BE WARNED: this makes a LOT of dough. I’ll tell you why in a little bit.

Chocolate Chip Cookies

Ingredients:

2c butter
1.5c brown sugar
1.25c granulated sugar
2.25 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. table salt
5 eggs
2 tsp. vanilla extract
5c cake flour
1.25c-1.5c regular flour
1 pkg. of the best choco chips you can afford (I use Ghirardelli’s.)

OPTIONAL: 2.5 c. chopped nuts, or half a package of Heath toffee bits.

How you do this:

First of all, buy the best butter you can afford. A lot of cookie recipes tell you to use butter and shortening, but to me that is an abomination. (Shortening belongs in biscuits, not cookies.) I know it affects the texture of the finished cookie, I just can’t bring myself to think that change is for the best. I bake with butter unless there’s a compelling reason, taste-wise, not to. And for these cookies, there just isn’t.

Melt the butter in a very heavy saucepan over low to medium heat. (I have a Le Creuset saucier that works very well.) While it’s melting, measure out your sugar and brown sugar into a heat-proof bowl. (I use the metal bowl for my KitchenAid mixer.) Whisk the sugars together.

When the butter is fully melted, pour and scrape it into the heat-safe bowl with the sugar. Whisk it together until it looks like, in the Princess’s words, “swampwater.” (It will smell like caramel, and if you heated it to soft-ball stage it would be.) Now put a plate or something over the bowl to keep any critters from trying to sample the deliciousness, and let it sit for a minimum of 15 minutes. (This recipe owes a lot to the NY Times, courtesy of Pim. But this step–melting the butter–I stole from a Cooks Illustrated magazine.) If you’re like me, you’ll wander away, and come back to it twenty minutes later when you realize you were indeed doing something in the kitchen before you got distracted. Or you’ll clean the kitchen, then move into cleaning something else until the timer rings and you wonder what it was for, then you realize you’re making cookies.

Anyway, once the wait is over, measure out your dry ingredients–cake flour, 1c of the regular flour, salt, and baking soda–in a separate bowl. Mix them together thoroughly. The low-protein cake flour is to give the finished cookie a more tender crumb, and you only need to start out with 1c of the regular flour. Use table salt for this step, too, not kosher. (Kosher salt comes later.)

Now put the butter-and-sugar swampwater (it will have a shiny glaze to it) in a mixing bowl, careful to scrape it all out. (I’m a fanatic about scraping.) Use a whisk attachment and whip it, whip it good. Whip the snot out of it. (This step is to incorporate little air bubbles in there.) Turn off mixer, add the eggs and vanilla, whip on low to blend, scrape bowl, then whip on medium for a minute or 90 seconds to get some more of those air bubbles in there. Those air bubbles help, with the baking soda, the cookie be “fluffy.”

When it’s all whipped, switch to a paddle attachment on your mixer and slowly (like a serving-spoonful at a time) add the dry ingredients. (If you don’t have a paddle attachment, don’t fret. Use what you’ve got. The type of mixer with dual beaters just means you have to go slow and scrape the sides a little more frequently.) When they’re all added, shut the mixer off and test the dough. It will be a lot softer than you’re used to, but you can still judge if it needs more flour. Sometimes humidity seems to play merry hob with my cookie dough. Anyway, add up to another half-cup to a cup of regular flour to make it stick together like a cookie dough should. But keep in mind, this dough will be soft.

I know you’re not supposed to, but I often just keep my mixer on low and slowly dump in the chocolate chips. (Plus toffee bits, if I’m feeling frisky. You can add nuts if you like…but not me. Oh, no. Not me.) Then, voila, turn your mixer off. You have ambrosia.

But some people will want to cook their cookies, and not just get sick on the dough.

Here is an important step: cover the mixing bowl with plastic wrap and put the dough in the fridge for at least twenty minutes while you preheat your oven to 375. (Preheating is important. DO EEET.) This will “set” the dough and make it behave when you shape it.

A few things about baking these cookies: they’re meant to be big. I use my bigger spoons to measure out the dough, not my wimpy teaspoons. Line your baking sheet with parchment paper–it’s cheap, it will keep the cookies from burning, and it makes cleanup so easy. And please use baking sheets with no sides. Jelly-roll sheets with the sides do sometimes prevent the cookies from browning right.

I usually do about six to an oven batch on my huge Ikea-bought cookie sheets. (Oh, Ikea. I love you so, so much.) First I measure out the chunks of dough, then (like the OCD baker I am) I use my fingers to shape them just slightly so they are lovely and round and perfect.

Then I sprinkle each cookie with just a little bit of kosher salt. Kosher salt is finer than table salt, and the extra bit of it makes these cookies GOOOOOOOOOOD. Don’t believe me? Try it. I am such a salt fiend, too. I swear I was a deer in a past life, a deer with a yen for salt licks.

Cook in 375 oven for 8-14 minutes. Ovens vary, and the temperature of the dough makes cooking times vary too. I check the cookies at eight and twelve minutes respectively, and I do three or four batches to varying done-ness because some kids here like crispy cookies, others like soft cookies, and still others just want the sugar. Much of cookie baking is practice–you will be able to smell when these are done. Cool on the pan set on a wire rack, for five minutes, then transfer cookies carefully to another wire rack to finish cooling. (Note: cookies are most fragile right when you take them from the oven. They will cook slightly more and firm up in the first five minutes on the cooling pan. Again, practice makes perfect.)

Now, here’s why I make this dough in job lots. To get the best effects from it, you need to cure it, tightly covered, in the fridge for 36 hours or so. It really does make a difference, but if your ravening hordes demand OMG COOKIES NOW you may have to do a few batches so they don’t tear down your battlements. Plus some people (NOT ME, I SWEAR!) may snitch bits of dough.

I line a big Tupperware bin with parchment paper, scrape the dough into it, cover the surface of the dough with plastic wrap, then put the lid on tight. It sits in the fridge for a day and a half, and after that I measure out batches of cookies, put them on a lined baking sheet, and plop the sheet in our big freezer for a little bit. When the shaped balls of dough are half-frozen, I pile them in more Tupperware and keep them in the freezer. I get the whole chunk of dough frozen like that, in shaped cookie bits. So that whenever we want cookies, I just go out, load up a baking sheet with frozen shaped ones, and bake them–370F for about 12-13 minutes. (That extra five degrees cooler just seems to make frozen dough react better. YMMV.)

And that is why I make tons of dough at a time. If my kids ever move out I am going to go on mad quests for more hungry people to feed.

The cookies are best slightly warm, with milk. I prefer the crispy ones myself, until they’re about a day old. Then I like the soft ones.

There’s some survivors in the kitchen calling me right now, as a matter of fact. I have a proof to eyeball today, too. I wonder if I can get that done on a sugar high?

Over and out.

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1. Take Break, Cookie Bake
2. A Bad Idea…Or Is It?
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I came across this NYT food blog (hat tip to Kitchenbeard for the link.) The comments are the most instructive part of the piece, don’t skip them.

As someone who delights in (you might almost say, is obsessed with) food, I think about this issue a lot. Food accounts for a huge bit of my budget, and I’m supporting three other people. Right now things are pretty easy, because there’s a supermarket within walking distance, a Trader Joe’s ten minutes down the road, and a working car at my disposal. Not to mention a few bucks from the writing to keep us fed and warm.

Things were not always so good. I remember being poor and I suspect, the vagaries of the writing career being what it is, that I will again confront the problems of the hidden costs of food at some time. Those costs include time, transportation, storage. I’ve invested in a secondhand freezer (dude, twenty bucks for a working freezer? Plus delivery to my house? You bet your sweet bippy, neighbor!) and I have high-quality cookware that is going to last a while. Still, the two huge things necessary for “cheap” home cooking are transportation (got to get the food home) and time. The investment of energy is also a function of time. If you’ve worked for fifteen hours and spent two hours on a bus getting home, you’re not interested in cuisine. You’re interested in cramming something in your mouth and getting to sleep. There’s also the problem of keeping the electricity/gas on.

On the NYT piece above, the commenters seemed largely split between: Those who thought being poor automatically means you’re lazy and obese and so, your food problems are your own concern, quit whining; those who thought a year at college eating Ramen meant they were qualified to talk about what being poor really means; and those well-meaning souls who wanted to help the poor by suggesting they find the time to make beans and rice.

In the course of this I came across the Nonhipster Mom’s analysis of the whole thing.

I think we should have a real discussion about the politics of food in America’s poorest communities, but I think that when the focus of this discussion is about why America’s poorest communities aren’t growing their own microgreens or baking their own bread, we are missing the point so massively that it makes me sick. I want to talk about why there aren’t incentives for major grocery stores to move into neighborhoods where accessability to fresh, affordable food is a major roadblock. I want to talk about the correlation between food and education, especially early childhood education. I want to talk about why people whose food budget exceeds $1200 a month think it’s okay to tell someone who doesn’t own a car that they shouldn’t eat junk food and only does so because that person is stupid.

I want people to understand something about modern poverty: the solutions to this problem aren’t fixed by organics. They’re fixed by understanding what the problem really is.

The problem is the deck is stacked. The deck has ALWAYS been stacked in favor of the rich, and even in countries with social safety nets the game is still rigged. (Incidentally, we like to pretend America has a HUGE social safety net. Thanks to well-fed conservatives dismantling a ton of programs from Reagan’s time to today, we really don’t.) The rigging of the game happens in various ways–John Scalzi wrote about what it’s like to be wrenchingly poor, and Barbara Ehrenreich wrote about the hidden costs of being poor. There are hidden costs everywhere when you’re trying to live on $8-$10 an hour.

The problem is manifold, and it includes (but is not limited to):

* The idea we have that in America, if you’re poor it’s your own fault. Against-all-odds success stories do not prove this any more than spending a dollar guarantees you a lottery jackpot. We have (from most conservatives) the idea that the poor are all lazy, shiftless assholes and (from some liberals) a woolly-headed “Noble Poor” thing, not to mention (from other liberals) the idea that organic or microgardening is the solution. Sound bites like this don’t help, and our social habit of sound bites over reasoned, nuanced analysis doesn’t help either.

* A prohibition against safe, cheap, effective birth control for all women. Don’t even get me started on this. Plenty of people who go on and on railing against abortion and birth control don’t give a damn once the baby’s actually born and needs to be fed and raised. And then there’s the Mommy Tax.

* Decades of corporations and the top 1% of the wealthy systematically throwing money at their interests in our government, and getting concessions to make them richer and the rest of us poorer. Money well spent for them, reasonable to expect them to spend it, not so reasonable for the rest of us to roll over and let them buy the advantage.

* The idea that it’s filthy to organize for better working conditions, and that it’s just “natural free trade” when corporations outsource to countries where worker protection is even more dismal, because it improves their bottom line in the short term. Don’t even get me started about this, either.

* Complete and utter separation from, and ignorance about, how most of our food is produced.

* A collection of junk-food and huge agribusiness lobbies that throw a bunch of money at Congress to make things more comfortable for themselves, and consumers who, due to the above separation and ignorance, don’t see how they can begin to protest.

That’s a very short list. I could go on and on. I have ranted about this many a time in the privacy of my home. I’ve struggled with my weight and with the cheap junk that was sometimes all I had energy for, sometimes all I could “afford” because I didn’t have the time to cook cheaply. I’ve also been poor enough to have a bag of flour and that’s IT, to somehow feed myself and another person on. Right now I’m staying up late at night, going over and over the fact that I have the money now, but if I get sick and can’t work…or if someone in the house gets sick and we get medical bills…or, or, or. Right now this is only a passing fear, one I save against.

I’m goddamn lucky it’s not a reality. I know what it’s like to feel that fear every day, to have it gnaw at your vitals. I understand both that I am in a position of privilege now, and that I may not always be. I’m lucky to have decent cookware, access to the raw materials for cheap cooking, and a freezer. I’m lucky that I don’t have to make those choices. But that does not mean I think those who don’t have all those things are lazy, or stupid. I think the majority of people are doing the best they can and looking out for their own interests. The rich just have more money to throw at their interests, and in our world that speaks louder than altruism or justice most of the time.

But it doesn’t have to, and the solution starts with you and me.

Like I said, I could go on and on. But I’ll content myself with offering a couple of links about cooking on a budget, even though it largely doesn’t approach the problems I’ve been ranting about here. And a couple links about hidden costs:

* CookForGood. If you’ve got access to the raw materials, this is a good site about cooking cheaply.
* The BrokeAss Gourmet: Advice on how to stock a “pantry” and then make meals for under $20. The pantry-stocking section is great.
* The hidden cost of cheap food.
* Nickel and Dimed. Really, if you haven’t read this and you think poor people are “just lazy”…please, please consider reading.

Now I’m going to go hug my kids. Over and out.

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A happy Beltane, and a happy Friday to you, dear Reader. If you are here for writing advice, well…I have just one piece of it this Friday.

Sometimes it’s good to take a little break. Of course the work goes on inside my head whenever I step away from the keyboard–I’m always juggling plot or mulling over a nasty word-choice problem. But some days, you know, it’s good to toss the whole effing thing in a mental trashcan and…

…bake cookies.

This is the best oatmeal cookie recipe I’ve ever found. It’s adapted from a recipe off a package of Snoqualmie Falls Lodge Oatmeal, which happens to make very good cookies. I can’t tell you what it’s like for oatmeal, since I almost never eat the stuff unless it’s in cookie form.

Luscious Oatmeal Cookies

You will need:

1c (2 sticks) of the best unsalted butter one can afford
1c plus 3Tb packed dark brown sugar
3/4c Turbinado or cane sugar (or both, or just plain sugar if you don’t have either)
2 eggs
1 1/2t vanilla extract
2c all-purpose flour
1t to 1Tb cinnamon, depending on taste
1t baking soda
1/2t baking powder
1t kosher salt (1/2t if all you have is table salt.)
3c oatmeal (NOT instant!)
1 pkg. 60% bittersweet baking chips (I prefer Ghirardelli)

Notes: Do not skimp on butter or on the choco chips. Everything else in this recipe you can get cheap, including oatmeal–but not instant oatmeal, and for the love of God get the best butter and bittersweet chocolate chips you can afford. You can also add up to 1c cake flour in place of all-purpose flour, depending on if you like your cookies soft-the cake flour’s lower protein content will soften them up. Start with 1/4c cake flour for 1/4c all-purpose and work up from there.

Put oven rack in the middle and preheat oven to 350F. Get out a nice heavy saucepan (my saucier works wonders both for this and teriyaki sauce) and melt the butter over medium to medium-high heat, stirring frequently. Don’t do this in the microwave–it gives the butter a metallic taste I don’t care for, and it can superheat butter in the wrong way. Stovetop is best.

While butter is melting, measure out sugars and vanilla in heatproof bowl (the metal mixing bowl on my smaller KitchenAid works well.) When butter is melted (you can keep the butter going until it foams or browns, for different tastes), pour it into heatsafe bowl with sugars and vanilla, mix thoroughly with heat-safe silicon spatula or sturdy wire whisk.

Now, set that bowl aside and set a timer for ten minutes. In another bowl, mix flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt, and cinnamon. I also add a few shakes of white pepper. (Pepper is a secret ingredient in cookies with choco chips.) Then, goof off until the timer rings. (I recommend dancing around the kitchen to flamenco music. No, seriously. I DO.)

The butter-and-sugar mixture should be cool and glossy now. Dump it in your electric mixer’s bowl (if it’s not in there already) and use the paddle attachment (if you have one) on low. Crack the eggs into the bowl and turn it up to medium to whip it good.

Turn mixer back down to low and slowly add flour mixture. When incorporated, stop mixer and scrape down sides of bowl, then add the oatmeal slowly with mixer on low. Add chocolate chips after oatmeal is all gooshed in, and pray to God your mixer doesn’t overheat. (Mine never has yet, but I worry.) Then, let the dough rest for five minutes.

Line your baking sheets with parchment paper. Look, it’s a couple of bucks and it’s a baker’s Sekrit Weapon. You don’t have to change the paper between batches or anything, and it makes cleanup a snap.

Now, here’s something a lot of oatmeal cookie recipes won’t tell you. Get your spoon out and take a spoonful of the dough. Slap it in your palm and roll it into a nice little ball. Then drop it on your lined baking sheet. This not only shapes your cookies, but it also means you don’t get a panful of some undercooked and some overcooked. You’ll get a buttery sludge on your palms, but it won’t hurt you, butter is a great moisturizer and sugar is an awesome exfoliant.

If you like bigger, softer cookies use a bigger spoon to measure out the dough. Plop them on the cookie sheet with at least 2in between them. Slide them in the oven.

Here is the tricky part to cookie baking. These suckers will take anywhere from 8 to 14 minutes to cook, depending on humidity, the quirks of your oven, cookie size…you get the idea. Start at 8 minutes and check them every two minutes thereafter until they are nicely browned around the edges and not shiny in the middle, and the first and second batches will tell you how long to cook the rest. (After a few batches you’ll be able to smell when they’re done, too.) Take ‘em out and cool the pan for a couple minutes (usually while throwing the next batch in the oven) on a wire rack. (This is when cookies are most delicate.)

Some people like to slid cookies off the pan with a wide spatula and let them land on the wire rack. I scoop them off and slide them onto the rack with the spatula, since I think it tears the delicate structures inside the “setting” cookie less. Your mileage may vary. Let cookies cool until they will no longer scorch your throat, then dunk in cold milk and bask in the appreciation of your children as they proclaim you the Best. Cookie-Cooker. Evar.

Okay, maybe that last one is just me.

These cookies keep for a nice while if you cool completely and stow in airtight Ziplocs or flat Tupperware (with parchment paper between layers and a paper towel under the bottom parchment, trust me.) But they hardly every stay around long enough to get stale.

Sometimes it is good to take a little time off from the writing. Most often, I end up cooking something during that time, and when I get back to the work it is fresher and more delicious. (Or maybe that’s just the magic of foodening.) Plus, it’s spring. The world is waking up and the trees are dressing themselves again, and baking cookies on a warm spring evening was just the thing I needed after a stressful week.

Mrppphlgrb! (That’s a “Over and out” with a mouth full of chewy, yummy oatmeal cookie.) Enjoy!

Related posts:

1. Chocolate Chip Cookies Of DOOM
2. Good afternoon. And BREAD!
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Oh my gal is a high part stepper
Ginger with salt and pepper
She’s a fancy stepper when she dances
Go and see her as she kippers and prances
My gal don’t do much talking
Dances even when she’s walking
One and two and three and four she dances all day long…

–Bugs Bunny

Yes, my dear Muse. That ornery little magic-strewing wench. Here I am, having cleared my calender and wanting to settle down to write the next effing book I’m contracted for, and she just capers around with flowers in her hair. Serving up bits and pieces of Sekrit Project, but nothing for the Book I Must Write.

I know I’ll be able to put the pedal to the medal soon–I really have no choice, which means the Muse has no choice. But today I’m wanting to whine. See, the Muse pouts if I don’t pretend she’s a slavedriver instead of a twittery little weenie wench who just happens to know where the magic is.

In any case, I roasted a chicken last night–what’s that? You want recipe? Okay, it’s super easy, I got it from Nina Merrill. Take one whole chicken, frozen or not. Plop it in your crock pot–I like a wide one instead of a tall one–and dab it with butter. Sprinkle spices of choice over the top–I like Trader Joe’s poultry blend, Nina likes Mrs. Dash.

Now, you turn the crock on high for an hour and then turn it to low right before you go to bed. When you wake up in the morning the house will smell awesome and you will have a tender, juicy, nommable roasted chicken. Be ready to pick it clean–what’s that? How do you do that?

It’s also easy. I have a wide shallow Tupperware pan that I lift the chicken out into. By now it’s falling apart, which is good. I spoon it out, usually in pieces. Get out another bowl or two–one for the meat, and one for skin etc. if you don’t want to throw the skin into the crock pot with the bones for stock. Some people like just bones in their stock; I boil down the bones and skin and skim it later.

Anyway, now you start picking. I usually get a meat fork and use that in my right hand, since the chicken is hot hot hot and the bones can burn you, not to mention the steam. I poke with the fork and only use my fingers when absolutely necessary. Pick the meat, ignore the bones, toss the skin and nasty bits in the third bowl if you don’t want to boil them down.

When you’re done, you will have greasy half-burned fingers, a pile of roasted chicken meat, and a shallow bowl full of bones and icky bits and grease. I dump the bones and icky bits (Note: NOT the giblets. You should have taken those out prior to cooking^[1]; cats love them) back in the crock pot and keep it on low for a while to make ZOMG to die-for-low-salt-chicken-stock. Now the meat can be divvied up in Ziplocs and frozen for use in other recipes. Or you can drench it in half the teriyaki sauce you made last night–no, I’m not giving that recipe until later, when I know if I did it right and if it works–and put it in the fridge for dinner.

What? You were wondering about the Muse? Well, this recipe stuff is all part of my Big Sekrit Plan. I ignore her and pretend like I’m having fun writing, and pretty soon she throws a pretty shiny across my path. Like any woman, she hates to be ignored.

As a matter of fact, she’s giving me an idea right now. See you guys in a bit…

^[1] When the chicken’s frozen I leave them in and take them out prior to the picking. I know you’re not supposed to, but Jesus, the name of the game is “easy” here.

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I am waiting with bated breath for my next issue of Cook’s Illustrated. The kids love Scientific American and I like it too, but there’s just something about CI that makes me so so happy. I hear the next issue has a chocolate-chip cookie recipe. You can guess what I’ll be baking soon.

Someone asked me about cookbooks yesterday, so here we go. The first one–the one that started this whole thing–was Baking with Julia. After I actually started producing good bread, I got a couple other bread cookbooks too, the best of which is this one. Then I got Harold McGee’s On Food and Cooking, which actually goes into the chemistry of foods and why they behave the way they do. Just like CookWise and BakeWise, which I consider essential.

This was a revelation to me. I had viewed cooking as some weird alchemical art whose secrets were only given to the few with the proper handshake, kind of like some people view getting published. And after being told over and over again that I was no good at it, the way I was no good at anything practical because “your head is always in the clouds”, I’d given up.

But “cookbooks” that tell me WHY food behaves the way it does, and how to tweak recipes? ZOMG. The idea that I could learn how food reacted so I could put recipes together and get consistent results was a complete and very gratifying shock.

If I had to tell someone one cookbook to get, I’d recommend the McGee even though it isn’t technically a cookbook, because understanding how and why food behaves the way it does is way more useful than a list of ingredients. Then I’d recommend CookWise and BakeWise; then this vegetarian cookbook (since the UnSullen tends toward vegetarianism). With those you’re pretty much covered.

I do also occasionally rely on my faithful old red-plaid Better Homes and Gardens, and my old Joy of Cooking when I’m looking for something kind of fancy-dancy. And now I’ve started branching out–I did a cheesy-chicken-rice thing from leftovers the other day that vanished in a heartbeat. If I’d had sour cream it would’ve gone even more quickly.

So there you have it, my list of “essential” cookbooks. Still, all the cookbooks in the world won’t help without the willingness to get in there and make mistakes, experiment, and have some fun. (Just like writing. Okay, I’ll stop flogging that point…for now.) The kids love watching and learning and helping to cook, a valuable life skill that will contribute oodles to their adulthood. And I don’t eat out as much as I did now that I’m enamored of the process of cooking itself. Quelle disastre, right?

Right. All that money I’m saving is probably going to go toward some Le Creuset. I keep telling myself it’s quality cookware that the Princess can have after I’m gone, therefore it’s an investment…

ETA: Thanks for telling me about the broken code. HTML, she is trying to keel me…

See? I’m hopeless. Completely hopeless.

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So a lot of you ask me for recipes. Lots of the recipes I use (for I am a junior cook) come from books I feel a little uncomfortable quoting from, even with attribution. I will get over this as I get more comfortable with cooking. Since you guys have been asking I will try to get over that discomfort sooner rather than later. It shouldn’t be a problem with proper attribution, right?

Anyway, I did three spectacular French bread mini-baguettes this last week and thought I would share that recipe with you, since it’s simple and easy, if time-intensive.

INGREDIENTS

2c. tepid water
1 Tb yeast (or slightly less, I fudge sometimes on the yeast)
6c. flour
1 Tb kosher salt

Please, for the love of God, use King Arthur or Bob’s Red Mill or quality bread flour. Do not use Gold Medal. Please. Gold Medal and other cheap flours do not have the protein content necessary to make good bread. You can fudge by adding gluten, about 1 Tb. per 2c of crappy flour, but seriously, the investment in good bread flour is well worth it and I think it ends up being cheaper in the long run.

WHAT YOU DO

Okay. French bread is super-simple but it’s time-intensive. Dump the water and the yeast into the mixer bowl and let them stand for ten minutes. (If you don’t have a mixer that can handle bread dough, get ready to knead.[1]) After about ten minutes the yeast should be dissolved and “creamy”. Turn your mixer on low (with the dough hook in) and add the 6c of flour (see below), a cup at a time, just until the dough comes together in a shaggy mass. Then turn the mixer off and let the mess sit for 15 minutes.

This is important. It’s called the autolyse and it allows for development of gluten as well as making it easier to knead by hand (should you wish to do so). It makes a lighter bread with a better crumb, and it’s well worth the fifteen minutes. This is another reason why kitchen timers are my best friend.

After the autolyse, come back to the dough and turn your mixer on low. Let it mix for a couple minutes. This is when you add the salt. Two things here: I use kosher salt for baking; it really does make a difference and it’s cheap, too. Also, you do not add the salt until this stage because it makes the gluten fibers shorten and contract.

Here’s where a certain amount of trial and error comes in. I like my French bread dough to be just this side of tough. It’s a very dry dough that cleans the sides and bottom of the mixer bowl and, if you turn the mixer up, wraps around and slaps the side of the bowl. It’s a distinctive sound, that slapping, and one every baker lives for.

About five minutes of my KitchenAid mixing does the trick. Your mixer may vary, and if you’re kneading by hand you’re looking for a dough that doesn’t stick to your hands and cleans off your work surface. Two cups of water to six cups of flour is a good rule of thumb for me, mostly because I (big baking secret here) spoon the flour into a measuring cup and then level it off with a knife. This is something you should do every time you measure out flour, because of the tendency of flour to compact and give you much more than you bargained for.)

Now that you’ve got your nice smooth dough (it feels a little bit like Play-Doh but without the graininess) comes the most difficult part of French bread–letting it rise enough.

You probably can’t just let it rise for an hour, punch down, let it rise for 45 minutes and stick it in the oven. The flavor of French bread depends largely on the rising, which gives the flour time to break down completely and make that good, good gluten. This is also part of the reason why I plead with you not to use cheap flour. Also, there is no sugar to give the yeast a swift kick–it has to break down the flour, which as a process takes longer than the sugar rush.

I usually have to let my French bread initially rise for two hours. I put it in a greased (olive-oil cooking spray) medium-sized mixing bowl and put that in a 2.5 gallon Ziploc, which not only seals out perniciousness but gives the dough plenty of room. My kitchen is usually pretty warm, so I’ll pick an out-of-the-way spot, set my trusty kitchen timer, and bebop away. Check on it an hour later, marvel at how it hasn’t risen, kick myself for being a bad baker, set timer again and bebop away. Come back an hour later and congratulate myself for not being such a bad baker after all.

Cheap thrills, I know.

You want the dough to double at least, and it probably won’t do that in just an hour. Give it plenty of time and don’t rush this part of the process.

Now comes the shaping!

Chop the dough with your trusty dough scraper[2] into three pretty-equal portions. Take one portion and smush it out into a rough rectangle–but gently, because you want to keep some of the air bubbles in it intact. Now, roll it up the long way–that is, start at a long edge of the rectangle and roll it up like a cinnamon roll. Pinch it closed and tuck the ends under, and you’ve got a tolerable baguette-shape.

I like to bake my baguettes in this trusty little pan I picked up at Bob’s Red Mill out in McMinnville (damn but that store is dangerous to my bank account). Please, for the love of God, REMEMBER TO HOLD IT OVER YOUR SINK AND SPRAY IT WITH COOKING SPRAY/OLIVE OIL SPRAY. I prefer the olive oil spray, but either will do. You want to make sure you can get the baguettes OUT of the pan after baking (trust me on this) and spraying it over linoleum flooring is a Bad Idea. (Don’t ask. Just…don’t ask.) You could also hold them during the second rise with a heavy floured cloth, but if you’re advanced enough to do that I don’t need to tell you, right?

Shape and plop in the other baguettes. You can stretch them out a little if you want, and they do not have to be perfect. This is home baking, after all.

Now they rise again. I like to put them in that old trusty 2.5 gallon Ziploc and cover the open end with a kitchen towel. This rise can be as short as 45 minutes or as long as an hour, because the yeast has a fresh crop of food and is working overtime. When the baguettes have doubled in size, that’s about when you should bake them.

Twenty minutes before you’re going to bake them, turn your oven on 450. Put a cast-iron skillet on the bottom rack, you’re going to be baking on the middle rack. If you have a baking stone, it can stay on the bottom rack. I suppose you could take the baguettes out of the pan and cook them on a stone, but I don’t. I cook ‘em in the pan, because I like the convenience and the little bubble-shapes on the bottom of the loaf. You can also shape them and let them rise on a big ol’ (greased or parchement-lined) baking sheet if you want. Remember, reasonable convenience is the name of this game.

When your baguettes are finished rising and your oven is preheated, get a small coffee mug[3] and put three or four ice cubes in it. Splash a little water in there too. Then, slash the tops of your baguettes (I do three slashes with a sharp knife, but a serrated knife or a baking razor will do the trick too.) and slide the pan into the oven.

Now, very quickly, toss the ice cubes and water in the skillet on the bottom rack and close the oven, and turn it down to 400. The burst of steam will give you a nice crust, and the overheating to begin with means your oven is at a good steady temperature all the way through the baking cycle. You can also spray the oven walls with water before you close the door, but I don’t like that–too much chance of spraying the bread, which will give your crust spots, and it doesn’t provide steady enough steam. The skillet method works wonders, is relatively cheap (because you can use a cast-iron skillet for ALL SORTS OF THINGS, from bonking home invaders on the head to cooking flapjacks) and is easy-peasy, all things I applaud.

Each oven is different, so here is another place where trial and error comes in. I bake my baguettes for 22 to 24 minutes. I know they’re done when they:

* smell right, something that is difficult to explain
* make a hollow sound when I tap their tops
* look right, another hard-to-explain thing.

Your oven may take 20-28 minutes to bake, depending. YMMV. The best indicator is that lovely hollow sound when you thump the middle of the loaf.

Now, once the timer rings and your loaves are golden-brown and hollow when you thump ‘em, turn off your oven and prop the door open just a little, and leave the baguettes in there for 2-4 minutes. This last step makes sure they bake for the maximum amount of time without burning, which gives you lovely caramelized crusts and long shiny strands of gluten. Take ‘em out and immediately pop them on a wire rack to cool.

I like to use these with soup, and when they are two-three days old (which rarely happens) I slice them up and drizzle them with olive oil, sprinkle with garlic, and broil them for crostinis. Mmmmmmhhhhh.

French bread is simple because it’s just flour, salt, yeast, and water. It looks hard only because it’s time-intensive–that simplicity means you have to allow the yeast enough time to do its thing. The variables–quality of flour, time spent rising, the temperature of the oven, etc., etc., are all easy to control with a little thought on the part of the home baker.

So, enjoy! I’ve got a couple of short stories to polish today, so I bid you a civil adieu and much luck with the baking.

[1] The best thing for my baking has been my handy-dandy KitchenAid Professional 600. And when I get the pasta attachment…look out, world!
[2] I know cash is tight these days. I do advocate the proper tools because I’m a baking fiend, but there is almost always a way around the tool if you really can’t afford it. That is the spirit of home baking, I think, because this should be fun. There’s precious little reason to do it otherwise. I’ve had enough of cooking being a chore and an almighty-nasty-time. I want it to be fun.
[3] I don’t like doing this with a glass because they can slip and then there’s all sorts of nastiness ensuing. Coffee mugs are tough, they hold enough, and they have the nice handle so you don’t lose your grip and toss them into the oven. Again, just…don’t ask. Trust me.

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Everything went like clockwork. There was only one minor disaster–my empty kettle on a burner that got turned on by mistake. So, possibly-ruined kettle. But otherwise, it all went well. Especially the caramel sticky buns. The kitchen is cleaned up (bless the UnSullen One for unloading the dishwasher numerous times today) and the last load of dishes is in the washer, the turkey bones are simmering in the crock pot preparatory to the last picking off of meat and the making of stock. I sense soup in our future.

There have been numerous requests for my Dream Pie recipe. My mother used to make something very much like this, only her recipe involved baker’s chocolate and some sort of cream cheese thing, and I firmly believe that when I buy baking chocolate a candy thermometer is not far behind, and that is ALL KINDS OF TROUBLE. Not too long ago I put together a simple recipe that fits the bill and tastes like what I had in childhood. I found variants of this recipe all over the Net, but the packets of whip mix seem to give the pie a gritty mouthfeel I don’t like at all. YMMV.

So here it is. It’s super-quick and has no nutritive value whatsoever. (The best kind of dessert!)

Dream Pie

1 graham-cracker pie crust
1 8 oz. tub of Cool Whip or other whipped topping (I like the Extra Creamy kind)
1 packet of instant chocolate pudding mix
1 1/2-2c cold milk

Dump the pudding mix in the mixer bowl. Add 1c. cold milk, beat just until mixed. Glorp the Cool Whip in and work mixer up to medium speed until well mixed. Stop the mixer, scrape the sides of the bowl down, and add the extra 1/2-1 c. of milk depending on the consistency. (You can also add a half-teaspoon of amaretto flavor; I’ve sometimes put a splash of Bailey’s in the mix if I’m making it for adults only. Since the kids love the pie so much, though, I rarely do that.)

This–getting the consistency right–is the only “hard” part of the recipe, and it only takes once or twice to get down. You want it stiffer than pudding, about as stiff as a very thick cake batter. I’ve learned that the consistency depends on room temperature and humidity to an astonishing degree (whodathunkit?). Start with a half-cup of milk and only dribble in the other half if absolutely necessary. Turn the mixer up and whip the hell out of it–you want it nice and fluffy, and if you add too much milk it might not stand up.

Fear not, though. If you accidentally add too much milk, you can dump the whole runny mess in the pie shell and freeze it uncovered overnight. Then you’ll want to stick it in the fridge at lunchtime the next day in order to have it nice and thawed for dinner’s dessert. And voila, it’ll be perfect.

If it turns out exactly the right consistency, you can cover it loosely with foil and stick it in the fridge. It should be good to go after 4hrs or so, or until the next evening.

This pie doesn’t usually stick around long enough to stay more than one night in the fridge. If you’re planning on keeping it after it’s been cut, make sure you cover it a bit tighter with the foil, and stick it in the fridge. (For some reason, Saran Wrap doesn’t seem to work to keep it from drying out too much, but foil does the trick. Again, YMMV.) Some people like this pie frozen, but I like it nice and refrigerator-soft. You can spread more Cool Whip on it, too, making it even less nutritious and more delicious.

Just so we’re clear, there is absolutely no nutritive value to this dessert. It’s pure unadulterated junk food, but that’s how I like it. And there it is–Dream Pie.

Hope your Thanksgiving was as low-stress as mine. I had a blast cooking–brushed the turkey with olive oil and sprinkled with poultry seasoning, then cooked it under a loose tent of foil until the last hour or so, when I whisked the foil off and it browned up beautifully. I was told it was the nicest, moistest turkey the boys could remember. Which was awesome. The relish was even better after soaking all night, and I finally have cherry pie down.

I’m tired but very happy. This is probably the least stressful Thanksgiving I can remember, and I’m very happy for it. And dammit, I think I can cook. Which is a completely awesome thing.

Happy Thanksgiving!

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Weasel Boy wasn’t that difficult a book. I shouldn’t be having this sort of draining rubber-band snapback after finishing just a sodding draft, for heaven’s sake. But I am. Go figure.

Yesterday was chili. I was agreeably surprised both by the beans (soaked the day before, cooked all night in molasses and garlic beef stock) and by the leftover barbecue ribs giving it a nice smoky flavor. Everyone ate except Sir Pewksalot, but that’s to be expected. I also experimented by not putting salt in with the beans, and they softened up much quicker and thickened the chili better. (So, thanks to whoever it was who told me about that.)

Today it’s pork tenderloin, and since I’m seriously dragging and have no braincycles for anything else, I’ll give the recipe. The kids really love this and it’s sooper-easy to prepare.

Pork In Yogurt Sauce

You’ll need:

• pork tenderloin
• half a large onion
• plain yogurt
• crushed garlic
• chicken stock/buoillon/base

Get out your crock pot. Put a tablespoon of water in (or enough to just lightly coat the bottom of the crock.) Dab a little buoillon or base in it and smear it around. OR, put enough chicken stock in to lightly coat the bottom of the crock. Turn the crock pot on low.

While it’s warming, saute the onion and crushed garlic in butter. I like crushed garlic in a jar, because it’s easy to work with, fresher, and packs more punch. Garlic powder lacks a certain something, but if you need to use it, dab a little of the chicken base etc. in the pan.

Dump half the garlic/onion saute into the crock to provide a nice little bed for the tenderloin. Nestle said tenderloin, ahem, tenderly on top. Spoon a light covering of yogurt over the meat and dump the rest of the saute over it.

Cut the potatoes into quarters (I usually do this while everything’s sauteeing). You can put them in a big bowl with the saute drippings, a little butter, and your favorite seasoning blend (I use Trader Joe’s 20 blend) and clap a plate over it, shake the little buggers. (I like disco music on while I do this.) Spoon the potatoes around the tenderloin. I like to use a wide long crock pot–the narrow ones do better for soups, in my humble opinion. But whatever you have will work.

Then leave it on low for ZOMG a long time. If I’m pressed for time, I usually turn the crock on high for a couple hours, then finish up with low heat. I like this dinner because I can walk away and forget it, and just start some steamed veggies twenty minutes before we eat. Easy-peasy.

The potatoes can be served as-is, or thrown in a mixer and mashed with a little milk. The yogurt and chicken stock will do wonders for them, and you get a very nice homestyle-potato mash if you leave the skins on, which I prefer. Sometimes there is a request for smoked Gouda in the potatoes, if I have done chili in the recent past and have some Gouda left over. Note: if you use bigger potatoes, cut them into smaller chunks so they cook thoroughly.

I’ve got some French bread rising on the stove too, which makes me feel good. No day is so bad that baking can’t make it better. Tomorrow I’ll probably go on about bread, if I’m still in this mood.

And now, dear Reader, adieu. The roast is starting to smell good and it will only get better all afternoon. Mmmmmmh.

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If this is my brain, what am I thinking with?

Yeah. It’s kind of like that.

So I finished the revisions on Redemption Alley and I’m in that strange in-between phase–where I’m gearing up for another Kismet book and the deep submerging in a world not my own it will entail. But it’s a nice sunny day and somehow I know I’m not ready to go down yet. I’ve got a chicken in the crock pot and two loaves of bread dough rising in the oven–more on that in a second–and I’m really not finding that internal tickle that tells me now’s the time to get a character in some more trouble.

So I suppose I’ll work on something else–Weasel Boy, perhaps, or tinker with something solely for my own pleasure today. Part of being a responsible creative is knowing when to break a rule or two. *grin*

About the bread: I like coffeemakers. No, these ARE statements that go together, I promise.

The best way I’ve ever found to proof bread is to run water through the drip-coffeemaker half of my espresso machine while I shape the loaves. I put the loaves in the oven and put an empty pan right below them. When the coffeemaker finishes burbling I pour a goodly amount of that water into the empty pan, close up the oven, and forget it for about an hour, at which time I usually have lovely proofed loaves.

Now, this doesn’t work so well with a banneton, since the wicker/basket material tends to soak up the steam and getting the loaf out, no matter how well you’ve dusted the whole thing with flour, gets problematic. But for loaves shaped in pans, it’s AWESOME. Perfect proofing, every time.

I also did a bigger, better ciabatta that actually turned out, with shiny strands of chewy goodness inside and a nutty, caramelized crust to die for. (The problem was, I didn’t keep the dough wet enough.) I tell you, Peter Reinhart is a GENIUS. His bread books–especially Crust & Crumb–are so, so easy to understand, with the reasons for why the dough behaves the way it does clearly set out and tons of tips and tricks. My baking, she has never been so happy.

I’m currently working on mastering a buttermilk-started sourdough. I’ll have results by the end of the day.

And that’s all. Enjoy your Thursday, everyone.

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I’m a big fan both of easy recipes and of cleaning while I cook. Since I end up doing most of the cleanup unless I twist someone’s arm, I tend to clean at the same time I cook, just to keep the kitchen from exploding under the weight of sheer chaos. YMMV.

All right, let’s get on to the salad–link salad, that is.

* From the Vintage Crime LJ community, here’s some rules about detective fiction: one set from S. S. Van Dine, the creator of Philo Vance; and one set from Msgr. Ronald Knox.

I find these interesting for two reasons. One, I like seeing genre rules laid out, and I like to see how successful authors talk about their audience. Two, I like seeing these sorts of rules because they are a direct invitation to understand them so one can effectively play with them and break them.

Breaking the rules being, you know, three-quarters of the fun.

* Speaking of breaking the rules, I noticed a theme between these two sets of rules–the absolute set-in-stone denial of any paranormal or supernatural event. Being who I am, I suppose that’s why I’m not writing crime fiction. Well, I am writing a SORT of crime fiction, but it is kind of like the redheaded stepchild of crime fiction.

* OH JOHN RINGO NO T-shirts! They’re for a good cause. Proceeds are donated to the Helen Bamber Foundation.

* And if you’re wondering what the cry “OH JOHN RINGO NO!” means, this blog entry might help. I will warn you, it is Not Safe For Work. It contains words and themes you might find objectionable. If you have problems with pulpy men’s adventure fiction or analysis of pulpy men’s adventure fiction, DO NOT CLICK. And don’t go over there, read half the entry, and fire off some halfass comment about how you’re offended. Just don’t, okay?

There’s a line between exploitative fiction and what I call “purple fiction”–that guilty pleasure reading we all indulge in. While purple fiction probably deals with morally reprehensible subject matter, I feel it is ethically sound in intent. Exploitative fiction is like a snuff film–you know it when you see it, and you’re sickened by the very idea, and it’s pretty obvious that the creator isn’t having tongue-in-cheek fun with themes or cultural notions of sexuality. Exploitative fic is just a joyless, offensive grind, on more than one level.

As with any definition I give here, YMMV. This subject really deserves its own blog post, but I am so not in the mood for that kind of critical analysis right now. I leave it to wiser heads than the one mine is turning out to be this morning.

* I am, instead, in the mood for Cheezburger.

more cat pictures

I should probably watch Labyrinth again. Sometimes a girl just needs a “David Bowie in tight pants” fix.

* Last but not least, I was laying in bed last night reading, and it struck me…goddamn, I’m weird. Because this is my bedtime reading, and I was enjoying the hell out of it. When did literary criticism become ENJOYABLE? How the hell did that happen?

I’m mystified, and I’m even more mystified by my urge, when reading these sorts of things, to get little plastic dinosaurs and act out the book’s assertions with them.

Yes, utterly mystified. But hey, if you can’t have fun with dinosaurs while reading theses, what would be the point of existence?

Over and out.

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