Bread Baker's Apprentice 18/43: light wheat bread

Please forgive the vulgarity, but I just have to say it: Holy crap! I baked some bread today!


I mean, seriously! I baked bread! It's been so freaking long since the last time I baked bread that I really thought my days of absolutely needing such specialty items as a dough whisk and a couche in my kitchen were over. There wasn't even any good reason for my hiatus. I can't blame lack of time: making homemade bread requires very little active time -- just lots of rising time. I can't blame lack of supplies: my pantry is full of flours, from cake all the way up to high-gluten. I can't blame anything, really, except my sorry-ass self. I forgot how easy -- and how tremendously rewarding -- it is to bake your own bread.


So, back I go to The Bread Baker's Apprentice challenge. I swear I am going to finish this thing, I swear. You see, I attended* a three-night cooking class with Peter Reinhart himself at the Western Reserve School of Cooking in June and was inspired anew to immerse myself in all things yeast. Unfortunately, I was way way pregnant and that inspiration was sapped rather quickly by my need to watch old episodes of "Saved By the Bell" in bed. What can I say.

Peter was awesome, though, and very supportive of The Bread Baker's Apprentice challengers (one of my fellow bakers -- Phyl of Of Cabbages and King Cakes, who very long ago rather impressively completed the challenge -- was also in attendance). I learned a lot during those three nights, but my favorite lesson was the realization that I can totally make these breads just as well as Peter can. The delicious samples he shared with the class were amazing, but not much different than the finished breads that come out of my kitchen. Which is not to say that I am so awesome, but rather to say that Peter is a fabulous teacher whether in person or via the pages of a book. It is also to say: bread-making, while seemingly difficult and often perceived as beyond the scope of everyday home cooking, is completely accessible and easily accomplished with just a small investment of time and patience.


Peter was focused almost solely on his Artisan Breads Every Day book, which emphasizes the no-knead method. Not having any experience with no-knead breads, I was fascinated to see just how much gluten can be developed just with a little time and zero effort. Light bulb! The first night was dedicated to multi-purpose lean dough, challah and sweet dough for cinnamon and sticky buns. The star of night number two was focaccia. And on the last night Reinhart gave us pizza dough. So much pizza dough, topped with everything from caramelized onion marmalade to pesto to fresh Roma tomatoes and bright parsley.



Having already completed part of The Bread Baker's Apprentice challenge prior to the classes, there was a lot in the Peter Reinhart canon that I already knew. But that certainly didn't mean there wasn't a lot to learn. For example:

• Use parchment on your peel. I have yet to master the smooth use of the pizza peel; I dust my peel liberally with corn meal or semolina before placing the pizza dough on it, but I can never get the dough to slide effortlessly onto the pizza stone without making a giant mess. Peter's solution: place parchment on the peel, then add the dough, then slide the whole thing off the peel onto the stone. Well, duh. Why didn't I think of that? Brilliant.
  
  
• Contrast is a powerful culinary principle. I knew there was a reason I liked salty with my sweet, and crispy-crunchy with my soft and tender. It is the reason why I work to create a thick, chewy crust on a loaf of hole-y ciabatta.
  
  
• Whole wheat flour absorbs more water than white flour, so to convert a white flour recipe to whole wheat you'll have to add an extra 8-10% hydration to the mix. Very good to know.
  
  
• The baker's job is to evoke the full potential of flavor that's trapped inside the grain.
  
  
• Peter's definition of baking, oft repeated during the course of the three nights is as follows: "Baking is the application of heat in an enclosed environment for the purpose of driving off moisture."

As interesting and informative as these random tidbits are -- culled from the margins of my class notes -- Peter was at his very best when he was letting his seminarian past shine. A one-time member of a holy order, Peter described the act of baking his breads with spiritual metaphor that is more earthy than preachy. Call it the gospel of grain: "Bread is a transformational food," he says, describing the process of taking the living wheat, grinding and milling the life out of it in the process of making flour, then infusing it anew with yeast. Baking then kills the yeast, creating bread, which we eat to sustain our own lives. In the wrong hands, such metaphor could be annoying. But with Peter, it is passionate and honest and sincere, born of a simple love of bread and respect for wheat that produces some of the best loaves you'll ever taste.


And you know what? Bread is transformational, as much as it is elemental to human existence, nourishment and joy. The very best thing I learned those nights is a practical message that any novice bread baker can appreciate: even if your bread fails, people will still love it because it's homemade. "It is always a hit no matter how it comes out."


*Please note: Dad bought the classes for me for Christmas last year. Let it not be said that I failed to acknowledge him publicly for this awesome, most perfect gift. And not only is he generous, but he's handsome, too!








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So it seems I've used the occasion of the next challenge recipe -- light wheat bread -- to pontificate about Peter in person. Alliteration aside, let me tell you a little about this bread. It's the only loaf I had made prior to starting The Bread Baker's Apprentice challenge, as it's the only recipe in the book that doesn't require more than one day of fermentation. The dough produces a lovely golden sandwich loaf, flecked with whole wheat and ever so slightly sweetened with a touch of honey. The crust is crunchy and firm and the crumb is soft and pocked with small, pleasing holes (see above regarding the importance of contrast).


This is the bread I made when I vowed, oh so long ago, that I would bake all my own bread. I even kept up with it for about a month, churning out a loaf every few days. I need to pick up that habit once again, for light wheat bread is delicious, and satisfying, and easy, and what the hell. Stop reading this and go and bake some.



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The Bread Baker's Apprentice challenge asks that we do not share the recipes for the challenge loaves. However, I have it on good authority that you can find the recipe for Reinhart's light wheat bread on the excellent and lovely Smitten Kitchen blog. I'm just sayin'. However, if you're feeling that now is the time to buy Reinhart's book -- hello, finally here's a bread that can be baked in just one day! -- head on over to Amazon and pick up a copy. The recipe starts on page 181.

Finally, in honor of my triumphant return to bread-baking, I have submitted this here light wheat bread to Yeastspotting.

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Previously, on A Stove With A House Around It:

One year ago: sesame butter cups
Two years ago: pizza Margherita and pizza with sage-walnut pesto and gorgonzola

What I have today

Sometimes I have a dynamite recipe that I want to share, but nothing earth-shattering to say about it. No nostalgic recounting of an event in the kitchen of my youth; no profound connection between the recipe and recent goings-on in my life. No convenient seasonal connection or association with far-flung lands. Just a delicious recipe.


This is one of those times. What I have today is just a recipe. A simple recipe for cookies. Cookies that are crumbly and velvety and melty, but that have nothing groundbreaking to say and harbor no clever metaphor or life lesson. What they lack in inspiring gravitas, however, they make up for in butter and toasty, crispy, teased-with-a-pleasing-hint-of-bitterness walnuts.


These cookies are technically called cream cheese-walnut cookies, but I prefer to call them walnut shortbread. They are shortbready in that awesome shattering-with-butter way that brings a tear of joy to my eye as only shortbread can. The toasted walnuts emerge from the buttery crumb, wedged perfectly in the cookie, asserting their own nutty selves. It is a match made in heaven: butter fat with walnut oil. I'm kind of drooling a little right now as I write this.


Thankfully this recipe makes two logs of dough -- one you can bake right away and share with family and friends. You can even take some of them to your dog's vet's office, as I did, because vets deserve treats for safeguarding our best friends. You can then freeze the second dough log and save it for a rainy day: tuck it under your arm and take it over to a friend's house for fresh-baked cookies when they're least expected; or wait until you have to write about them, start to drool, then realize you still have the second log in the freezer, just waiting to be sliced and baked.


Some for now, some for later. Not necessarily profound, but always delicious.



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WALNUT SHORTBREAD
Adapted from Martha Stewart Living


4 c. all-purpose flour
1 1/4 t. kosher salt
1 lb. (4 sticks) unsalted butter, at room temperature
6 oz. cream cheese, at room temperature
1 1/4 c. sugar
2 T. plus 1/2 t. pure vanilla extract
2 1/2 c. walnut halves (1 1/2 c. toasted and chopped, 1 c. finely chopped)


Preheat the oven to 325 degrees Fahrenheit. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper or a Silpat; set aside.


Place 1 1/2 c. of chopped walnuts on a third baking sheet and toast until brown and aromatic, 6-8 minutes. Remove the walnuts from the oven and set aside.

Whisk together the flour and salt in a large bowl; set aside.

Place butter and cream cheese in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment. Mix on medium speed until pale and fluffy, about 2 minutes. Mix in the sugar and vanilla. Reduce the speed to low and add the flour mixture. Mix until just combined; do not over-mix. Add the toasted walnuts and mix until just combined.

Transfer dough to a clean work surface and divide in half. Shape each piece into a 8 1/2-inch-long log, about 2 inches in diameter. Wrap each log in parchment paper and freeze until firm, about 30 minutes. (If you are going to freeze one of the logs for baking at a later date, wrap it in the parchment followed by two layers of plastic wrap.)

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Remove one log from the freezer and roll in the remaining 1 c. finely chopped walnuts, coating completely. Cut the log into 1/4-inch rounds. Transfer the rounds to the prepared parchment-lined baking sheets.



Bake, rotating halfway through, until the cookies are just golden around the edges, 18-20 minutes. Do not over-bake! Transfer to wire racks and let cool completely. Repeat the process with the remaining dough on cooled baking sheets (or freeze the remaining dough until later).


Consume, preferably all in one sitting. Forget what I said earlier about sharing them with your dog's vet.


Makes about 4 dozen cookies.


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Previously, on A Stove With A House Around It:

One year ago: French bread
Two years ago: sibling rivalry chicken noodle soup

In the middle of the night

There is something really, really awesome about the Australian Football League. The rules are nearly impossible to grasp, especially to a foreigner like me. (It's not as incomprehensible as cricket, but it's close.) The players tackle each other with abandon, yet nobody wears helmets or pads. The field is elliptical, and there is something called a "behind" which is worth fewer points than a goal. To figure the final score, one has to do math. ("As an example of a score report, consider a match between St Kilda Football Club and the Sydney Swans. St Kilda's score of 15 goals and 11 behinds equates to 101 points. Sydney's score of eight goals and ten behinds equates to a 58 point tally. St Kilda wins the match by a margin of 43 points. Such a result would be written as 'St Kilda 15.11 (101) defeated Sydney Swans 8.10 (58)' and said 'St Kilda fifteen eleven, one hundred and one defeated Sydney Swans eight ten, fifty-eight.'" Solve for x to determine how many behinds your team scored.) The players wear tall socks, often striped. Their supporters sit in the stands wearing fashionable scarves in team colors. And the most crazy business of all? If the teams tie -- even in the Grand Final -- they play a rematch a week later.


So last week, my dear friend Nate's beloved St. Kilda Saints played their hearts out in the Grand Final, only their seventh appearance in the final in their 113-year history. They've only won once, in 1966 (reminds me of a certain Cleveland baseball franchise). And true to the madness of AFL, last week the Saints came from behind, scoring enough behinds, to force a tie against the hated Collingwood Magpies. (The last time there was a tie was in 1977.) It was a freaking awesome game, with a shocking result that left the 100,016 people in the Melbourne Cricket Ground totally silent. And Husband and I were sitting here in Ohio, in the middle of the night, watching the game live and eating homemade meat pies.


Because when you're watching a quintessentially Australian sport, you want to be eating a quintessentially Australian snack. (And drinking a quintessentially Australian beer.) Though my homemade pies were not exactly the same as, say, a Harry's pie, they were a perfectly serviceable and totally delicious approximation. And if you don't mind rolling out shortcrust pastry at midnight, you can even make them to enjoy during the few live footy matches that ESPN airs in this country. The best part of all: the recipe makes eight pies, so you just might have a few left over that you can stash in the freezer, unbaked, to whip out the next week in the event of a Grand Final rematch.



Go Saints!


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HOMEMADE MEAT PIES
Adapted from Delicious. magazine; shortcrust pastry from The Cook's Companion, by Stephanie Alexander


I made half of these pies with ground beef and beef stock, and half with ground turkey and chicken stock. And, OK, so I've never seen a turkey pie in Australia. But I don't eat beef (for the most part), and I did a little substituting. Please don't revoke my imaginary Australian passport.

Note: apologies for the strange measurements. I had to convert from metric.

One more note: you'll need 8 disposable pot pie tins for this recipe. I find mine in the baking aisle of the supermarket.


For the shortcrust pastry:

16 1/2 oz. all-purpose flour
Big pinch of kosher salt12 1/2 oz. unsalted butter, chilled
1/2 c. water


Sift the flour and salt directly onto a work surface. Using a box grater, grate the chilled butter into the flour mixture (or you can chop the butter into small pieces and add it to the flour mixture, but honestly, it's randomly fun to grate butter). Toss the butter pieces lightly in the flour, lightly rubbing to combine partly.


Make a well in the center of the flour mixture and pour in the water. Using a pastry scraper, work the water into the flour until you have a very rough heap of buttery lumps of dough. Using the heel of your hand, smear the pastry away from you across the workbench; this will slowly bring the dough together. (It does work; be patient.) Don't knead the dough, you want to just bring it together. Kneading it will develop the gluten too much and create a tough -- instead of tender and flaky -- pastry.


Divide the dough in half and form each half into a flat disc. Dust the discs with a little flour and wrap with plastic wrap. Refrigerate at least 20-30 minutes, or until ready to use.



For the meat pies:

1 T. vegetable oil
1 onion, finely chopped
1 garlic clove, minced
1 lb. ground beef
1/4 c. all-purpose flour
1 1/2 c. beef stock
1/4 c. tomato puree
2 1/2 T. Worcestershire sauce
1 T. soy sauce
1/2 t. dried parsley
1/2 t. dried thyme
1/2 t. dried oregano
4 sheets store-bought puff pastry
1 batch shortcrust pastry (recipe above)
1 egg, beaten
Ketchup (optional), to serve
Your favorite mashed potatoes (optional), to serve



Heat the oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the onion and cook for 5 minutes, stirring often. Add the garlic and beef and cook for an additional 15-20 minutes until the meat has completely browned. Stir in the flour and cook for 2 minutes. Add the stock and stir to deglaze the pan. Add the tomato puree, Worcestershire sauce, soy sauce and dried herbs. Cover and cook for 15 minutes, stirring often to break up any large lumps of meat. (If the pan gets too dry, feel free to add a little more stock.) Set aside to cool completely.

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit. Using the circumference of the pot pie tins as a guide, cut 8 rounds of the puff pastry dough. Set aside.
Roll out the shortcrust pastry to about 1/4-inch thick, flouring the work surface and the rolling pin as needed to prevent sticking. Turn over one of the pot pie tins onto the dough and cut about 1 inch beyond the tin's circumference with a knife. Place the shortcrust pastry round into the pot pie tin, then repeat with the remaining 8 pies. (You might have to re-roll the pastry scraps; this is fine but try to be as gentle as possible with the dough to avoid over-working it.)


Add the meat to the pies, filling them to the top.


Top the pies with the reserved puff pastry rounds, pinching round the edge to seal as best as possible. Brush the pies with the beaten egg then, using a paring knife, cut a small slit in the top of each pie to allow it to vent in the oven.


Place the pies on baking sheets and bake for 25 minutes until golden.

Serve with a few scoops of mashed potatoes and a little ketchup on top. Then, watch the footy.



Makes 8 pies.


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Previously, on A Stove With A House Around It:

One year ago: oregano baked chicken dinner
Two years ago: zatar crackers with ful medames

Using nothing more

This is my reality right now:

(1) The garden, which Husband planted and maintained during my pregnancy this summer, is overflowing with gorgeous ripe tomatoes and tiny but flavorful red and yellow onions.



(2) My eyes always seem to be bigger than my stomach, and I purchase more delicious crusty bakery bread than we can eat before it gets stale.

(3) I like to cook with things I have on hand, things which will go bad otherwise. It makes me feel frugal, and wise, and enterprising.

(4) I don't have a hell of a lot of time to cook at this very moment.


You can imagine my pleasure, then, when it occurred to me that I could make a very quick and very delicious dinner using nothing more than our tomatoes, our onions, our back porch basil and that half-loaf of rustic bread that's been sitting on the counter since last Friday. It hit on all four of my current realities beautifully: made entirely of produce we grew ourselves (I say "we;" I should say "Husband"), a way to tastily salvage the stale bread and use ingredients on hand and, finally, fast. I made it while the baby slept, nary a peep escaping his teeny lips before the meal was complete.


Now if I had made this salad using a loaf of my own home-baked bread, my head might have exploded. But I'll have to save that thrill for another time.



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TOMATO AND BREAD SALAD WITH RICOTTA
Adapted from Everyday Food magazine


I could call this "panzanella," but I am not full-time fancy.


Half a loaf of day-old crusty bread (about 1/2 lb.), cubed into large chunks
About 2 lbs. of fresh tomatoes, cubed into large chunks
1/2 a large (or 1 small) red onion, sliced thinly
3 T. red wine vinegar
3 T. olive oil, plus more for drizzling
Sea salt, to taste
Freshly-cracked black pepper, to taste
1 c. fresh basil leaves, torn or chopped roughly
15 oz. ricotta cheese


Preheat the oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit. Place the bread cubes on a baking sheet (with NO oil) and bake until browned, 15-20 minutes. Set aside.


In a large bowl, combine the tomatoes, onion, vinegar, oil and salt and pepper to taste. When the bread has cooled, add it to the tomato mixture along with the basil. Stir to combine, then let sit for about 15 minutes to allow the tomato juices to soften the hard bread cubes.


Serve with a few spoonfuls of ricotta cheese, a drizzle of olive oil and a little more salt and pepper to taste.



Serves 6.


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Previously, on A Stove With A House Around It:

One year ago: I was eating damper bread with golden syrup in the Northern Territory
Two years ago: roasted tomato marinara

I can somehow write about corn ice cream

I don't know in what convoluted world I live, but cooking and blogging were nearly impossible feats while I was pregnant. However, now that I am the mother of a newborn, well, cooking remains elusive but the ability to blog has somehow reappeared. I shall not question why -- when (in retrospect) I had all the time in the world -- I couldn't update this space to save my life, but now that I can't find time to eat a peach I can somehow write about corn ice cream. Mysteries, all of it.


First, the news: I am absolutely thrilled to announce the arrival of my son, Michael, who entered this world in search of a good meal on August 18. He has a full head of dark hair, and something that the Cleveland Clinic nurses referred to as a "lusty" cry. He is a tiny peanut, and I cannot believe that he is finally here. To celebrate his arrival, I would like to share the dessert I made for his father's birthday this past July 4.


The blueberry-corn ice cream sundae seemed the perfect treat for someone born at the height of summer. Blueberries are in season, ripe and lovely, get them before the birds eat them off the bush. The corn, at least in these parts, is "knee-high by the 4th of July," with early sweet crops making their way to market at local farms. I couldn't think of a better or more unique confection with which to celebrate Husband's birthday. How I managed to make the component parts from scratch while large in girth and slow on my feet from advancing pregnancy I'll never know. Suffice it to say: the blueberry-corn ice cream sundae is love, and I love Husband.


As the warm summer days begin to wane, take advantage of the markets before they close for the season and stock up on some corn and blueberries. Then spend a day or so puttering about in the kitchen, making corn ice cream and blueberry compote. Finally, invite over some people whom you really love. Dish up this creamy yellow and purple layered gorgeousness in a tall parfait glass and toast, well, whatever. Someone's birthday. Labor Day. The imminent return of Glee. You could even toast your own awesomeness at making corn ice cream. Whatever it takes.

For us, with our corn ice cream still left in the freezer, we'll be toasting Michael.



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BLUEBERRY-CORN ICE CREAM SUNDAES
Adapted from Nancy Olson, Gramercy Tavern


Note: the ice cream base has to chill overnight before being placed in your ice cream maker, so please plan accordingly.


For the sweet corn ice cream:

6 c. fresh sweet corn kernels (from about 6 ears), cobs reserved
4 c. milk
2 c. heavy cream
6 T. light corn syrup
1 vanilla bean, split and scraped
1 1/8 c. sugar
12 large egg yolks
1 1/2 t. pure vanilla extract
1/2 t. kosher salt


For the mini cornbread muffins (optional, for garnish):

3/4 c. all-purpose flour
1/2 c. fine yellow cornmeal
1 1/2 t. baking powder
1/2 t. kosher salt
1/4 c. sugar
2 T. unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 T. honey
1 T. pure maple syrup
1 large egg
1/2 c. milk
1 1/4 c. fresh sweet corn kernels (from about 1 1/2 ears)
2 t. turbinado sugar


For the blueberry-corn compote:

2 1/2 c. blueberries
1/4 c. + 2 T. sugar
1 1/4 c. fresh sweet corn kernels (from about 1 1/2 ears)


For the toffee popcorn:

1/3 c. sugar
3 T. unsalted butter, plus more for bowl
About 6 c. popped popcorn (go for an unbuttered/unsalted variety if using microwave popcorn)
2 T. light corn syrup
1/4 t. pure vanilla extract
1/4 t. kosher salt


For the black pepper whipped cream:

1/3 c. heavy cream
1 t. powdered sugar
1/8 t. freshly-ground black pepper


At least one day before you wish to serve the sundaes, make the ice cream. Set a large bowl in an ice-water bath; set aside. In a large saucepan, bring the corn kernels, corn cobs, 3 1/2 c. of the milk, heavy cream, corn syrup, vanilla bean seeds and pod and sugar to a boil over medium heat. Cook, stirring, to prevent the sugar from sticking to the bottom of the pan.



In a large bowl, whisk together the egg yolks and remaining 1/2 c. milk until well combined. Remove the corn mixture from the heat; slowly add about 1/3 of the hot corn mixture to the egg yolk mixture, tempering them, whisking well to combine. Pour the egg mixture back into the saucepan with the corn cob mixture, stirring constantly. Return the saucepan to medium-high heat. Stirring constantly, cook until this custard mixture coats the back of a wooden spoon, 4 to 5 minutes. Stir in the vanilla extract and salt.

Pour the custard mixture into the bowl set over the ice-water bath; let cool completely. Transfer the custard mixture to the refrigerator and chill overnight.

The next day, remove the corn cobs from the custard mixture, squeezing them well to extract as much liquid as you can. Discard the cobs.


Transfer the custard mixture to the work bowl of a food processor; process until smooth. Strain through a fine wire mesh strainer, discarding solids.


Transfer the custard mixture to an ice cream maker and freeze according to the manufacturer's directions. Keep the ice cream frozen in an airtight container until ready to use.

If using, make the mini cornbread muffins. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Butter 20 1/4-cup muffin tins; set aside.

In a medium bowl, whisk together flour, cornmeal, baking powder and salt; set aside.

In a large bowl, mix together sugar and butter; stir in honey and maple syrup until well combined. Add egg and continue mixing until well combined. Alternately add flour mixture and milk to sugar mixture, mixing well after each addition and beginning and ending with the flour mixture. Stir in corn kernels until just combined.

Fill prepared muffin cups 3/4 full with batter; sprinkle tops with turbinado sugar. Transfer to oven and bake until tops are golden brown, about 14 minutes. Let cool slightly in pans before removing and cooling completely on wire racks. Store in an airtight container until ready to serve alongside the ice cream sundaes.


Next, make the blueberry-corn compote. Place 1 1/2 c. blueberries and sugar in a medium heavy-bottomed saucepan and cook over medium-high heat, stirring constantly and pressing on berries until they burst and the mixture begins to look syrupy. Add corn kernels, stir to combine and immediately remove from heat.


Stir in the remaining cup of blueberries. Transfer to an airtight container and refrigerate until cool, up to 24 hours.

Make the popcorn. Line a baking sheet with a Silpat; set aside. Butter a large bowl and add popped popcorn; set aside.

Heat sugar, 3 T. butter and corn syrup in a medium heavy-bottomed saucepan over low heat until butter and sugar melt. Increase heat to medium and cook, stirring, until sugar mixture becomes golden brown. Remove from heat and carefully add vanilla and salt, taking care because the mixture may splatter slightly. Pour the sugar mixture over the popcorn and stir quickly until popcorn is coated.

Turn the popcorn out onto the prepared baking sheet, working quickly to separate kernels as much as possible. Let cool completely. Transfer popcorn to an airtight container until ready to use, up to one week.


Make the whipped cream. Place all whipped cream ingredients in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the whisk attachment. Whisk until soft peaks form. Transfer to an airtight container and refrigerate until ready to use.

FINALLY! Assemble the ice cream sundaes. Place two spoonfuls of the blueberry-corn compote into a large parfait glass. Top with two scoops of corn ice cream. Add a handful of toffee popcorn to each glass and top with another scoop of ice cream. Top with another spoonful of compote and a dollop of whipped cream. Garnish with a little more toffee popcorn and a mini cornbread muffin; serve immediately.



Makes 6 sundaes, with some corn ice cream left over for good measure.


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Previously, on A Stove With A House Around It:

One year ago: English muffins
Two years ago: homegrown tomato salad with feta and cracked black pepper