Leaning a little bit one way or the other

I think it's fair to say that people are generally divided between those who prefer sweet treats and those who reach for the salty snacks. I mean, of course there are those of us who like both -- often switching from sweet to salty and then back to sweet during the same snacking session -- but given a choice, we all have a preference. Or at least we're leaning a little bit one way or the other. Ask yourself: Oreos or Baked Ruffles? Ice cream or pretzel rods? Chocolate chip cookies or olives? Hunk of brown sugar or chunk of aged cheese?

For me -- except in the notable case of the brown sugar vs. cheese, as I have always loved eating brown sugar out of the bag, ever since I was a tot, so much so that one memorable day Mom poured the sugar into a bowl, handed me a spoon and said, "Here. You like it so much? Have at it." I think I was supposed to learn a lesson, but instead I just ate a bowl of brown sugar -- I lean savory. As much as I love baked goods, 9 times out of 10 I'm going salty. It must be my body chemistry or something. It's a powerful force.

Now, I enjoy biscotti. Especially homemade biscotti, especially homemade biscotti like the chocolate-peanut butter biscotti Sister made at Christmas. But I seldom, like, die over biscotti. (Except for the chocolate-peanut butter biscotti Sister made at Christmas.) Every so often, though, I see a recipe for savory biscotti and my eyes widen a bit. Like when I spied this cheddar-Pecorino biscotti.

These twice-baked treats are cheesy, replete with extra-sharp cheddar and Pecorino, and studded with toasted pine nuts and tiny pieces of jewel-red sun-dried tomatoes. The recipe states that one should "keep a stash of these savory biscotti in your desk drawer for a quick snack." Though I initially laughed at this suggestion -- mostly because of how random it is, really? your desk drawer? next to the paper clips and file folder labels? -- I now think maybe it's not such a bad idea to hide a few of these away at the office. Snacking on homemade biscotti certainly sounds like a better idea than snacking on the dregs of the cookies that someone in marketing made last week.

Maybe someday soon I can convince Sister to share her chocolate-peanut butter biscotti recipe with me, so I can post it here for you sweet-snack-lovers. But today, it's biscotti for the savory set.

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CHEDDAR-PECORINO BISCOTTI

Adapted from "Cooking Light"

You could, of course, substitute Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese for the Pecorino, as the original recipe calls for it. However, whenever given the choice, I roll with Pecorino. I can't help it. I am putty in Pecorino's hands. You can decide for yourself, and tweak according to your own taste.

2 3/4 c. flour

Heaping 1/2 c. (about 3 oz.) extra-sharp cheddar cheese, grated

1/2 c. Pecorino cheese, grated

1/4 c. sun-dried tomatoes, chopped (get the dried ones that come in a bag, rather than the ones packed in oil)

3 T. yellow cornmeal

3 T. pine nuts, toasted

2 t. baking powder

3/4 t. kosher salt

1/2 t. dried basil

1/3 c. skim milk

1 T. olive oil

2 large eggs

1 large egg white

Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Line a baking sheet with a Silpat or a piece of parchment paper.

In a large bowl, combine the flour and the next 8 ingredients (through the basil). Stir with a rubber spatula to combine. In a small bowl or liquid measuring cup, combine the milk, olive oil, eggs and egg white. Whisk to combine. Add the milk mixture to the flour mixture, stirring with the rubber spatula until well blended (the dough with be crumbly and slightly sticky; you might have to use your hands to bring it together. Turn the dough out onto a lightly-floured surface and knead 7-10 times.

Divide dough in half. Shape each half into an 8-inch long roll. Place the rolls 6 inches apart of the baking sheet, then flatten to a 1-inch thickness. Bake for 25 minutes. Remove from baking sheet and cool the dough for 5 minutes on a wire rack.

While the dough is resting, reduce the oven temperature to 325 degrees Fahrenheit.

Cut each roll diagonally into about 12 slices, each about 1/2-inch thick. Stand the slices upright on the baking sheet. Return to oven and bake for 25 minutes. Cool biscotti on a wire rack.

Makes 24 pieces, each of which fits conveniently in a desk drawer.

A celebration of quinoa

Yesterday it was tofu, today it's quinoa. I guess 2009 is off to a healthier start after all, despite my protestations that resolutions are a waste of time. I didn't mean to go all healthy on you, but this is the food I'm craving right now. So I'm listening to myself and digging into the good stuff. And it's damn tasty, if I do say so myself.

While it should be clear to even the most casual reader that I am not all about healthy eating, I do quite enjoy a diverse range of foods. That umbrella is bound to cover some healthful tidbits from time to time. I also love trying new things and seeking out unique ingredients (someday I will tell you about The Great Maple Flake Search of 2008) and am a great fan of meticulous rows of grains and beans and pastas and different types of rice, all lined up in pretty Ball jars in my pantry. When I find a new staple to add to this array, well, I buy at least a pound. While I am no stranger to quinoa, until a few weeks ago I had never seen red quinoa. So into my shopping cart -- and into a Ball jar -- it went. And out this recipe came.

Quinoa tabbouleh. I've always thought of tabbouleh as a celebration of parsley. However, replacing tabbouleh's traditional bulgur with quinoa turns it into a celebration of quinoa. And who doesn't want to celebrate quinoa? Not that there's anything wrong with bulgur; it's just that quinoa is a little unexpected and brings a whole new texture to the dish. And since I'm apparently being healthy this week -- I even ran a mile tonight! -- I should mention that quinoa is a nutritional powerhouse that ups tabbouleh's already healthy ante quite significantly. It's high in protein and, especially important for vegetarians, its protein is complete, meaning it contains all the amino acids that we human folk need. It's gluten-free...it's grown in the Andes....And! It's kosher for Passover! 

This quinoa tabbouleh is more delicious than anything healthy has a right to be, frankly. The fresh vegetables and bright herbs and simple dressing combine into something truly delectable...something that hits the spot after a cold cold January night spent at the gym. I could have eaten the entire bowl, but alas, there were other people around and maybe they would like to have some? But I don't know, the way I figure it, you snooze, you lose. To the victor goes the quinoa tabbouleh.

And in case you're concerned with my exercise regimen and nutritional eating -- just in case you fear that sources of complete protein have replaced sugar and chocolate in my lexicon and pantry -- I did just grab a (large) spaghetti brownie out of the fridge. Not all hope is lost.

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QUINOA TABBOULEH

Adapted from "Bon Appetit"

1 c. water

1/2 c. quinoa (red if you can find it), rinsed

2 T. olive oil

2 T. freshly-squeezed lemon juice

2 T. plus 1/2 c. fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped

2 garlic cloves, minced

Sea salt, to taste

Freshly-cracked black pepper, to taste

1/2 c. seeded and peeled cucumber, finely chopped

1/2 c. seeded tomato, chopped

1/4 c. fresh mint, chopped

8 red or green lettuce leaves

In a medium saucepan, bring 1 c. water to the boil. Add quinoa; cover, reduce heat to low and cook until the water is absorbed, 15-20 minutes. Transfer to a large bowl to cool.

While the quinoa is cooking, prepare the rest of the tabbouleh. Whisk the olive oil, lemon juice, 2 T. parsley and garlic in a small bowl or liquid measuring cup. Season the dressing to taste with sea salt and black pepper. Set aside. Prepare the vegetables and herbs.

When the quinoa is cool, add the cucumber, tomato, mint and remaining 1/2 c. parsley to the bowl. Add the dressing and toss to coat. Taste and adjust for seasoning; I find it needs another few pinches of salt.

Arrange two lettuce leaves on each of 4 plates. Spoon the tabbouleh atop the lettuce and serve.

Makes 4 servings. Who am I kidding. Makes 1 serving. 

I do believe that tofu yearns

I love tofu. Always have. And while I don't go quite as far as my boss does in my love of the stuff -- his license plate reads "TRY TOFU" -- I never can pass up a plate of bean curd, especially if it's extra-firm and has been sauteed until it's crisp on the edges. Yum.

You are thinking, seriously? Tofu has no flavor! Which is for the most part true, which is another reason why I love it so. It is a blank canvas. A protein-rich, healthy canvas, onto which I can project all my favorite flavors and textures and still feel good about the resulting dish. You know, because mashed potatoes are a also blank canvas, as are sugar cookies and fried chicken and a million other "unhealthy" foodstuffs. But dressing up a dish of mashed potatoes with goat cheese or topping a fried chicken breast with a waffle does feel a tad over-indulgent. Not so with tofu. It lends itself wonderfully to a range of nutritious accompaniments and is itself high in calcium, protein and omega-3 fatty acids. When I feel like eating healthfully without compromising mouth-watering tastiness, tofu is there for me.

Tonight we enjoyed planks tofu topped with a spicy lemongrass sauce -- another recipe from the archives that I don't make nearly often enough. The dish includes one of my very favorite pantry staples: fish sauce. I was very reluctant to try fish sauce at first, given its powerful fishy odor and unfortunate name. (Fish made into a sauce does not, for me at least, connote anything tasty or remotely culinarily serviceable.) But once I got past these things, I discovered that fish sauce is the je ne sais quoi in many Asian dishes -- especially Thai and Vietnamese ones -- that makes you think, mmm...this is really good. Omit it and you will be sad; only blandness results from the error of fish sauce omission. And so it serves its purpose in this tofu dish: salty but not just salty for salty's sake -- salty with complex undertones and depth of flavor. It plays so very well with the hot and sweet elements of this recipe to create a sauce that is much more than the sum of its parts. I'm consistently amazed at the complex taste that results when a few simple Asian-inspired ingredients are combined just so. A little fish sauce, a little sugar, some shallots, garlic, chile. It's alchemy, really.

I do believe that tofu yearns for a sauce this flavorful to infiltrate its every fissure, elevating it from a simple healthy bean curd to something truly divine. I like to imagine that when my boss was standing in line at the DMV, contemplating the content of his vanity plate, he was thinking of a tofu dish like this one (though he would be one to commit the error of fish sauce omission, as he is vegan). 

Try tofu, indeed.

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PAN-FRIED TOFU WITH SPICY LEMONGRASS SAUCE

Adapted from "Cooking Light"

We enjoyed our tofu this evening with some ginger-cilantro rice. Personally I find rice to be a pleasant accompaniment to tofu, but about 12 years ago some woman in a Hunan restaurant in Evanston, Illinois, told me that tofu fried rice "makes no sense" and wouldn't serve it to me. I've never been one to make sense, so....

2 15-oz. packages extra-firm tofu (Nasoya is my very very favorite)

Olive oil for pan-frying

1 1/2 T. sugar

2 T. fish sauce

1 T. olive oil

1/2 c. shallots, finely chopped

1 garlic clove, minced

2 T. lemongrass, finely chopped

1 dried red Thai chile, reconstituted, seeded and minced

Line a baking sheet with 4 layers of paper towel. Cut each tofu brick crosswise into 8 slices. Arrange tofu in a single layer on the paper towel, then cover with another 4 layers of paper towel. Place another baking sheet on top, then weigh down with something heavy, such as a cast iron skillet or some large cans of tomatoes. Press the tofu for at least 15 minutes, while you prepare the rest of the recipe.

Reconstitute the chile in a mug of boiling water -- just until it's a little soft. Seed and mince the chile.

Preheat the oven to 250 degrees Fahrenheit. Heat a large non-stick skillet over medium-high heat. Coat the pan with olive oil and, working in batches, cook the tofu until brown on both sides, 3-4 minutes per side. Add a little more olive oil to the pan between batches. Place the cooked tofu on a baking sheet and keep warm in the 250-degree oven while you fry the remaining batches.

In a small bowl, combine the sugar and fish sauce and whisk until the sugar is dissolved. In a small saucepan, heat 1 T. olive oil over medium-high heat. Add shallots and garlic; sauté 3 minutes or until lightly browned. Add the lemongrass and chile; sauté for an additional 2 minutes. Stir in the sugar mixture and cook 1 minute. 

To serve, place 4 planks of tofu on a plate and top with about 2 T. of sauce. Then, marvel at what a fantastic meal you've cooked, what with all those serious flavors mingling up against the crispy texture of the tofu. Finally, feel good about all that calcium and protein.

Makes 4 servings. P.S. This dish goes great with beer!

Overplayed January promises

You will not find me making any New Year's resolutions. Not because I am not resolute; on the contrary, I am quite stubborn when I make up my mind about something. Just ask Husband. I refuse to suffer Howard Stern, no matter how funny Husband claims Artie Lange is. Even if on the off chance I overhear something that actually makes me laugh, I adamantly refuse to admit it's funny, and will not listen.

But when it comes to New Year's resolutions, well, my resolve takes a hike. Actually, I should restate that: my resolve is as strong as ever, it's just that my resolution is not to make any resolutions. No. I just can't stand all those overplayed January promises. I will not wait until a certain date on a calendar to do something that I think will make my life better; I am not interested in shouting my dreams for a better, thinner, richer, more thoughtful life from the rooftops on one day, only to revert to my worse, fatter, poorer, harried ways in a matter of weeks. I never make New Year's resolutions. I just do things I think I need to do, when I need to do them.

Hence, you're not going to find a whole bunch of "light" and "diet" recipes in this space. Hell no. I opened the year with the most caloric, dense, sugar-laden confection I know. Take that, Martha Stewart! But I have decided that now is a good time to plumb the depths of my overflowing recipe binder and share some dishes that are either brand new favorites or that make only infrequent appearances in my culinary repertoire. After two months jam-packed with old-standby favorites from my youth, it's about time for a recipe clipped from some random publication that, on the merits of its deliciousness, ought to show up more often in my cooking but that, for whatever reason, languishes between the plastic sleeves of my binder never to see the light of day or the heat of my stove. This is your time, under-utilized yet totally tasty recipe!

Into this spotlight steps a spiced tomato and chickpea soup. This zesty and spicy number gets its body from hearty pureed chickpeas and its soul from a dreamy paste of fragrant spices and garlic. It is perfect as a first course or a lunch, and it fits seamlessly as part of an Indian dinner menu. Much zippier than a traditional tomato soup, this recipe has a flavor profile much more complex than expected, especially as it sits so unassuming in the bowl. As I neared the bottom of my bowl tonight, I did away with the spoon and just sipped and savored.

By all means, I wish you well with your own resolutions, if you have chosen to make them. But as for me, well, I'm just going to eat a lot of soup.

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SPICED CHICKPEA AND TOMATO SOUP

The recipe originally calls for 1/2 c. roasted red peppers, which I omitted due to the fact that I was out of them and Husband doesn't like them, anyway. But of course, feel free to add them to the soup along with the tomatoes if you are so inclined. You can also garnish with a bit of sour cream if you like.

Additionally, the original recipe calls for one can of chickpeas, all of which are blended into a smooth soup. I prefer to add a second can of chickpeas post-puree, as the whole chickpeas add a nice texture and heartier feel to the soup.

4 garlic cloves, minced

1/2 t. red pepper flakes

1 t. ground coriander

1 t. ground cumin

3/4 t. kosher salt

1/4 t. caraway seeds

1/4 c. olive oil

2 15-oz. cans of chickpeas, drained and rinsed, divided

1 1/2 c. crushed canned tomatoes, with juice

3 1/2 c. homemade or low-sodium store-bought chicken or turkey stock

Parsley sprigs, for garnish

Using a mortar and pestle (or with the back of a spoon), crush the garlic, red pepper flakes, coriander, cumin, salt and caraway seeds to form a paste.

Heat the olive oil in a medium pot or Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the garlic mixture and cook, stirring frequently, until just softened, about 3 minutes. Stir in half of the chickpeas, tomatoes and stock and reduce heat to medium-low. Simmer, stirring often, for 15 minutes.

Puree using a stick blender (or in batches in a traditional blender). If using a traditional blender, return the soup to the pot and place over medium heat. Add the second half of the chickpeas and cook for 8-10 minutes, just to warm the whole chickpeas. Serve with a sprig of parsley.

Serves 4.

Mortal danger regardless

It's been a tough couple of weeks if you're a Chesapeake Bay Retriever. Or, more accurately, if you're our Chesapeake Bay Retriever, Jet. Our beloved pup is, unfortunately, no stranger to health concerns, as she has suffered from seizures and other woes since she was very young. Those things are beyond her (and our) control and we do whatever we must to improve her quality of life and well-being. Indeed, she has been doing very well of late: seizure free for more than eight months, and healthy as a horse otherwise.

Ornery trouble-making Jet, however, is not one to allow her good health to get in the way of her bad behavior. When she is doing well, physically, Jet will find a way to get herself into some mortal danger regardless, just to keep us on our toes (and the local vet hospital in business). And so it was that five days before Christmas, while Husband and I were out doing some shopping, Jet decided to eat no fewer than 16 Christmas candles. Not tapers; no, those would be too small. She ate an entire candle nativity set, a cherished keepsake that had been in my family for 40 years. She also snacked on eight evergreen tree-shaped candles, some of which were seven inches tall. And to add insult to waxy injury, she topped off her late-afternoon candle repast with a small stuffed snowman, felt hat and all. 

To make an agonizing story short, she ended up requiring surgery two days later when it was determined that the candles weren't, um, going anywhere. Lucky for us, she is -- as we like to call her -- the healthiest sickest dog we've ever known, and she bounced back very quickly.  Even with a foot-long gash in her stomach and more staples than we cared to count. At least she left the incision alone and we didn't have to subject her to the lampshade of shame. It was challenging to keep her "quiet" and without any exercise for two full weeks, but she did it and she's back to her normal rabble-rousing ways. In fact, as I write this from Mom and Dad's house, she is tooling around the living room sniffing at candles. She will never learn.

I planned to share this dog treat recipe before Christmas, as it makes wonderful doggie stocking stuffers and is a great one to bake and give as gifts to your dog-loving friends. Yes, it was a wonderful plan. But you know what they say about the best-laid plans....I was so focused on getting her home in one piece, albeit three large bags of chewed candle wax lighter, that I couldn't even think about baking treats. So instead I present these carob crunchers to you today, in the frosty doldrums of January, when your furry friend could probably use a little homemade excitement anyway.

Jet, for her part, is happy to snack on these treats whatever month it is. And I, for my part, am just grateful that what she's eating is actually edible and intended for canine stomachs.

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JET'S CAROB CRUNCHERS

Adapted from Paula Moran's recipe

Human-grade bone meal is available at health-food stores and stores that sell nutritional supplements. I get mine at the Mustard Seed Market, and one container lasts a very, very long time. Just make sure you get human-grade, and not plant-grade. You can also find carob powder at such stores.

2 c. whole wheat flour

1/4 c. carob powder

1 t. human-grade bone meal

2 T. safflower or soy oil

2 T. honey

3/4 c. soy or dairy milk (I prefer soy)

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.

In a large bowl, combine the whole wheat flour, carob powder and bone meal. Whisk together to combine. Add the remaining ingredients and stir together with a rubber spatula or wooden spoon. When the mixture gets too thick to mix with a spatula or spoon, bring it together with your hands into a ball. The dough will be stiff.

Sprinkle the counter top with flour and roll out the dough to 1/4-inch thickness. Cut into shapes using the cookie cutter of your choice; I like the good old-fashioned dog bone shape. You can also simply cut them into squares if you don't want to mess with cookie cutters.

Place close together but not touching on an ungreased baking sheet; re-roll dough scraps to cut more treats. Bake for 20 minutes, then turn off the oven and leave the treats in the oven until cool. Store at room temperature in air-tight containers.

Makes about 2 dozen treats, depending on the cookie cutter.

Happy birthday, blog

Go ahead and file this post under the whole terribly cliché heading of "Time is flying." But really! Time is flying!

A Stove With A House Around It turns one today. Happy birthday, wee infant blog! Though you are but a tot, you are beginning to show your little personality. You are growing into something I can recognize, something that looks a heck of a lot like me.

To celebrate, I should be making you a fantastic party cake with pretty pink icing, into which I would spear a large candle in the shape of a "1." But given my salt proclivities -- I am like a deer, nearly always in search of a salt lick -- I thought it more appropriate to celebrate with something salty. Such as homemade soft pretzels.

So far the celebration is going pretty well. Husband and I completely spoiled our dinner, as we ate nearly half of the batch of hot pretzels as an "appetizer." We sort of didn't have a choice, though; they are called hot pretzels, not room temperature pretzels. No use letting them sit around. At least that's what I'm telling myself.

These hot pretzels are surprisingly easy to make and the result is so delicious -- nearly professional-looking -- that I don't think I'll be heading to Auntie Anne's again anytime soon. They fulfill all my hot pretzel requirements (yes, I have hot pretzel requirements): crispy on the outside, tender on the inside and slathered in salt -- I'd rather knock off extra salt than wish there was more. The dough comes together easily and kneads into a perfect, soft ball with a distinctive and delightful yeasty smell. And it only rises for a total of 50 minutes! Soft pretzel making is in no way a day-long affair.

So happy birthday, blog. As the remainder of the hot pretzels await consumption and as Husband and I watch Han pilot the Falcon safely to Cloud City, we raise a glass to you. Soon you'll be walking, then starting first grade, then driving and, oh, these early days will be just a fond memory. A fond memory filled with perfect homemade soft pretzels.

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SOFT PRETZELS

Adapted from "Martha Stewart Living"

2 1/4 t. active dry yeast (a little more than 1 packet)

1/4 t. kosher salt

2 t. sugar

1 c. warm water

3 c. all-purpose flour

1/8 t. cayenne pepper

2 T. unsalted butter, at room temperature

3 T. baking soda

Kosher salt or pretzel salt (if you can find it), for sprinkling

Mix the yeast, 1/4 t. salt, sugar and warm water in a small bowl, whisking until the sugar dissolves. Let stand until foamy, about 5 minutes.

In a large bowl, mix the flour and cayenne pepper. Using a pastry blender, cut the butter into the flour until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Slowly pour the yeast mixture over the flour mixture, stirring with a rubber spatula to combine. Using your hands, gather the dough together and turn out onto a lightly floured surface. Knead until the dough comes together into a smooth, soft ball and is no longer sticky, about 5 minutes. Cover with plastic wrap and let rise for 30 minutes.

Using a bench scraper, cut the dough into 12 pieces. Line two baking sheets with Silpats or grease them with vegetable oil. Roll each piece of dough into an 18-inch rope. Form a U-shape with one rope and twist the ends together twice.

Fold the twisted portion backward along the center of the U shape to form a circle, then gently press the ends of the rope onto the dough to seal.

Transfer to the prepared baking sheet, then repeat with each of the 11 remaining pieces of dough. I find that 6 pretzels fit on a baking sheet comfortably. Let the pretzels rise for 20 minutes.

While the pretzels are rising, preheat the oven to 475 degrees Fahrenheit. Place a large pot of water on the stove and bring to a boil. Add the baking soda to the boiling water (this step is fun; it's like a little science experiment). Boil the pretzels 2 or 3 at a time until puffed, 1-2 minutes per side. I find it's easiest to turn the pretzels with a Chinese spider. Transfer to wire racks to drain, then return the pretzels to the baking sheet. Sprinkle with kosher or pretzel salt to taste.

Bake until golden brown and cooked through, about 15 minutes.

Eat immediately. You can, like, serve them with fancy mustards and such, or you can just eat them, steaming and marvelous, right off the baking sheet. Pretzels will keep, uncovered, at room temperature for up to 12 hours, and you can rewarm them in a 250-degree oven if you so choose.

Makes 12 pretzels.

"No dear, that's the spaghetti"

For a few years there in the '80s my family and several of our neighbors and friends would stay for a week each summer at Salt Fork (not South Fork, as in the setting of "Dallas," though when I was very young I didn't understand the difference). We'd rent cabins by the lake, catch catfish, swim, laugh, ride horses, make "grass" skirts out of Queen Anne's Lace. The kids would participate in recreational and craft projects led by the lodge's naturalists -- we made a lot of those yarn God's-eye things and I now realize that this "enrichment" was an excellent way for the adults to enjoy a little (early) afternoon gin and tonic without us knee-biters running about the cabin. I was too young and too much of a geek to care, though. I thought it was awesome to learn about Ohio birds.

(Perhaps foretelling the riding that was to be in my future, here I am on a Salt Fork horsie in 1982.)

I can still feel the bottom of the lake between my toes -- the softest, silt-iest, smoothest mud I'd ever felt. I loved wading around barefoot while the bigger boys baited my hook with a fat worm.

(A catfish collage, if you will. Clockwise, starting with upper left: I show off our catch in my ridiculous hat and Dr. Scholl's; seconds later, I seem to have grown somehow wary of the catfish, scooting away from them and almost out of the frame; Dad is much better at displaying his catch; by the next summer, I was a little more sure of my fishing self, even if I was still wearing the same Dr. Scholl's. [I have no idea who that dude is behind me; Husband says he's "all socks."])

One year our beloved friends Jack and Luta flew up from Texas to go to Salt Fork with us. The day before we were due to check into our cabin, Mom and Dad had to make an unexpected trip to New Castle, PA, for Mom's aunt's funeral. Jack and Luta stayed home with me, and Luta suggested we make a batch of her Palm Beach brownies to take to Salt Fork with us. Always the happy baker's apprentice, I enthusiastically obliged.

There are three things you need to know about this story: (1) Luta is hilarious, at once full of Southern gentility yet completely uncouth. (2) Jack was hard of hearing. (3) Mom used to keep boxed pasta in an upper cabinet, right next to the flour and sugar canisters.

We're mid-way though the recipe, and the wet ingredients are whirling about in the bowl of Mom's old electric mixer. Luta reaches high above the counter to take the flour out of the cupboard and in doing so bumps an open box of spaghetti, which tumbles out of the cabinet and falls -- purposefully, as though it was aiming for it -- directly into the mixer. This not being her mixer, Luta isn't familiar enough with the machine to turn it off quickly. While she can extract the longer strands of pasta that survived the drop intact, she cannot rescue many of the smaller broken pieces which have already integrated themselves into the chocolate batter.

"Oh well. Doesn't make any sense to waste these ingredients. Dianne, we are making spaghetti brownies." She motions to Jack, across the room, "Did you hear that? I dropped spaghetti into the brownies." Jack nods.

(Dad, Mom, Luta, Di and Jack in front of Salt Fork cabin #48, August 1983.)

A few days later, we're all at Salt Fork, lounging about the cabin. Jack asks where the brownies are, and Mom directs him to the refrigerator. Jack, chewing and crunching, says to his wife, "Luta, these are good, but I think some of the walnut shells got in them."

"No dear," Luta replies, completely straight-faced while the rest of us snort with laughter, "That's the spaghetti."

Jack answers earnestly, "Why did you put spaghetti in them?"

(Jack relaxes after breaking his tooth on a spaghetti brownie, Salt Fork, August 1983.)

Thus spaghetti brownies were born. Never again were Luta's Palm Beach brownies known by their proper name. And never again did any of us reach for the flour without considering how spaghetti would taste in whatever we were baking.

I get it now, now that I'm an adult who actually makes the spaghetti brownies, as opposed to when I was a kid who only ate them. I get why Luta didn't want to toss the batch after the pasta infiltrated it. Spaghetti brownies are freaking delicious and the ingredients are significant enough not to want to waste them. A whole tablespoon of vanilla, almond extract, powdered espresso, nearly four cups of sugar, five eggs. A large amount of many good things is what makes the brownies so rich and delectable...too much to throw away just because of some rogue spaghetti on a suicide mission.

++++++

SPAGHETTI BROWNIES

Adapted from Luta Roberts' recipe

Please note that these brownies need to cool for 6-8 hours before you cut them, so plan ahead. They need to be refrigerated and have a wonderfully dense, almost fudge-like, consistency. And, because they are baked in aluminum foil inside the pan, there is no bakeware to clean! Bonus.

8 oz. unsweetened chocolate

8 oz. (2 sticks) unsalted butter

5 large eggs

1 T. vanilla extract

1 t. almond extract

1/4 t. kosher salt

2 1/2 T. instant espresso

3 3/4 c. sugar

1 2/3 c. all-purpose flour

2 c. walnut halves

Place rack in the lower third of the oven. Preheat the oven to 425 degrees Fahrenheit. Invert a 13" x 9" pan on the counter top and shape a piece of aluminum foil over it. Remove, turn the pan upright and place the foil inside the pan. Butter the foil, or spray it with a cooking spray (I like Pam with flour).

In a double boiler or a heat-proof bowl set over a saucepan of simmering water, melt together the chocolate and butter. (When the chocolate and butter have melted together, remove the mixture from heat and set aside to cool slightly.) While the chocolate and butter is melting, place the eggs, vanilla, almond extract, salt, espresso and sugar in the bowl of an electric mixer and beat on medium speed for 10 minutes.

(It was during this 10-minute mix, incidentally, that Luta reached for the flour and a spaghetti fate befell the brownies.)

Add the flour and mix to combine. Add the slightly cooled chocolate-butter mixture and mix again to combine. Remove the bowl from the mixer and stir with a rubber spatula to scrape down the sides and make sure all the ingredients are incorporated. Add the walnuts and stir to combine.

Place the batter in the prepared pan, smoothing the top.

Bake for 20 minutes. Don't bake them any longer than 20 minutes -- they never look "done" and cooking them any longer will result in an over-baked brownie. They are supposed to be fudgy and a little "raw" -- that is their delicious charm. Let cool, in the pan, to room temperature. When the brownies are at room temperature, invert the pan onto a cookie sheet, then turn them right-side up onto another cookie sheet. Wrap the pan in plastic wrap and let them cool an additional 6-8 hours (I cool them in the refrigerator) before cutting.

(Husbands are good for licking bowls. And wearing Snoopy apparel.)

Use a serrated knife to cut, and wipe off the blade between cuts if necessary. Wrap the brownies in wax paper or plastic wrap; do not let them dry out.

Makes 32 brownies, with or without spaghetti.