Snack Pancakes

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by Caroline

Using up leftovers is a rarely an issue in my house, and yet sometimes a recipe looks so good that — even if it’s billed as a way to use up leftovers — I try it out. That’s how I discovered our new favorite winter holiday cookie (the cranberry thumbprint), for which I made an extra batch of cranberry sauce, and now so it is with my new favorite snack pancake.

I don’t know about you, but in our house, pancakes are definitely not just for breakfast. In fact, we frequently rely on extra (or leftover) pancakes as a quick after school snack. This recipe is perfect for that, since it makes a sturdy little pancake that holds up well to snack bags and backpacks, plain or layered with peanut butter and apple slices.

The original recipe calls for cooked quinoa; I regularly cook rice and quinoa together for our dinners, so I used that leftover combination. I expect a cup of plain brown rice would work nicely, too. Also, the original recipe calls for an egg + an egg white, but a single egg yolk is not a leftover I generally use efficiently (egg wash, anyone?) so two whole eggs works just fine, too.

Quinoa Pancakes

1 cup cooked quinoa
3/4 cup all purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon course salt
1 large egg, plus 1 large egg white (or 2 eggs)
1 tablespoon unsalted butter, melted, plus more for skillet
1/4 cup lowfat milk
2 tablespoons pure maple syrup, plus more for serving
fresh fruit or fruit preserves (optional) for serving

Directions

1. In a medium bowl, whisk together quinoa, flour, baking powder, and salt. In another medium bowl, whisk together egg, egg white, butter, milk, and syrup until smooth. Add egg mixture to flour mixture and whisk to combine.
2. Lightly coat a large nonstick skillet or griddle with butter and heat over medium-high. Drop batter by heaping tablespoonfuls into skillet. Cook until bubbles appear on top, 2 minutes. Flip cakes and cook until golden brown on underside, 2 minutes. Wipe skillet clean and repeat with more melted butter and remaining batter (reduce heat to medium if overbrowning). Serve with maple syrup and fresh fruit or preserves if desired.

Tuna + Salad

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by Lisa

Life has been very, very busy around here, and we’ve been eating very fast, easy, unadventurous things. We’ve also eaten out a lot more, which has been a nice change of pace during this busy season.  Last weekend, we went to Martin’s West, one of very favorite local places, where I had an escarole and persimmon salad with walnuts, apples, and andante cheddar cheese. It was spectacular. So, last night, I recreated it at home with what I had on hand.  This is not as good or magical as the version at the restaurant, but it is an excellent winter salad. We ate it, in the spirit of Mark Bittman, with grilled raddichio, alongside a quickly seared tuna topped with capers and the broccoli romanesco left over from the kids’ dinner.

Escarole & Persimmon Salad

  • escarole
  • sliced persimmon
  • walnuts
  • Comte cheese (or, ideally, Andante cheddar)
  • olive oil
  • white balsamic vinegar
  1. Toast the walnuts lightly in a 350 degree oven until fragrant.
  2. Layer persimmon slices over the escarole, shave thin slices of the cheese with a vegetable peeler.
  3. Sprinkle with toasted walnuts.
  4. Season with salt and freshly ground pepper.
  5. Dress with olive oil and white balsamic vinegar.

More Light

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By Lisa

Unknown to us, Caroline & I have the same advent wreath tradition.  We light ours, made with greens from the Redwood tree in our backyard and 3 tealights (3 violet, one rose for Gaudete (orRejoice!) Sunday) every night during this season.   So I will leave you with just this image and a poem by Wallace Stevens which has nothing to do with food, or Advent, but with the power of light in darkness. Which is something I think we all need, and something a candlelit table can sometimes help to provide.

Final Soliloquy Of The Interior Paramour
By Wallace Stevens

Light the first light of evening, as in a room
In which we rest and, for small reason, think
The world imagined is the ultimate good.

This is, therefore, the intensest rendezvous.
It is in that thought that we collect ourselves,
Out of all the indifferences, into one thing:

Within a single thing, a single shawl
Wrapped tightly round us, since we are poor, a warmth,
A light, a power, the miraculous influence.

Here, now, we forget each other and ourselves.
We feel the obscurity of an order, a whole,
A knowledge, that which arranged the rendezvous.

Within its vital boundary, in the mind.
We say God and the imagination are one…
How high that highest candle lights the dark.

Out of this same light, out of the central mind,
We make a dwelling in the evening air,
In which being there together is enough.

Friday Night Lights

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by Caroline

My kids are fascinated by Hanukkah. Everything about the holiday, from its length, to the rituals, the candles and the games and songs, delights them. Eli checked a Hanukkah book out of the library and is working on composing a new Hanukkah song. Meanwhile, although I haven’t fried up any latkes, I’ve found a way to spin our new favorite baked good as a sort-of Hanukkah treat. We share Jewish holidays and traditions with many close friends, and tonight, at a friends’ house for dinner, they’ll get their first chance this year to light the menorah.

At home, we’ve been gathering around our own seasonal candles: the Advent wreath. Somehow we’d gotten out of the habit of candle lit dinners last summer (not only because we had a three year-old living with us, but because early, sunlit summer dinners make candles seem irrelevant), and forgot to bring them back this fall. But I’ll make sure to retain the candles this winter even after I pack away the Advent wreath.

I make one similar to the kind my mom has created for as long as I can remember: a shallow pottery bowl arranged with evergreens and four candles. Mine uses eucalyptus and rosemary from the backyard, and since I couldn’t find nice tapers, I bought tall beeswax votives from the market. Mine is a bit messy and haphazard, but it serves its purpose well. Each night in the four weeks leading up to Christmas, we gather at the table, pause before our meal, and light a candle, adding another one each Sunday. It’s a lovely moment of calm at the close of the day, a nice reminder to slow down.

Ham x (almost) 4

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by Lisa

We’ve been taking a cue from Mark Bittman’s latest book around here and making meat even less of presence than it usually is on our table.   One of the things he suggests is to keep meat as a side course, not the focus of the meal. This is good for the eater and good for the environment.  This week, this strategy happened kind of by accident, but it was terrific: economical, efficient, and versatile.

Remember that ham steak? That’s half of it on the plate. The kids ate only half of that, and the husband and I ate the other half.  The following night, I cooked another quarter, choppped it up, and used it for our baked potato bar. Which was a big hit.

We still didn’t finish it, so the next night that leftover chopped up ham went into a country omelete with chives and cheddar cheese.

And we still had a 1/4 of the ham left.  Kory and I finished it a few nights later with a potato/celery root mash & the left over pan sauce (which I had kept in a glass jar for just this eventuality).  On the side we had roasted beets & puntarelle, and it was a perfect cold winter night’s meal.

That makes 4 meals (3 for 4 people, 1 for 2 people) for about $6 worth of meat, which in this house is an accomplishment.

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