Sisterhood of the Cookie Pants

Chocolate Coco-Macadamia Bites

My sisters and I never shared - our clothes, that is.

Oh sure, there were the inevitable hand-me-downs when we were kids and had no say in the matter. In fact, my sister L and I looked so close in age despite the 15 months separating our births that our mother would often dress us like twins. But even then, we were different: same clothes, but hers in trimmed in blue, mine in red.

Me, L, M and Buddha-baby P

As we grew older, we continued to develop our own sense of style (dubious, in my case) and the idea of swapping outfits never came up. Eldest sister M was the epitome of '80s high school fashion, all cinched waists and brooch-adorned collars, while L was peasant skirts and smart-girl chic. Little sister P was still in elementary school so her ensembles were assembled by Mama, but I had no such excuse for my choice of woeful wear: baggy sweatshirts, Loverboy t-shirts, and patterned jeans (God help me, I had a white pair with black paisley print that looked like a bad case of varicose veins).

Fast forward to the present, when we're grown women with jobs, families and even more divergent, albeit more refined, tastes in clothing. Moreover, how we dress seems to reflect our individual personalities and outlook on life. M's penchant for floaty styles and the color pink matches the deeply romantic free spirit that lies beneath her hectic career-woman exterior. L is a Wonder Woman who keeps her family and the family business humming along, and she makes running errands, taking calls from clients, and ferrying kids to school and practice while wearing a pair of jeans and a casual top look like a walk down the runway. Finally, P has grown up from the Buddha-cheeked baby sister ten years my junior into a creative, confident entrepreneur who treats her body right with organic food and beach yoga, which shows in a womanly shape that she proudly clads in form-fitting outfits.

And what about me? Well, the paisley jeans are long gone, although I still have my fair share of baggy sweatshirts. It's safe to say that my style is . . . safe. Chunky sweaters for  winter, capri pants for summer, subdued colors and a closetful of outerwear for every 10 degree incremental change in temperature are pretty much the staples of my wardrobe. Unfortunately, the relative blah-ness of my sartorial selection mirrors my general approach to current life. I've been terribly busy maintaining a status quo, settling into a smooth, unbroken pattern of sameness. I am happy, but my happiness is threaded with caveat - I can do what I want to do as long as I do what I need to do. Indulgence, whether in food, in clothes or in activities, can only be enjoyed with tradeoffs: a cookie means a workout; a new pair of jeans, a paid article; an hour of television, an hour of pulling weeds.

And this is where my sisters and their clothes come in. During those wonderful times when we can all be together, I look at them and see that, despite the difference in their physical shape and fashion sense, they share the same timeless piece that fits them all perfectly - a vivacity and joy of life that make them so beautiful. They are effortless and unaffected in the way they present themselves outwardly and it frees them to enjoy the little indulgences without the self-consciousness. Perhaps because I live so far away, I don't share in this as much; but last Christmas, I finally got a chance to try it on.

My Cookie Pants

"Hey, are those your cookie pants?" my brother-in-law asked L. They smiled at each other over their inside joke before she turned to a confused me and explained: It was from an episode of a TV sitcom in which a main female character dealt with difficult situations by baking cookies, donning her 'cookie pants' and eating her way back to contentedness. L had adopted the term whenever she wasn't particularly in tip-top or polished shape, but really didn't particularly care. That was it. And yet, it meant a lot to me.



Putting on cookie pants means taking part in indulgence without guilt or recrimination. It's doing what it takes to regain my equilibrium and my focus when life gets a bit wobbly and fuzzy. It's letting my gut pooch out over the waistband, putting my feet up and watching 'America's Next Top Model' every once in a while because it's fun. It's sharing something with my sisters that fits each of us in our own way.

My sisters and I never shared our clothes before, but for now, I'm borrowing the cookie pants indefinitely.

Chocolate Coco-Macadamia Bites

These are Cookie Pants-worthy. What more can I say? It always bothered me when I'd bite into a flat, disc-shaped cookie and not get a single morsel of chocolate chip or nut. So, I decided to go with a two-bite chocolate truffle-like shape to accommodate a whole macadamia nut surprise inside. The result is a rich cocoa-flavored, brownie-textured bit of indulgence.

Yields approximately 3 dozen (if you don't nibble on the dough)

Ingredients:

1/2 cup butter, softened
4 oz cream cheese
1/2 cup sugar
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 2/3 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 cup Dutch process cocoa
2/3 cups sweetened coconut flakes
Roasted whole macadamia nuts, about 36

To make:

1. Preheat oven to 375°F;
2. In a large mixing bowl, cream butter, cream cheese, sugar and vanilla until light and fluffy;
3. In a small bowl, whisk flour and cocoa, then add to creamed mixture and mix until just blended;
4. Add coconut flakes and mix on low speed until well blended;

All lined up & ready to bake!

5. Chill dough until firm enough to shape by hand. Form a ball with one Tablespoon of dough, then press a whole macadamia nut into the center, covering it completely. Place on ungreased cookie sheet or one lined with parchment paper;
6. Bake for 12-15 minutes - cookies should look dry on the outside but may still feel soft. Cool on cookie sheet completely.

7. May be stored in the freezer (if there's anything left!)

Gather 'Round the 'Table'

Raspberry-Blueberry Cream Cheese Shortcake

During the most frigid days of a Minnesota winter, when the mercury plummets precipitously in November's arctic chill until March, when the lion and the lamb battle it out for symbolic weather supremacy, any thoughts of eating fresh local food are encased in a block of ice. It's not easy picturing just-picked green vegetables and colorful sun-ripened fruit when the landscape is a monochrome of snowy ground and naked trees. However, a new cookbook aims to help thaw this view and show that eating well and locally in Minnesota is a pleasure for all seasons.

A few weeks ago, I received a complimentary copy of The Minnesota Table: Recipes for Savoring Local Food Throughout the Year, filled with essays and artwork from writer/artist Shelley Holl, and recipes by chef and cooking instructor B.J. Carpenter. Part travel memoir and part recipe compilation of their journeys in search of the North Star State's year-round offerings, the book's maroon and gold cover is adorned with a lovely watercolor by Holl of an autumnal lakeside barn, while inside, it is arranged by months rather than chapters, neatly underscoring the theme of seasonality.

Much of the spotlight shines on specific growers and producers, giving readers a personal glimpse at the dedicated work of these men and women, with special attention given to local farmers' markets and CSAs (community-supported agriculture) like Common Ground Garden, run by Benedictine nuns in St. Joesph, MN and one of the state's first such programs. But Holl and Carpenter also demonstrate that procuring the freshest fare often has an even more hands-on, DIY element: essays recount their experiences picking asparagus directly from the field at a U-pick farm and with foraging in the wild for morel mushrooms.

In addition to stories about local growers and producers, the authors also highlight the crop, meat and other foodstuff that are at their peak during a particular month, along with tips on how best to choose, prepare and store them. Throughout the book are sections on 'Planning Ahead' with suggestions and information about various preservation methods, from pickling and canning to freezing, drying and root cellaring. These time-honored traditions of 'putting up' food are currently enjoying a resurgence in popularity as they extend the enjoyment of spring, summer and autumn edibles well into the winter months.

However, if you're more inclined to enjoy them in the here and now, then each month offers several recipes developed by Carpenter featuring peak seasonal ingredients. These dishes do not break any new culinary ground and run along the lines of such classic fare as Minted Crown Roast of Lamb, Green Beans with Toasted Hazelnuts and a pretty Strawberry-Rhubarb Sunburst Pie. But here and there are tantalizing examples of regional specialties, like Wild Rice Dried Cranberry Salad and Lake Superior Smoked Whitefish.

If there is one empty spot on The Minnesota Table, it is that these recipes do not fully reflect the vibrant ethnic and cultural diversity provided by the state's most recent immigrant communities. Mention is made of the strong core of Italian heritage in the Iron Range and, of course, the generations of Scandinavians throughout the Land of 10,000 Lakes. But the sole piece about Asian farming families and a recipe for Vietnamese long beans simply can not encompass the impact of recent newcomers from Latin America, Africa and Asia who have introduced new flavors to the Minnesota menu. Although Holl discusses the greater availability of once-exotic produce and livestock (like Tibetan yaks!) as growers respond to demand, it would have been equally interesting to see how regional foods such as wild rice and rhubarb might be incorporated into the traditional dishes of distant cultures, blending the local with the global.

In her introduction, Holl acknowledges that this book is not the definitive word on local and seasonal eating:

"It is not intended to provide a compendium of ingredients, recipes or food sources, but rather to inspire you to search for the best and freshest ingredients for your table by giving you an intimate, and sometimes artistic, look at the searches we made for our own."

Indeed, although it is called The Minnesota Table and the people, places and many of the foods described within are particular to the region, the book's themes serve as an example of the many ways that eating locally can be achieved, regardless of season or geography. Look to the local farmers' market, CSA or your own garden for the freshest produce; go hunt for mushrooms, fish for lake trout, or pick summer strawberries; or purchase a jar of honey from a nearby apiary or a bottle of wine from a local vineyard. No matter the season, feel free to set your own table.

The Minnesota Table: Recipes for Savoring Local Food throughout the Year by Shelley N.C. Holl with recipes by B.J. Carpenter is available in bookstores, online booksellers and from www.voyageurpress.com.

Raspberry-Blueberry Cream Cheese Shortcake
(Reprinted with permission from The Minnesota Table by Shelley N.C. Holl with recipes by B.J. Carpenter)

In the spirit of seasonality and an insatiable love of dessert, I had no trouble choosing a recipe to make from The Minnesota Table: this red, white and blue treat that perfectly captures the best of July. Vivid fresh berries and the sparkle of sugar crystals enliven the pillow of whipped or sour cream inside and on top of a shortcake with a poundcake-like texture, thanks to the magic of cream cheese.

Serves 4 to 6

2 cups sifted all-purpose flour
3 tsps baking powder
3/4 tsp salt
A pinch of granulated sugar
1 (3 oz) package of cream cheese (original, not light), chilled and cut into small pieces
4 Tbsps unsalted butter, chilled and cut into small pieces
1 large egg, beaten
1/2 cup 2% or whole milk
2 Tbsps unsalted butter, melted
3/4 cup turbinado sugar, available in co-ops, natural food stores, and most mainstream grocers
1 pint each fresh raspberries and blueberries
1 cup whipped or sour cream*

1. Preheat oven to 450°F. Sift flour, baking powder, salt, and pinch of sugar together. Add chilled cream cheese and butter, cutting in with a pastry blender or two knives until mixture resembles coarse cornmeal.
2. Pour beaten egg into a measuring cup and add enough milk  to make 3/4 cup; quickly and carefully stir into the flour mixture. Swiftly knead the dough in the bowl just long enough for the dough to hold together, about 20 seconds. Remember: DO NOT OVERMIX; that's why they call it "shortcake".
3. Pat half the dough into a greased, round 8-inch cake pan. Brush with melted butter and sprinkle with 1/4 cup turbinado sugar. Pat the remaining dough on top of first layer and sprinkle with another 1/4 cup of turbinado sugar.
4. Bake in center of the preheated oven for 20 minutes or until golden brown.
5. Rinse the berries, add the remaining 1/4 cup turbinado sugar, and let stand.**
6. When the shortcake is done, remove it from the oven to a cooling rack. When cool, split the layers apart***, spread 1/2 cup whipped or sour cream on the bottom layer, and top with half of the berry mixture. Cover the berries with the top layer of shortcake, pressing down gently. Top with remaining 1/2 cup whipped or sour cream and the remaining sugared berries.
7. Cut into wedges, and serve in low dessert, salad or soup bowls.

Notes:
* I opted to use crème fraîche, which I had to whip when it didn't set as well as desired.
** In spite of my sweet tooth, I left the berries unsweetened.
*** The shortcake came out with a beautiful golden top from brushing melted butter and sprinkling turbinado sugar before baking. However, I worried that splitting the layers would result in unattractive breakage. Instead, I used a biscuit cutter to make individual servings.

Fork in the Road: Santa Fe Posole

I hope you'll enjoy Fork in the Road, a series of posts in which I recount the places we've been, recreate the most memorable meals we've enjoyed, and rehabilitate the ones we'd otherwise rather forget. The Roadtrip Dinner Redux kicked off in North Platte, Nebraska with a dish of Shichimi-Spiced Soba Noodles; now, we head south to New Mexico to revisit a simple side dish that stole the spotlight . . .

Santa Fe-inspired Posole

I can see clearly now, the rain is gone

I can see all obstacles in my way.

Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind

It's gonna be a bright, bright

Sunshiny day.

-- "I Can See Clearly Now" by Johnny Nash

It was going to be a wonderful day.

How could it have been anything else? After all, it was heralded by a lovely vision: a double rainbow that glowed softly in the still-stormy skies above the highway, inviting us to pass beneath its archway as we began a long day's drive toward new adventures.

Mr. Noodle and I left North Platte, Nebraska early that morning, well-fortified from an enormous pancake breakfast that helped dim the memory of the previous night's microwaveable noodle dinner. Ahead of us lay over 600 miles and 10 hours of driving through the length of Colorado before we would reach our destination in Santa Fe, New Mexico. No worries, though - we had our omnipresent bag of Goldfish for snacking, some old-school tunes (Beastie Boys for him, Guns 'n' Roses for me) to keep up the tempo, passing scenery more beautiful with each mile, and enough excited energy to keep either of us from dozing off in the passenger seat and thereby depriving the driver of some chatty company.

As the Big Maroon made steady progress down the interstate, we were entranced as the landscape changed from green Nebraska farm fields to the desolate, rolling grasslands of northern Colorado and the distant snowy peaks of the Rocky Mountains. This was no foreign land filled with unfamiliar exotica, yet there was always something new to experience with each mile. Far from a stranger to strange sights from his global travels, Mr. Noodle was nonetheless utterly fascinated by the cacti that dotted a random hillside behind a rest stop near Pueblo, Colorado; in the meantime, I was alarmed by signs urging caution for poisonous snakes and scorpions that were regular denizens of the area. These were not the pine trees and mosquitoes that we had left behind in Minnesota.

How much we miss by flying to our destinations! From the air, we can see the vastness of our beautiful land, but only on the ground can all of our senses fully revel in it. Noisome fumes from roadside cattle pens were soon dissipated by a fresh, cool breeze across the open prairie, while the muted roar of water cascading through a river gorge was accompanied by the steady hum of tires on asphalt. The smoothness of an interesting pebble found along a riverbank radiated the captured warmth of sunshine and was tucked away as a remembrance, but the rough grumbling of my stomach soon reminded me that the best souvenir would be a plate of Southwestern food.

Ristras: Old Tradition in New Mexico

Garlands of dried chili peppers. Mexican-influenced cuisine. Maize. Arid landscape. Artists. Adobes.

These were some of the images that came to mind when Mr. Noodle put New Mexico on our itinerary and were formed secondhand through travel guidebooks, websites and photos of this Land of Enchantment. Sure enough, we marveled at the landscape of vibrant red rock outcroppings, but were also delighted by surprisingly verdant scenery as we drove through Cimarron Canyon State Park on our way to the town of Taos. For over a century, the area has attracted artists of every medium, from painters to sculptors to weavers, but it was a traditional culinary form, borne of necessity and practicality, that caught our eye and made real the essence of New Mexico.

Chile and garlic ristras, New Mexico

(Photo credit: 77krc on Flickr)

Inside a small, non-descript kiosk in the middle of a municipal parking lot, we found Isabelle Duran of Ristras de Taos, sitting at a table and nimbly assembling dozens of ristras (Spanish for "bunch") - the strands and wreaths of sundried chile peppers that have become an instantly recognizable motif of the American Southwest. Although ristras are popular today as decorations signifying hospitality and good luck, stringing together chiles, along with garlic bulbs and ears of Indian corn, and hanging them to dry outdoors is a long-standing method of preserving these pods, which are so intrinsic to New Mexican cuisine:

"It is said that the length of a ristra was traditionally related to the height of the person stringing it: Supposedly, a ristra as long as a person was tall would meet his or her chile needs for a year . . . Pods are pulled off as needed and added whole to a pot of posole (hominy stew) or beans, crumbled to make the red flakes called caribe, or ground into molido for the red chile sauce (chile colorado) that's eaten on a daily basis all over the state."

-- Deborah Madison, "Chimayó's Chile Culture"

The thought of savory, chile-spiced food quickly set us back on the road from Taos' charming shops and galleries toward the day's true destination - Santa Fe. World-renowned as a cultural and artistic center, this state capital is also home to some of the very best in Southwestern cuisine, drawing from Mexican and Native American culinary traditions as well as leading the way in innovative and uniquely New Mexican cookery. Among the most popular food destinations are the small town of Chimayó, just north of Santa Fe and best known for its namesake heirloom chile, and the Santa Fe School of Cooking, which draws some of the city's best chefs as instructors, including Oliver Ridgeway, Executive Chef of the Anasazi Restaurant & Bar. With its contemporary New Mexican menu, the Anasazi joins other critically-acclaimed dining rooms such as the Coyote Café and Ristra, a French-Southwestern fusion restaurant, in excelling at modern interpretations of local/regional ingredients and traditional cooking styles.

(Photo credit: Edith Han at Travelust)

As much as Mr. Noodle and I would have loved to dine at these establishments, a tight schedule and an even tighter budget wouldn't allow. Instead, we went to Café Castro, a well-Yelped, single-dollar-sign, family-owned-and-staffed little restaurant adjacent to a strip club with the cheeky name of Cheeks. If you manage to walk through the correct doorway, the only saucy sights you'll see are the plates of enchiladas smothered in chile verde (made with roasted green chiles), chile colorado (made with ground dried red chiles), or Christmas (one of each).

We were seated and served in short order with Mr. Noodle diving into a chile relleno while I made quick work of an enchilada. Both were quite good, but it was the side dish that grabbed my attention. Instead of the usual blob of refried beans, Café Castro served posole (also spelled pozole*); however, this was not the the steaming bowlful of spicy broth, fragrant herbs, tender pork and pleasantly chewy hominy that I so enjoy ordering at Mexican restaurants.
(*Spelling with 's' is most commonly used in New Mexico.)

Posole Primer

Think you know posole? I certainly thought so, but it turns out, I didn't know the half of it - or two-thirds, as the case may be:

(Photo credit:  Wikipedia.org/Posole)

Posole the Ingredient refers to dried corn that has been nixtamalized, a process dating back to ancient Mesoamerica in which kernels are soaked in a lime solution then dried. The word posole is derived from the Nahuatl pozolli (or posolli), meaning 'foamy', which may refer to the foam that forms when the corn is boiled. The cans of big, puffy-looking corn with which you may be familiar are hominy - essentially cooked posole.

Posole the Soup traces its origins to a pre-Hispanic Mexican foodstuff of ground maize called keyem by the Mayans and pozolli by the Aztecs. Today, it is a mainstay of Mexican cuisine, popular as a fiesta food and readily available at restaurants devoted solely to serving countless variations of the stew (pozoleros). The central traditional ingredients are pork and, of course, posole, but regional renditions abound: pozole blanco is simply stewed with herbs and various pig parts while pozole rojo gets its red hue from dried red chiles that are either ground or softened and puréed, and pozole verde recipes use tomatillos and/or green chilies for its coloration. This was what I was most familiar with as posole.

Posole the Side Dish, from what I gather, is more common in New Mexico than anywhere else:

"[Posole is] served at the restaurant generally as a starchy accompaniment . . . " (from The Rancho de Chimayo Cookbook, p129)

"You'll often see posole as a side dish along with pinto beans (frijoles)." (from Santa Fe Flavors, p10)

The side dish served at Café Castro appeared to be a blanco version that had a mild, almost bland flavor. In fact, I may have been more enamored by the idea of posole as a side dish than overly impressed by its taste, which is why I decided on a redux of this particular dinner element in the hopes of cooking up a simple, savory accompaniment to put on the Noodle house menu.

Sources:

Browning-Blas, Kristen. "Ancient Stew, Modern Style" DenverPost.com, 1/27/10

Garber, Karen H. "Red, White or Green: Warm Up the Winter with Pozole" Mexconnect.com, 1/1/06

NewMexico.org
Wikipedia.org

Wisegeek.com/Pozole

Santa Fe-inspired Posole

Posole blanco is often the base upon which other ingredients are layered to create the even deeper flavored rojo and verde soups. Although there are countless variations of this 'basic' recipe, most use pork, oregano and onion in their preparations. For this dish, I omitted the pork meat, opting instead to use chicken broth, and I added zucchini and tomato for more color and texture. Finally, even if it has absolutely no precedent in any known posole recipe, I couldn't resist adding cheese ... 

Ingredients

1 medium zucchini, leave unpeeled, washed and diced small (about 1 cup)
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp oil
2 cloves garlic, minced

1 small onion, diced small (about 1/2 cup)

3/4 cup chicken broth
1 tsp ground chile powder (such as ancho or chipotle)

1 tsp cumin

1 tsp dried oregano

29 oz can hominy, drained and rinsed
1 medium tomato, seeded and chopped
optional: 1 tequila-soaked chipotle

Garnish:
Cilantro
Queso blanco (crumbled)

To make:

1. Sprinkle diced zucchini with salt, toss well and place in a colander. Set aside for 20 minutes to draw out moisture from the squash, then pat dry;
2. Heat oil in a small Dutch oven or pot over medium heat. Add onion and garlic and sauté until softened but not browned;
3. Add diced zucchini and cook until softened, then add broth, chile, cumin and oregano (and chipotle, if using), and bring to a gentle simmer;
4. Add hominy and tomato and stir to heat through, about 5 minutes.
5. Top with fresh chopped cilantro and queso blanco and serve as an accompaniment to your favorite main dishes, such as roast chicken.