and maybe a handful of nuts, but I also wanted to make some sort of dent in The Recipe Stacks, so I plunged headfirst into my piles of clippings and came up with something called Cappuccino Brownies involving chocolate and instant espresso powder from a back issue of Bon Appetit. How could that be wrong?

Well, except for the added time that comes into play while waiting for not one, but two, layers to cool, of course.

Knitting, thank God, has become my tool of Zen, though, (if it is possible/advisable/understandable to use the words ‘God’ and ‘Zen’ in the same sentence) and now, as difficult as it may be to believe, I am now able to achieve a state of total calm during periods of enforced waiting. I’ve waited my whole life for something like this to come along and make it possible for enforced waits to be something I find to be not only tolerable, but rewarding.

I swear I have not been body snatched. I have achieved a level of patience heretofore undiscovered. Yoga has nothing on knitting, and now, when both kids simultaneously melt down and freak out on me, I yell not. I knit.

All that to say, I did spend the afternoon baking and waiting on these brownies. I was also cooking rice for tonight’s Mozzarella-Stuffed Arancini, and simmering a batch of Fiery Marinara Sauce, so a little extra time in the kitchen wasn’t going to kill me (though the mountain of dirty dishes nearly did me in), and while I waited for the brownies to cool so that I could make the ganache for the top, I knitted.

Then, while the ganache cooled, I made dinner. It was all very efficient. So carefully planned and executed, so Martha Stewart. Once the arancini was in the oven, I cut the brownies and composed a photograph while the natural light was still coming in through the bay window; and then, after an embarrassingly early dinner, I sat down to savor the crowning glory of a day well spent.

And I was completely disappointed. The brownies were, meh, nothing to write home about. I mean, they’re good. They’re more than edible. They could even be described as rather yummy, but they’re just not All That. Not worth the calories. Not worth the time.

Under normal circumstances, I would be devastated by this. Crushed, even.

But I have my newfound Zen-ness to call upon. So I sit. And I knit.

And when I am not sitting in a boat in the middle of Lake Keowee on Thanksgiving Day, fishing and spending some downtime with The Carnivore and the kids, I will be knitting. Maybe it will lessen the blow somewhat.

Coffee Toffee Fudge

A very taxing and mood-souring week ended, finally and at long last, with a whimper on Friday night as I wearily filed the last piece of paper from my inbox, wrestled the kids to sleep, folded a final load of clothes, and threw myself, with great fanfare, into My Chair to page through the final issue of Gourmet which, now that I think about it, only adds to my sense of ennui. I'm really going to miss that magazine.

Things started to look up this morning though, after The Boy Wonder gently woke me from a solid, uninterrupted night of glorious sleep. I knew The Carnivore would be home all day, thus acting as the Pied Piper to his devoted children, Miss Hazelnut had slept for 14 blessed hours after a week of coughing and fretting every night, and my agenda was blissfully clear.

I had all the makings for a perfect day to piddle around in the kitchen, and just the framework from which to begin: a recipe I had unearthed, quite by accident earlier in the week, for coffee fudge.

Coffee fudge.

I love coffee. I sneak coffee liqueurs into cake batters, consider dark-chocolate coffee beans to have vitamin-like qualities, suffer midnight lustful cravings for coffee ice cream, and, of course, drink coffee like it's going out of style. Coffee fudge, then, seemed like an obvious necessity to a complete life well-lived, yes?

Thus, after a couple cups of coffee, I made pancakes for the rugrats and spent some time outside pondering the ideal location for The Boy Wonder's Spring science project (read: vegetable garden), and then snuck back into the house when it looked like The Carnivore and his spawn were happily ensconced in tree trimming, tree climbing, and whatever it is that Miss Hazelnut does when she hangs out with them.

A quiet house is a beautiful thing.

The idea of coffee fudge has intrigued me for some time, but because I had never actually run across any, even at candy shops, I would tend to brood obsessively on the subject for a while, and then forget all about it again. Come to think of it, I employ that strategy with many of my interests. One more thing to add to my list of character flaws.

Previous internet searches always ended abruptly with recipes that included, I kid you not, marshmallow cream. I probably don't even need to get into the list of reasons why this is such an appalling idea. A few days ago, though, while having a near meltdown about owning too much stuff and trying to purge more of the same, I flipped through a silly little gift book about coffee that I've been dragging around for umpteen years and, right before I tossed it into the 'donate' pile, I saw a recipe for a pistachio and coffee fudge.

And the obsession was reborn.

This recipe had the right jumping off point for me. I could easily sub instant espresso granules for the coffee, marshmallow cream wasn't involved, and I could do anything I wanted where the nuts were concerned. Pistachios, while lovely and addictive, weren't what I was looking for here. Hazelnuts seemed ideal - I can't count how many hours I wasted at the old Athens Coffee House with a tableful of friends and a pot of hazelnut coffee back in my early college days - but hazelnuts were nowhere to be found at the grocery store and I wasn't terribly inclined to do one of my drive-around-town ingredient searches. I briefly contemplated using cacao nibs, but was afraid they might be too bitter to match with the espresso, and dark chocolate chips seemed not to be the right texture. Then I remembered my old favorite Ben & Jerry's flavor, the now-retired (argh) Coffee English Toffee Crunch, and I dug a little deeper into the back of the fridge and came out with a bag of Heath Toffee Bits leftover from a Mocha-Kahlua Cake experiment from last spring.

Eureka.

The end result has a flavor reminiscent of pralines, with a nubby texture from the toffee bits, and just a hint of the coffee - not enough to repel those odd souls who aren't addicted to coffee (even my children liked it), but enough to attract those of us who smile even at the scent (I can't get my husband to stop eating them). Actually, if a Frappuccino were made into a candy, I'm pretty sure this is what it would taste like. Starbucks, consider this recipe copyrighted - you know how to contact me.

*****

COFFEE TOFFEE FUDGE (makes about 3 lbs of candy)

Notes: I used natural cane sugar with great results, though white sugar is traditionally used in fudge. Cafe Bustelo makes an instant espresso that comes in a jar in most grocery stores. Heath Toffee Bits can be found by the chocolate chips, but feel free to substitute nuts.

• 1 1/4 cups whole milk
• 4 cups granulated sugar
• 1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter
• 2 Tbs instant espresso granules
• 2 Tbs light corn syrup
• 1 can (14 oz) sweetened condensed milk
• 1/2 cup toffee bits

1. Grease a small jelly roll pan or an 8x10-ish glass casserole dish. A larger dish can be used, and will result in a thinner piece of fudge (nothing wrong with that).
2. In a large saucepan, continuously stir the milk, sugar and butter over low heat until sugar has dissolved.
3. Add the instant espresso, corn syrup, & condensed milk, and bring to a boil over high heat, stirring often.
4. Continue to boil the mixture, stirring very often, for about 20 to 30 minutes, until mixture has reached about 230 degrees (or soft-ball stage: drop small spoonful into bowl of cold water; a soft ball should form).
5. Remove from heat and cool for 5 minutes.
6. Stir in toffee bits, and beat mixture with a wooden spoon for 2 or 3 minutes, until mixture is no longer glossy and has thickened slightly. This is the only tricky step: if you stir too long, the fudge will begin to harden too much in the pan and will be a little grainier when it is cooled. When in doubt, stop stirring.
7. Quickly pour into greased pan. Let stand for a few minutes, until cool to the touch. Cut into squares, then allow to cool completely.

Homemade Granola Bars

One of my primary goals as of late has been to demystify the modern world to my children. I have taken them to farms and shown them the plants that grow our food and the animals that provide us with dairy products and eggs, they have seen the machines that roast our coffee, and side-by-side we have huddled together over the stove to make our own play dough. Next month, I will begin a knitting class, and have thus promised to make The Big Boy as many hats and scarves as his little heart desires (partly to placate him because he is so devastated that he cannot go to the lessons with me).

Something has been lost over the past few decades where, in the interest of modernizing ourselves, we have turned into consumers instead of producers. I think it a bit silly that I do not know how to sew, and far more absurd that I was thirty years old before I even attempted to bake bread. It isn't that I want to adorn myself with a bonnet, eschew makeup (God forbid), give up my car, and relinquish my Blackberry at the door, but more a desire to regain some independence that is driving me towards some of these more simple pleasures.

It would just be nice to know there is an alternative to automatically and blindly heading to a store when I need something, you know? As household items have broken recently, we have tried to see if we can make do or do without instead of mindlessly replacing everything, an exercise in which we have had wildly mixed results. The coffeepot and the laptop were both replaced within hours (and upgraded to boot), but it turns out that a lingerie bag and a little bit of manic cardio can take the place of a salad spinner, and a cast iron grill pan makes a more than adequate pizza stone. This is a work in progress, obviously, and is sure to be tested further.

It was in this spirit that I decided we needed to add some more snack foods to our cooking repertoire, mostly in the interest of demystifying those over-packaged and nutritionally impotent geegaws that so tempt young children. So far, so good on this front: French fries were fun to learn, as were onion rings, spicy dill pickles and, of course, all desserts we've made to date (truth be told, I would love to master potato chips as well, but I'm petrified of using a mandoline - my lack of grace could be to my detriment in this instance). And as soon as I can get my hands on a used food dehydrator, we will test our fruit drying skills to see if there is some way to convince my skeptical son that gummy candies are unnecessary to a happy childhood.

This week, to supplement our learning activities and to pad The Big Boy's lunchbox for his weekly four hours at 'school,' I snagged a recipe from Serious Eats for homemade granola bars. The post's author had already done much of the dirty work, substituting here and there in the original recipe to make for a more healthful bar and since that particular website is a little less, ah, crunchy than some of the others I read, and the ingredients were all items that I keep in our pantry at any given time, I was fairly confident from the get-go that this would appeal to the whole family.

I was also, it should be noted, willing to throw in a small handful of white chocolate chips to make these more palatable to children who might not yet be able to appreciate their mama's moral neuroses.

The recipe was surprisingly easy - I'm not sure why I assumed granola bars were either time-consuming or labor-intensive - and the end result was nothing short of addictive. I keep swearing I'm going to wrap them up and put them away, but I just can't stop eating them.

The bars are dense and chewy, ever-so-slightly rich, and just sweet enough that their healthfulness can be overlooked (I love it when that happens). The texture is heavier than commercial chewy granola bars, but less crispy-crumbly than the old-fashioned original kind. Even better, they are filling enough to make a lovely breakfast on the go. I will be eating a lot of these, I can tell. Actually, um, I've eaten three in the last hour alone - they're that good.

*****

GRANOLA BARS (adapted from Serious Eats, makes 15 2x2 bars)

• 2 cups rolled oats (the extra-thick ones from Bob's Red Mill are particularly good)
• 1/2 cup unpacked light brown sugar
• 1/2 cup wheat germ
• 3/4 tsp ground cinnamon
• 1 cup whole wheat flour
• 2/3 cup dried, sweetened cranberries
• 1/4 cup slivered almonds
• 1/4 cup white chocolate chips (optional, to the purists)
• 3/4 tsp salt
• 1/2 cup honey
• 2 large egg whites
• 1/4 cup canola oil (or roasted nut oil)
• 1/4 cup very mashed banana
• 2 tsp vanilla extract

1. In a 325 degree oven, toast the slivered almonds on a baking sheet until pale golden, about 8 to 10 minutes.
2. In a large bowl, stir together the oats, sugar, wheat germ, cinnamon, flour, cranberries, toasted almonds, white chocolate chips, and salt.
3. In a medium bowl, whisk together the honey, egg whites, oil, banana, and vanilla.
4. Make a well in the middle of the dry ingredients, pour the honey mixture into the well, and stir together with a wooden spoon until everything is moistened.
5. Pour mixture into a well-greased 9x13 glass baking dish, and pat into a rectangle. The rectangle may not reach all sides of the pan. Don't let that stress you out. Mine was short about 2 inches at one end.
6. Bake at 350 degrees for 25 to 35 minutes, until edges begin to brown.
7. Remove from oven, cool for no more than 5 minutes, and cut into squares (if you wait too long to cut them, they will not cut well). Let cool completely before removing from pan.

Peanut Butter Cookies (aka The Easiest Cookie Recipe in the World)

I cannot believe how stingy I have been with this recipe. I forget about it at times, and go for a year or so without even thinking of baking it, but then we go through phases where I'll whip a batch up every Sunday afternoon for a month.

I ran across it again this afternoon after a two-year or so hiatus, when a pile of cookbooks began to tip dangerously from their perch and I found myself having to do something constructive with the mess. I was excited to see it again, this recipe. It is just so easy, you see; nothing that will impress company or anything like that. A very unassuming cookie, really, with its rustic shape, simple texture and flavor. Nothing special. I probably didn't bother posting the recipe before now because these cookies just didn't seem like anything to write home about.

That ease and simplicity is precisely why I love this recipe though. There are only three ingredients. No pesky all-purpose flour to sprinkle it's nutritional worthlessness all over the kitchen, no baking powder with it's long list of chemicals. You don't even need to plug the mixer in. It takes one bowl, a single measuring cup, a spoon for stirring and portioning out dough, and whatever baking sheet can be reached the easiest without sending down a hailstorm of crashing metal pans that have been balanced precariously for weeks.

Not that I have a tendency to pile things into towers in my kitchen...

I found this recipe a handful of years back in A Taste of Thomaston, one of those lovely spiral-bound Junior Woman's Club cookbooks that all small communities seem to put together for fundraisers. My mother finds these little gems at yard sales and never fails to pick up a handful to add to my collection. The older, the better, in my estimation, and I am especially fond of the ones that come from towns I have never even heard of. It is here, in these simple recipes that you can find oddball desserts like Tipsy Squire nestled in amongst 15 imperceptible variations on Chocolate Chess Pie.

I live for this kind of thing.

Here in the South, everyone has some dish that they remember fondly from church potlucks, county fall festivals, or any luncheon preceding or following a wake, wedding or shower. You can chase people down and try to get these recipes from them years later, but these just aren't the types of recipes that get written down and more often than not, no one else remembers the dish in the first place. That, my friends, is where these community cookbooks come in. If you want to duplicate a molded jello salad with canned fruit from the 1970's, hit me up. I bet I can find the exact permutation in one of these little mimeographed books.

If I remember correctly, I was doing due diligence on Peanut Butter Balls (only two varieties in this particular compendium) when I stumbled across this recipe, a few pages to the left, titled 'Unbelievable Cookies' by Martha Bell. Of course all the cookbook perusing had piqued my sweet tooth already, so when I happened upon a recipe that called for nothing more than peanut butter, eggs and sugar, I reached right over to start preheating the oven. I figured I had little to lose, maybe four minutes would be spent on the three succinct sentences of instructions, and it is always better to have cookies than to have not, yes?

Of course we loved them. And so I made another batch that very evening, and the day after as well. We are slightly fanatical about peanut butter to begin with - I cannot count the number of times I have caught one of my children (and even my husband) eating out of the jar with a spoon - so these were right up our alley, and I found that leaving them in the oven until the edges start to turn golden brown gives just the right crunch to the outside of the cookie.

Best of all, my less-processed pantry staples do wonderfully here, without any compromises in texture. Natural cane sugar works well, as does all-natural old-fashioned peanut butter, either crunchy or creamy, but conventional ingredients will do fine if that's what you're into. Perfection doesn't even come into play with these cookies, which makes them a favorite of my children, since they can measure the ingredients themselves, do the stirring, and even spoon the dough out onto the baking sheet. Undercooking the dough will yield a slightly chewier result, while a slight charring will crisp them up a little more. As you can probably tell, I've never met a batch of these that I didn't like.

And when I threw a batch of these together while I was clearing the dinner dishes this evening, the whole family cheered.

*****

PEANUT BUTTER COOKIES (from A Taste of Thomaston, makes a couple dozen small cookies)

• 1 cup peanut butter, crunchy or creamy (conventional or all-natural)
• 1 cup sugar (regular white or natural cane)
• 1 egg

1. Mix ingredients together in a small bowl.
2. Drop dough by approximate teaspoonful onto baking sheet, flattening if you desire.
3. Bake at 350 degrees for 8 to 12 minutes, until edges begin to brown.

Italian Cream Cake

I hit the cake jackpot this weekend. Actually, the true jackpot was a few years ago, I suppose, when The Carnivore's lovely Aunt Jen brought an Italian Cream Cake to a family function and changed the way I looked at cakes forever.

See, I'm not really a cake person. I mean, there have been a few memorable cakes, most notably my wedding cake (which I could hardly taste on our wedding day because my stomach was doing backflips, but which I did enjoy one year later, defrosted and slightly stale, on our first anniversary); but for the most part, if it's time for dessert, I'd rather have a tiramisu or a cannoli or, God help us all, a true pain au chocolat. The Carnivore goes for German Chocolate Cakes, which I like, but as a general rule, if there's a cake sitting around here, it will get stale before we finish it.

My first taste of an Italian Cream Cake was a life-changer though, and Aunt Jen sends us home with the better part of one of these cakes every couple of years. She rocks, that Aunt Jen.

For some reason though, mostly due to my inexperience with, and ambivalence towards, cakes, I elevated those Italian Cream Cakes to some bizarre status by which it never even occurred to me to actually bake one myself. I would just wait patiently for Christmas to roll around, and then, if Aunt Jen showed up with cookies or pie, I would sigh pitifully and just let my hedonistic craving simmer for another year.

Often, there is no method to my madness.

Last September, for Little Miss Piggy's first birthday, I lucked into a Strawberry Cream Cake recipe that we fell head-over-heels for; in fact, I made another one the very next month for another birthday. Come to think of it, maybe I do love cakes - that is a really spectacular recipe.

This year though, I wanted something different for Little Miss Piggy's second birthday. This was the last year, I figured, that I would be able to get away with a small luncheon rather than a messy shindig, and now that she is, ahem, getting a little more opinionated with each passing minute, this will most likely also be my last chance to choose the recipe myself.

So of course, since I am known for organization and planning, I stared balefully at my shelves full of cookbooks and started to panic a few days before the birthday. And then, after walking away numerous times and procrastinating for another day or two, as I was squinting again at the cookbooks, I started thinking lustfully about Italian Cream Cakes.

Still, it took a few minutes before it even occurred to me that I could bake one myself; then, and only then, did I finally started to get interested in the process. I wasn't sure where to even start looking for this kind of recipe though, and my first few book choices yielded nothing but frustration; then, in a moment of desperation, I pulled down my tattered old Southern Living annual index that covers something like 20 years worth of their cookbooks, and I stumbled right into a recipe that was listed in the 1996 cookbook which, because pigs were flying somewhere, was indeed one of the books I owned.

Let it be known that I am admitting publicly that I would be lost without my mother and her yard sale scavenging.

It was still with no small amount of trepidation that I set to work on this cake the afternoon before Little Miss Piggy's birthday. I have a history of cake-baking trauma, and since I was working on a tight schedule, with layer-cooling time to be built in, and places to be both that evening and the following morning before I needed to cook the other elements of her birthday lunch, to say I was pushing my luck was putting it mildly.

And I do realize how utterly absurd it is that I was even dealing with nerves over a two-year-old's birthday meal, but I have long since grown accustomed to my neuroses and rarely even question them anymore.

The thing is though, this recipe turned out to be foolproof (even for me), and so completely delicious that I swear my eyes rolled back in my head. There were three layers involved, which is far easier than it sounds, and the crumb was simultaneously rich and delicate at the same time, if you can imagine. Beaten egg whites were folded into the batter, which allowed for a certain amount of lightness of texture, and large and luscious amounts of coconut and buttermilk were mixed in as well, giving a moist decadence that paired gloriously with the toasted pecans in the frosting.

We had this cake polished off within 36 hours and I'm thinking seriously about making this The Holiday Recipe to accompany us to any and all potluck gatherings this winter. It is an uncommon enough recipe that it should be a welcome addition at most tables, but is rustic enough in presentation to cover a multitude of cake-decorating sins, which means even I should be able to pull this off.

*****

ITALIAN CREAM CAKE (from Southern Living, serves 12 or so)

• 1/2 cup butter, softened
• 1/2 cup shortening
• 2 cups sugar
• 5 large eggs, separated
• 1 Tbs vanilla extract
• 2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 tsp baking soda
• 1 cup buttermilk
• 1 cup sweetened flaked coconut
• Nutty Cream Cheese Frosting (recipe follows)

1. Beat butter and shortening at medium speed with an electric mixer until fluffy; gradually add sugar, beating well. Add egg yolks, one at a time, beating until blended after each one. Add vanilla and beat until blended.
2. In a separate medium bowl, combine flour & baking soda.
3. Add flour mixture to butter mixture, in batches, alternately with buttermilk, beginning and ending with flour mixture. Beat at low speed until blended after each addition. Stir in coconut.
4. In a clean bowl, beat egg whites until stiff peaks form (this takes a few minutes and provides endless entertainment to young children); fold whites into batter.
5. Pour batter into three heavily greased and floured 9-inch round cake pans.
6. Bake at 350 degrees for 25 minutes, until a toothpick inserted into center comes out clean. Cool in pans for 10 minutes, then run a knife around each pan to loosen the layers and remove from pans; cool completely on wire racks or on parchment paper laid on a counter.
7. Spread Nutty Cream Cheese Frosting between layers and on top and sides of cake (refrigerating or briefly freezing cake layers will allow for easier frosting - so that layers do not tear so much, though perfection is not necessary).

NUTTY CREAM CHEESE FROSTING

• 1 cup chopped pecans
• 8-oz package cream cheese, softened
• 1/2 cup butter
• 1 Tbs vanilla extract
• 16-oz package powdered sugar, sifted

1. Bake pecans in a shallow pan at 350 degrees for 5 to 10 minutes, until toasted. Cool.
2. Beat cream cheese, butter and vanilla at medium speed with an electric mixer until creamy. Add sugar in batches, beating at low speed until blended. Beat at high speed until blended; stir in pecans.

Oregon Tuna Melt

I almost hate to admit this, because by saying it, it seems more starkly true somehow, but I'm quickly becoming a fan of fast and easy dinners. Not the capital letter kind of Fast-And-Easy that involves using cans of Cream of Mushroom or buying frozen shredded potatoes, mind you, but there are times in a person's life when kneading dough and simmering stocks just can't be wedged into the schedule.

I don't want to make a habit out of all this rushing around, because being in a hurry just goes against the whole lifestyle I'm attempting to raise my children within, but being busy for a season has it's place, too. And for right now, there are a couple days a week in which we're nearly out of breath when the day is through, after we've done our lessons, run errands, raced The Big Boy either to Flag Football or home from his homeschool P.E. or fine arts classes, and found the time to (grrr) make an Egyptian Death Mask between fielding phone calls from clients.

Those kinds of days are not the best time to roll out fresh pasta or to braise a cabbage, if you know what I mean.

So we're making a few compromises around here for now. I still insist on us sitting down at the table as a family every evening to eat our dinner, even if we do have to shovel everything in and hop back up 20 minutes later, and I still want us to eat well, both healthfully and mindfully, which means, of course, no entrees out of boxes and no over-cooked vegetables (a girl has to have her limits), but the bread won't always be from scratch anymore.

Most of my recipes are not conducive to eating on the fly, so I've been digging around for more time-conscious dishes lately and while some of them have been disappointing, we hit the jackpot when I came across a Tuna Melt recipe in a recent issue of Food & Wine. We're fans of hot sandwiches anyway, especially those that are gooey and oozy with melted cheese (be still my beating heart), but this one, which uses rich, tangy balsamic vinegar in lieu of mayonnaise in the tuna salad, and which adds a little sprinkle of crushed red pepper and fresh basil to brighten up that aforementioned gooey, oozy, melted cheese has turned into our new go-to dish on those crazy busy nights.

Actually, I could eat this sandwich any night of the week. This is tuna melt nirvana. And it's a silly kind of fast and easy, taking only about 20 minutes to throw together and lending itself pleasantly to a little bit of messiness in presentation. Just like my life right now.

*****

OREGON TUNA MELTS (adapted from Food & Wine, serves 4)

Note: I have been using hoagie rolls from the deli, though I would prefer a ciabatta roll if given the, um, added time to bake fresh bread, but a little bit of hollowed out baguette would work just as well. Also, rather than using a panini press, which I don't have, I have instead been cooking these on a cast-iron grill pan, weighing them down with a heavy, pre-heated cast-iron skillet laid on top of the sandwiches while they cook.

• Two 6-oz cans of tuna packed in olive oil, drained
• 1/4 cup finely diced red onion
• 1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
• 1 Tbs balsamic vinegar
• 1 Tbs minced fresh basil
• 1/2 tsp crushed red pepper
• salt & freshly ground black pepper
• 4 ciabatta or hoagie rolls, split (see note above)
• Dijon mustard and mayonnaise, for spreading
• 6 oz Swiss or cheddar cheese, sliced into 1/4-inch thick slices
• 4 Kosher dill pickles, sliced lengthwise into 1/8-inch thick strips
• 2 Tbs unsalted butter, melted

1. In a medium bowl, mix the tuna with the onion, olive oil, vinegar, basis and crushed red pepper. Season with salt & pepper.
2. Heat a grill pan, griddle or panini press.
3. Spread mustard on the cut sides of four of the pieces of bread, and mayonnaise on the cut sides of the remaining four pieces. Divide the cheese amongst the pieces of bread (the cheese should be on both the top and bottom of the finished sandwiches). Spread the tuna salad on 4 of the pieces of bread and top with the pickles. Close the sandwiches and spread the outsides of the rolls with butter.
4. Cook the sandwiches over low to medium heat (see note above) for about 5 to 10 minutes, until cheese is melted and bread is browned. If bread is browning too quickly, reduce heat so the cheese has time to melt.
5. Cut the sandwiches in half and serve immediately.

Homemade Play Dough

Our kitchen really is, for better or worse, the center of our household. Physically, it is the newly-built room that connects the two hundred-year-old houses we renovated into one sprawling, slightly odd residence, but of course I am being a little less literal when I refer to it as our center. The majority of our time is spent in this room, if not cooking and eating, then doing schoolwork, playing and writing. There is now a race car rug by the fireplace, parking against the walls for not one, but two tricycles; a small table for coloring and other art projects, a drawer devoted to marbles, a basket full of two or three thousand Hot Wheels, and a paint-spattered school desk that I pull up next to the kitchen table when The Big Boy practices his handwriting.

We love this room.

The kids have long since learned to appreciate cooking time, and they both happily pull up chairs on which to stand and, um, help me prepare meals; and the sound of the mixer will bring them careening from opposite ends of the property so they can be first to lick the beater. Come to think of it, I even kept a bassinet in the kitchen for Little Miss Piggy when she was an infant, and her favorite book for the longest time was A Little Book of English Teas. The Big Boy still happily snuggles up to look through cookbooks and cooking magazines with me, and can spend hours debating the merits of different cake icings. His picture pages that we make for letter sounds are, of course, covered in clippings of food photographs ('A' is for avocados, asparagus, apples; 'F' is for fruit, fish, fennel...).

I can only hope these are the things happy childhood memories are made of. I mean, I spent my formative years following my mother around her garden, and that has been nothing but a positive influence in my life. This should be the same, right?

It's either that, or they'll spend thousands on therapy with which to overcome this madness...

Lately, our learning projects have begun to take over the kitchen - after all, what other room is as full of math manipulatives and craft supplies - and the kids have learned the absolute joy involved in making our own play dough.

Actually, I don't think 'absolute joy' is an adequate enough descriptor in this case. The Big Boy was so transfixed the first time we made a batch, and he was so utterly thrilled by how quickly it came together, that he begs almost daily to make more, and I'm fast running out of plastic containers to devote to the cause (though I have found play dough containment to be the perfect use for those non-recyclable plastic ricotta cheese and sour cream tubs).

Play dough can be made with items nearly always kept around the house (well, the kitchen, at least) and is shockingly easy to make; so surprising, in fact, that I am embarrassed to admit I used to buy Play-Doh at the store. And while the homemade version still should never be referred to as 'edible' (because who knows how toxic food coloring really is), at least I don't sweat things nearly as much when Little Miss Piggy ingests her usual RDA serving of the fascinating little dough.

The whole preparation takes less than 15 minutes, it seems to keep nearly forever as long as it is kept in an air-tight container (after being pried from the plump little hands of sleeping youngsters), and the texture of this stuff is far superior to the store-bought version. Truth be told, I now grab handfuls of homemade play dough and squeeze it like a stress ball when I go through those inevitable, not-quite-daily, moments in which I question my sanity in choosing to embark on this homeschool adventure in the first place.

*****

HOMEMADE PLAY DOUGH (makes about two cups)

• 1 cup flour
• 1 cup water
• 1/2 cup salt
• 1 Tbs vegetable oil
• 2 tsps cream of tartar
• 5 to 10 drops of food coloring

1. Combine the flour, water, salt, oil and cream of tartar in a small saucepan over medium heat. Cook, stirring constantly, until mixture forms a ball, about 3 to 5 minutes.
2. Cool on waxed paper for a couple minutes.
3. When cool enough to handle, knead in the food coloring a few drops at a time until desired color is achieved.
4. Store in a plastic container or ziplock bag.

Pasta with Fresh Tomatoes and Herbs

I have found a way to prolong summer. Here in September, when the heat is finally breaking and our schedules are already getting overbooked for the year, I am wistful about the end of summer. The sounds of football are too loud, and with them come the inevitable changing of the color of the leaves, plans for Halloween costumes (oh wait, I'm actually excited about that part), and the waning of the summer harvests. But like I said, I can make summer last longer now.

The tomato season is still going relatively strong around here at the farmer's markets, and the thing is, fresh tomatoes and basil actually harness the flavor of summer. It is a splendid thing, really, and even now, when the novelty of fresh tomatoes is wearing thin, most notably for those who have been canning and freezing tomatoes until their kitchens were covered in seeds and juice, the taste of summer remains a welcome thing indeed.

I spent the better part of July chasing the perfect recipe for fresh tomatoes and pasta, and nearly drove The Carnivore crazy with practically imperceptible variations on the dish. It seemed that I never received more than one pound at a time of fresh tomatoes in our CSA box each week, not enough to do very much with, after all, and besides, sometimes I just can't let a project go until it has been conquered. That, of course, was precisely how I felt about this recipe quest.

If I found myself with green tomatoes, I fried them (be still my beating heart) and if I picked up two pounds of red tomatoes at the farmer's market on Saturday mornings, then I made salsa. Clearly I was running low on creativity, though I prefer to view such inertia as centering on my great love for those two recipes. During the week though, when we would come in hot and tired from afternoons splashing around at the pool, and The Carnivore would arrive home exhausted from working in 90-degree heat, time was short and our appetites were more in line with simple, light dinners than anything else.

So I worked diligently, if slightly neurotically, at finding the best way to serve fresh tomatoes and pasta, and I swear, it is harder than it looks. We started with noodles tossed with chopped tomatoes, basil and olive oil, but it wasn't quite complex enough. Later variations included minced garlic (of course) and sauteed onions, and at least one recipe involved pureeing the tomatoes with the olive oil to make a more traditional looking sauce. Nothing quite worked. And, fresh tomatoes should never be pureed, I found; a lesson I would rather save others from having to learn the hard way.

Towards the end of July, while flipping idly through the August issue of Food & Wine early one morning before my odd little time-suckers woke up, I stumbled across yet another very similar recipe. This one, though, called for a minced small chili pepper (a forehead-smacking moment, if ever there was one) that brought to mind one of my other favorite pasta recipes, which also has a minced hot pepper that isn't so much tasted as it is sensed, if you know what I mean. It is a lesson I often forget, that the tiniest amount of heat, whether from a fresh pepper or even a pinch of dried crushed red pepper flakes, can enhance the other flavors of a dish in much the same way a squeeze of lemon juice completes and balances many recipes.

Balance is not my strong suit. You should see me trying to walk in a straight line without bumping into something. Or, for that matter, trying to juggle homeschooling, housekeeping, bookkeeping, and creative pursuits.

This Food & Wine recipe turned out to be a true blessing, and also inspired me to let the chopped tomatoes lounge around in the olive oil with garlic for an hour or so, letting the flavors fully meld. I altered the recipe slightly to fit the ingredients I had on hand (another sign of the perfect summer recipe: that it uses what is seasonal along with what can always be found in the pantry) and spent time that afternoon making a batch of fresh pasta to go with the sauce. I have finally gotten relatively quick at rolling out pasta dough, and what could be better than the toothsome texture of fresh pasta along with the light, bright, picked-that-day freshness of a simple tomato sauce, right?

I can think of no better description for this sauce than it tastes exactly like summer. And since summer is quickly coming to an end, I will make this dish again and again until the last of this season's tomatoes disappear from the market.

*****

PASTA WITH FRESH TOMATOES AND HERBS (serves 4, adapted from Food & Wine)

• 1 pound tomatoes, cored and finely chopped
• 1 Tbs chopped basil
• 1 Tbs chopped parsley
• 2 garlic cloves, minced
• 2 tsps kosher salt
• 1 small red or green chili pepper, seeded and minced
• 1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil
• 1 pound fettucine or linquine
• 1/4 cup freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, plus more for serving

1. In a large bowl, toss the tomatoes with the basil, parsley, garlic, salt, chili pepper and olive oil. Allow to sit for 30 minutes or an hour to give the flavors time to meld.
2. In a large pot of boiling salted water, cook the pasta until al dente; drain.
3. Add the cooked, drained pasta to the bowl along with the cheese and toss well.
4. Serve immediately, topped with additional grated cheese.

Mozzarella-Stuffed Arancini

I am one of those people who gets very excited about cheese. Mild cheeses, melty cheese, sharp cheese, stinky cheese, crumbly cheese - I love all of them. So much so, in fact, that I am pretty sure I will never convert to veganism. I can live without meat - I've gone without red meat or poultry since 1980 - but I'm just not giving up cheese.

The thing is, though, I have been trying to further limit animal products from my meals, and even toyed briefly with the idea of going vegan at least part-time. The environmental impact of the production of animal products is hard to ignore, and seeing Food, Inc. a couple weeks ago has planted the issue squarely in the forefront of my mind once again. So here I am, again, trying to find ways to improve my family's consumption habits, while being limited by both finances and my fascination with cheese.

A little over a year ago, I began sourcing locally-produced raw milk, feta cheese and chevre, and eggs from Athens Locally Grown, which eased my concerns considerably, but still left some glaring inconsistencies when I continued to insist on purchasing other imported cheeses. And then, obviously, the recession entrenched itself a little more deeply into my wallet and I found myself holding my nose and again buying $0.99/dozen supermarket eggs.

Which all brings me back to my initial question. Can I go vegan? Well, no.

I don't wanna. Because it all comes back to my love of cheese, and the small fact that I am drawn, nay magnetically-lured, to recipes that include the words 'stuffed' and 'cheese' in the title. I mean, I live for that kind of thing. I'll toss hot, fresh pasta with handfuls of blue cheese, stir copious amounts of cheddar into grits, broil a layer of Parmesan on the top of my frittatas and casseroles, and knead grated Romano into my bread doughs.

A meal without cheese is rare around here, indeed, which brings me to the picture at the top of this post. A couple years back, when flipping through an issue of Vegetarian Times, I came across a recipe for Mozzarella-Stuffed Arancini. I had never before had arancini, and hadn't a clue how to pronounce it [ah-rahn-CHEE-nee, as it turns out), but I couldn't ignore that key phrase of 'mozzarella-stuffed.'

So I tried it, of course, and it was love at first bite. These things are downright addictive. Arancini, if you've never had it, are little Italian rice balls that are rolled in crispy breadcrumbs and filled with any number of stuffings (mostly meat and cheese), and are then typically fried. In this particular recipe though, the arancini are not made with meat and are baked instead of fried.

Even prepared this way (hereinafter referred to as the 'won't-kill-you' way), they're still crispy on the outside and melty on the inside and just chock full of flavor, and they still remain frighteningly high in fat.

You're welcome.

They are a slight pain to prepare, especially if you don't like to get your fingers sticky, and every time I make these I swear I'll never do it again. But then I eat one these little hunks of heaven, biting through the crisp exterior to get to the moist, richly-flavored rice that surrounds the core of stringy, melted mozzarella, and I forget all about the hassle, and then I end up making them again within a week. They're that good.

*****

MOZZARELLA-STUFFED ARANCINI (serves 6, adapted from Vegetarian Times)

A few things to note: this is no time to scrimp on the mozzarella - store brand will not work. Buy the gourmet fresh mozzarella from the deli or the fancy cheese section. Also, the rice is a crucial component, and cooking it in water will yield too bland a taste. Go for the broth.

• 2 1/2 cups vegetable broth
• 1 cup brown rice
• 1 Tbs butter
• 1 tsp salt
• 3 green onions, finely chopped
• 2 large eggs, lightly beaten
• 1/2 cup chopped fresh parsley
• 1/3 cup grated Romano cheese
• 2 cups whole-wheat breadcrumbs
• 6 ounces fresh mozzarella, cut into approx. 3/4" x 3/4" pieces
• 1/8 cup olive oil
• approx. 28 oz marinara sauce (I love these with my favorite spicy marinara sauce)

1. In a small saucepan, bring the broth to a boil. Add the rice, butter and salt. Cover the pan, reduce heat, and simmer for 40-50 minutes, until broth is absorbed. Set aside until rice is cool.
2. Grease two large, heavy baking pans, and preheat oven to 425 degrees.
3. Fold green onions, eggs, parsley and cheese into rice.
4. Spread some of the breadcrumbs on a large plate (as you work, add more breadcrumbs to the plate as needed).
5. Place about 1/4 cup of rice mixture into palm of hand, form into a ball, and press piece of mozzarella into the middle. Coat ball with breadcrumbs (you can sprinkle the breadcrumbs over the ball in your hand, and flip ball as needed, or, alternatively, roll ball in breadcrumbs on plate). Place ball on greased baking sheet, and repeat with remaining rice, cheese and breadcrumbs. Leave a little space between balls on baking sheet, and just push back together with your fingers if they start to fall apart when they are placed on the sheet. Perfection is impossible here.
6. Sprinkle bald spots with any leftover breadcrumbs, and drizzle rice balls with olive oil.
7. Bake for 20 to 25 minutes, until outsides are brown and crisp.
8. Warm marinara sauce, and ladle onto large serving platter. Place arancini on top of sauce, and serve immediately.

Note: leftovers can be drizzled with a little additional olive oil and re-warmed in the oven at 350 degrees.

Corn, Tomato & Toasted Bulgur Salad

This sounds a little TOO healthy, doesn't it? I hate to do that, use a recipe title that comes off as too virtuous, or even use 'bulgur' in a sentence, really. I mean, it sounds hippie at best, you know?

I don't mean to use the word 'hippie' in such an insulting way. Honest. But when a long-time vegetarian is married to a devout carnivore, well, it takes a considerable amount of thought (and a little bit of concession) to make dinners palatable to everyone, both in form and function. I am not trying to convert the man, per se, but a happy medium is clearly in order, and feeding the man hippie food probably isn't the best way to further my cause.

So, um, I'm pretty sure I didn't mention the word 'bulgur' when I recited the menu to The Carnivore on the evening I prepared this salad. 'Tabouli with Fresh Corn' might have been the title I used for this side dish, because somehow the word 'tabouli' sounds so much less threatening really, than bulgur.

Truth be told, even I was a little nervous about this recipe. Bulgur has a bit of an off-putting smell when cooking, and has been served in any number of unattractive vegetarian dishes, so there were doubts. Doubts even here.

It's just that I've been in a bit of limbo with cooking as of late. The recession has made me nervous about spending money, so some compromises have been made in the shopping list, resulting in mad amounts of guilt on my part (I have ceased buying organic in some instances) along with a few overall sacrifices in flavor (less expensive cheeses just don't measure up).

We did join our CSA again this summer, and I pilfered my mother's garden when possible, but tomatoes have been scarcer than usual and farmer's market visits have been infrequent at best. So for much of the season, I have tried to wing it with our dinner plans nearly every day. Instead of planning menus in advance, and shopping for ingredients that may then languish in the pantry or fridge, I decided we had storehouses of plenty on hand already. There was seemingly no reason why I couldn't use our weekly CSA box and our pantry staples to make meals on the fly.

For the most part, this plan worked. And really, it would probably do all of us a little good to try and make do with what we have. I'm trying to live as thoughtfully as possible, and my constant goal these days is to be less of a consumer. So rather than finding new recipes online and then building my shopping list around the recipes, I've been taking household inventory and then searching for new recipes to go with what we've got. It's not rocket science, but the concept is counter-intuitive to what we've become accustomed to, I think.

During the summer, it is easy to fly by the seat of your pants when menu-planning, especially when blessed with the weekly harvest from our CSA's bounty. And this salad is exactly one of those pantry-and-CSA-box recipes. I had a bag of bulgur lurking in the back of the pantry already, and I always keep olive oil and a variety of vinegars around. So when I found myself with a boxful of tomatoes, corn and scallions from the farm, well, this recipe seemed like a gift from above, you know?

Of course, like I mentioned, I was skeptical, so I hedged my bets (as I often do with a new recipe) and planned this as one of a few dishes. We were having a vegetable plate night anyhow, with a mixed green salad and fresh vinaigrette, fresh green beans sauteed with garlic, and roasted potatoes. If this bulgur thing bombed, we would be in no danger of starving to death, especially since the greens, beans, and potatoes had all come from the CSA as well, and were as fresh as could be and just bursting with flavor.

Lo and behold though, The Carnivore and I both really enjoyed this recipe. The flavors were bright and fresh, and the texture of the toothsome grain was a sublime foil to the fresh tomatoes. The salad got better with time, as does tabouli, so next time I will plan ahead and make this earlier in the day so the flavors have more time to meld and the bulgur has more of a chance to soak up the flavor of the vinegar. When I ate the leftovers for lunch the following day, I practically licked the bowl clean. And it was delicious both warm and cold, so it is perfect for packing into a container and taking to work (or on a late-summer picnic, yes?).

The salad is also very, very healthy, high in fiber and protein, but there is really no need to give that information to anyone already skittish about hippie food...

*****

TOASTED BULGUR SALAD WITH CORN AND TOMATOES (adapted from Gourmet magazine, serves 8)

Note: bulgur can be found in health food stores and in most well-stocked grocery stores now

• 1 1/2 cups bulgur
• 2 3/4 cups broth (or water, or a mixture of the two)
• 1 tsp salt
• 1 Tbs extra-virgin olive oil, plus more to taste
• 2 cups fresh corn (from 3 to 4 ears)
• 8 oz fresh tomatoes, diced or chopped, seeds and juice removed (I used red and yellow tomatoes and they looked beautiful together in the salad)
• 3/4 cup chopped green onions or shallots
• 3 Tbs red-wine vinegar, plus more to taste

1. In a large heavy skillet, over medium-high heat, toast the bulgur for 5-10 minutes, until lightly browned, stirring occasionally.
2. In a saucepan, bring broth & salt to a boil, and stir in toasted bulgur. Reduce heat and simmer, covered, for about 20 minutes, until broth is absorbed.
3. In a skillet, heat oil over medium heat, and saute corn for 2 to 3 minutes, until barely tender.
4. In a large bowl, combine bulgur, corn, tomatoes, green onions and vinegar. Add salt & pepper to taste, and add more vinegar and a little more olive oil if desired.
5. Refrigerate, and let stand for a few hours for the flavors to meld. Serve warm or cold.