Rhubarb Granola & Vanilla-Orange Rhubarb Sauce

I did not grow up in a family of cooks.  My favorite cooking memory with my grandma involved making pumpkin pie with the recipe from the back of the Libby’s can.  She advised me to cut the spices in half.  When I didn’t, she told me it was the best pumpkin pie she’d ever had and wondered what magical thing I had done.

My mom, bless her, taught me how to cook and then promptly let me loose in the kitchen to continue making years of dinner onward, up until I moved away.  Whenever I’m home for a visit, the status quo is accepted without question.  Perhaps out of survival, or because I’m an odd duck in this family of ranchers, I’ve been fascinated with food since before I was taught how to use a measuring cup.  Knife skills were a self-educating adventure, and only when I come home am I reminded that I had no idea what I’d been missing out on all those years.

Sharp knives have never had a place in my mom’s kitchen.  I ventured to stock her kitchen with one or two nice knives a few years back, though they’ve not been sharpened since.  The rest of the knife drawer includes a random collection that couldn’t have cost more than five bucks a piece.  Now that I know the wonders of a good knife, I shudder at slicing and dicing in my mother’s kitchen.

I am home with my parents and W for a few days, in between life ventures and to help celebrate my sister’s wedding.  As much as I complain and paint an unfortunate picture, I love being home.  I get to wake up to noise from family afoot.  I get to sit in a sunny yellow room with windows on every wall, opening to a ranch scene of cows and pasture and rail fence and my favorite old barn, the one that is leaning a fair bit.  I get to drink my tea in this room and enjoy breakfast with others.  I can sit out on the front porch in the Adirondack chair and watch the day go by (more of the same scenery).  I can do the same on the back patio.  My favorite running route begins at this farmhouse.  My old 4-H horse will run my direction for a rub when I call her from the edge of the pasture.  I can bake sweets every day, knowing they won’t go to waste and I can start again with something new the next.  I can be as adventurous as I like because if it has sugar in it, my dad will eat it.  I can wander to the garden, and harvest what I want to eat.

My mother is an avid gardener, and there is always fresh produce in this season.  Perhaps in part because I steal rhubarb every time I visit in the spring, my mom planted several more plants.  She is a veritable rhubarb farmer now, as there is an excess that only someone who loves to spend time in the kitchen can begin to use up.  That’s what I’m here for.  Chopping thick stalks of rhubarb with a dull knife.  Making rhubarb sauce and rhubarb granola.

There is nothing I love more than rhubarb and oats.  Except perhaps the rhubarb yogurt pairing found in Ireland.  Make sauce with honey and orange and vanilla.  I’ve been making it all spring and dishing it up atop anything and everything.  I like my sauce a touch on the tart side, but add as much honey as you like.  The sauce is perfectly poised to take part in this lovely crunchy, chunky granola, which come to think of it, I may or may not share, because my dad, who also loves rhubarb, will have gone before I can blink!

Vanilla-Orange Rhubarb Sauce

a pot full of rhubarb, cleaned and chopped (approximately 8 big stalks)

1 Tbs. pure vanilla extract (or a vanilla bean if one can be sourced)

zest from one whole orange

3-4 Tbs. raw honey (or to taste)

 

Chop rhubarb and throw in a large pot.  Add honey, orange zest, vanilla, and a touch of water for moisture. Bring to a low boil, and then simmer until the rhubarb has cooked down until thick and creamy. Take off the heat and let cool.

 

Rhubarb Granola

3 cups old-fashioned oats

1 1/2 tsp. pure vanilla extract

1/2 cup raw almonds, lightly toasted and chopped

1/2 cup raw Hazelnuts, lightly toasted and chopped

3 Tbs. extra virgin olive oil

3 Tbs. raw honey

about 3/4 cup Rhubarb Sauce

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.  In a sauté pan, lightly toast almonds and Hazelnuts and then take off heat to cool slightly.  Measure out three cups oats and pour into a mixing bowl.  Measure out vanilla, honey, oil and rhubarb sauce.  Mix until combined and then pour into oats.  Add toasted nuts and mix until combined.  Add more sauce as needed until the mixture is at the desired consistency.  Spoon into a baking sheet and bake for about 15-20 minutes, stirring half way through.

Carrot Orange Corn-Flour Waffles

“The heart decides, and what it decides is all that really matters.” – Paulo Coelho

As a teenager, suffering through the angst of star-crossed infatuations, I ran. Though not a runner then, not adept at sports, without the proper shoes, I’d run the dirt paths behind the horse pasture, round the fields of corn and alfalfa, dodging animal tracks and farmers.  I’d often run away my worries, my frustrations, replacing them with a colorful imagination of the reality I wanted to exist.  In college, I learned from my phys ed prof, dubbed “Lance” by the farm boys in my class, that it takes five years to make a habit a lifestyle. Seven years later, I’m still running.  Running away my worries.  Running away my frustrations, gaining a better perspective, creating a new reality.

This last few months, running has been my guidebook.  Hours away from W for weeks at a time, too often feeling like an island of one, I’ve ran and made waffles.  And been humbled.  I have done things I didn’t think I could. I have stumbled and cried, been disrespected in small, countless ways, been left speechless. Hit roadblocks.  I have laughed uncontrollably.  I have pushed and stirred, over-analyzed, lost sleep, pulled a zillion gray hairs, and gone a bit mental.

I’ve been encouraged and let down. Too often, of my own subconscious volition, I stood at the edge of a circle looking in. Wanting to both jump towards acceptance and run towards a calling I cannot explain.  Hours, weeks, months convincing myself to feel something that my heart long ago gave up.  Getting close to the end, I worry again.  I had a standard; did I uphold it?  Did I demand all that I should have?  Did I reach those that needed to be reached?  Was there real progress made?

At the end of the day when I’m less frustrated, when my run is complete, and those waffles have been devoured, I reach for a broader perspective.  In a tough position, I am making the most of it.  I could do more. But my heart has decided, and what it decides…is all that really matters.

Carrot and Corn-Flour Waffles, adapted from Good to the Grain

Dry Mix:

3/4 cup corn flour

3/4 cup gf flour mix, or all-purpose flour

3 Tbs. ground flaxseed

2 Tbs. brown sugar

1/2 Tbs. baking powder

1/2 Tbs ground ginger

3/4 tsp. salt

 

Wet Mix:

1 cup carrot-orange juice

3 oz. almond milk, plus more if needed

1 1/2 Tbs. extra virgin olive oil

zest of half an orange

1 egg

• Turn the waffle iron on high.  Adjust as needed as cooking progresses.
• Sift the dry ingredients together in large bowl.  Set aside.
• Whisk the wet ingredients together in a small bowl.  Pour the wet mixture into the dry mixture.
• Brush the waffle iron, as needed, with additional oil.  Ladle out batter and cook until fluffy and done.
• If available, top with freshly picked strawberries, and savor over a cozy spring meal.

Candied-Ginger Rhubarb Buckle

“It takes three things to succeed at that higher level, Rebecca:  Intelligence, drive, and passion.  There is no doubt you have the first two.  But I question your passion.  You’ve haven’t shown a true interest in anything…”

For the past three years, I have been almost-daily haunted by this statement from my major professor, stated during my masters defense.  After all this time, tossing ideas back and forth, wandering semi-aimlessly in the desert of post-college jobs, I finally can see the pieces coming into focus.   I’m slowly coming out of denial and attempting to own up to my dreams, my desires, yes, even my passions.

The clouds and the mist are evaporating slowly.  The pieces are finally in focus.  This is who I am.  There’s a list of things that incite a fury of passionate opinion, cause a burst into dozens of directions, spinning my thoughts so fast the words cannot catch up.  Because I’m not one to want to stop once I’ve gotten started, I am longing to shove the remaining clouds out of my way, jam the puzzle pieces together  and get to living “passionately.”  Finally.

The pieces won’t fit.   Fury, disenchantment, resentment.  The edges are all mismatched and wrong.  I know I’m getting there.  But the process is so blasted slow.  Come on, I’m thinking.  And then I return to the two mantras that continue to keep me going:  “Don’t push the river,” a Zen phrase.  And a piece of Fr Ignacio’s homily from years ago:  ”When you ask and there’s no answer, just keep rowing.”   

Rowing. And rowing and rowing.  Waiting.  Listening.  Still here, doing the same.  Watching the seasons change.  Embracing each new one as it comes, trying to not focus on the speed of passing time and the status quo.  Meanwhile, I’ll make rhubarb buckle.  Candied ginger.  Spring.  Embracing one of those passions that three years ago, I was too afraid to share.  There’s progress, after all.

Candied-Ginger Rhubarb Buckle, adapted from Dishing Up Oregon

For Crumb:

1/4 cup gluten-free flour

1/4 sugar

1/4 cup finely chopped candied ginger

2 Tbs. raw coconut oil, melted

 

For Buckle:

1 3/4 cups gluten-free flour

2 tsp. ground ginger

1 tsp. baking powder

1/2 tsp. baking soda

1/2 cup (4 0z.) raw coconut oil, softened slightly

1 cup sugar

2 eggs

3/4 cup almond milk with 1 tsp. white vinegar

3/4 lb. rhubarb, cleaning and sliced into 1/2-inch slices

 

1. Make the candied ginger crumb.  Mix the flour, sugar, and candied-ginger into a small bowl.  Mix in the melted coconut oil with spoon until nice and crumbly.  Cover and chill in the fridge until ready to use.

2. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.  Coat a 9-inch round cake dish with a thin layer of oil.  Set aside.

3. Make the buckle.  Whisk the flour, ginger, baking soda, baking powder, and salt together in a small bowl.  Set aside.

4. Cream the remaining coconut oil together with the sugar, until light and fluffy.  Mix in the eggs.

5.  Add the milk and flour mixture, alternating between the two, until mixture is just combined.  Gently fold in the rhubarb.

6.  Spoon batter into the prepared cake pan.  Sprinkle the candied-ginger crumb evenly over the batter.  Bake until the top is golden and firm, about 45 minutes.  Cool approximately 30 minutes prior to serving.

Olive-Raisin Roasted Cauliflower

Standing over the cutting board, slicing olive flesh off the pits, I am drawn to contemplation once more.  My heart has felt heavy these last few weeks. For me, late winter has typically been a time of drawing in, folding the blankets of life around me, closing the curtains, blocking out drafts.  For whatever reason, this time of year leads me to risk less, to soak in my quiet hours of solitude, to ignore phone calls and invitations.  I have fallen into this pattern once more, and am in need of getting out of my head, putting my energy to use on a cause less related to my own.  I am reminded of my current tasks, the most important to listen for answers, though the urgency of the everyday often fiddles the knobs on my ears and speeds up the actions of my feet.

Yesterday was a warm and sunny late-winter afternoon.  School was finally out for the week, spring break just around the corner.  Ready for some dialing in to the right listening frequency and slowing down of the feet, I longingly looked out the window, ready to feel the sun.  Then a forceful acknowledgement fell suddenly into my lap.  There are lives more challenged; basic needs going unmet.   My own circle of worries bumps into other circles; they are stretched further, weighted far heavier than my own.

In this moment, I willingly set aside my worries of the day-to-day.  I set aside the fact that I cannot control the actions and decisions of others.  I’m drawn back to focus on listening.  Though I wish it weren’t so, these things happen for a reason.  Time, patience, understanding.  Smoothing the blankets.  Opening the curtains to let in the light, thoughts flow brighter filtered through golden rays.  There it is, spring is on it’s way.

Olive-Raisin Roasted Cauliflower, adapted from Plenty

Juice from half an orange

1/2 a head of cauliflower, chopped

1/2 a medium onion, chopped

1/4 cup mixed olives, pitted and diced

1 large or 2 small bay leaves

1/4 cup raisins

1 1/2 Tbs. garlic-infused olive oil

Sea salt and ground black pepper, to taste

small handful fresh parsley, minced

• Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F.  In an medium-size oven-proof casserole dish, pour in the orange juice.  Toss in the remaining ingredients, except the parsley. Cover with foil and transfer to the oven. 
• Bake for about 40 minutes, or until the cauliflower is tender, but still a bit firm.
• Take from the oven, uncover, and allow to cool down for a few minutes.  Stir in the parsley, and adjust seasoning as needed.
• Serve warm or at room temperature.

Bacon-Balsamic Radicchio Risotto

This post might be more appropriately titled, “Falling in Love over Risotto”, since in a way, I actually did.  Having not eaten risotto until grad school, I decided I was going to make it for W for Valentine’s day.  He ended up doing most of the work.  It was the best risotto we’ve had, likely in part because it took hours to make the broth, and because it was the first time we worked together to prepare an elaborate meal and bring it to the table.

Since then, we’ve shared countless risotto versions, from a truly romantic night out abroad to a frugal meal needing few ingredients, at home.  I’ve loved them all.  This version, I’ve been meaning to make for ages, as it showcases my new favorite winter green, radicchio.  Though radicchio is not actually green, it does fall under that category, as a member of the chicory family.  Radicchio is fairly bitter, and pairs very nicely with sweet balsamic vinegar and nearly-caramelized onions.  Add bacon to that trio and this risotto truly fits the winter-comfort food category.

If you’ve been in need of comfort lately, as I have, consider spending some quality time making risotto this week.  For me, whiling away an hour or so in the kitchen brings real solace from the rest of the world’s wearies.  Enjoy.

Bacon-Balsamic Radicchio Risotto, adapted from Dishing Up Oregon

3 strips thick-cut bacon, diced into 1/4-inch pieces 

1 head radicchio, diced

2 large shallots, diced

1/4 cup plus 2 Tbs. balsamic vinegar

2 Tbs. brown sugar

1 small handful raisins

4 cups chicken or vegetable broth

2 Tbs. reserved bacon fat

1/4 cup finely diced broth

1/4 cup finely diced yellow onion

1 cup Arborio rice

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

• Cook the bacon in a large skillet over medium-low heat until crisp.  Take out of pan and drain off extra bacon fat.  Reserve for cooking risotto.  Add the bacon back to the skillet along with the radicchio and shallots and cook until the radicchio wilts, about 2 minutes.  Add 2 tablespoons of the vinegar, the brown sugar, and the raisins.  Continue cooking, covered, over medium-low heat, stirring occasionally, until the radicchio is tender and slightly jammy, about 20 minutes.
• Meanwhile prepare broth by warming it over a medium saucepan.
• Heat another large skillet over medium heat with 2 tablespoons reserved bacon fat.  Add onions and fennel bulb.  Cook until softened, about 5 minutes.  Stir in the rice and continue cooking, stirring occasionally, until the grains of rice are opaque, about 2 minutes.
• Stir in the remaining 1/4 cup vinegar to the fennel mixture and cook a couple minutes until vinegar is absorbed.  Ladle 1 cup of the broth into the mixture and simmer, over medium-low heat, until all the broth is absorbed.  Continue to add the broth 1/2 cup at a time until the rice is creamy and tender, and all the additional broth is used up, about 25 minutes.  Stir in the radicchio mixture to the rice.  Season with salt and pepper to taste.  Serve right away.

 

 

Honey Balsamic, Kale & Sirloin Salad

We decorated her hair with kale and magnolia blossoms outside Shari’s restaurant on a lovely spring day, a group of barely teenage 4-H girls, excited to be traveling, and poking fun at a friend with the restaurant’s “plate decor.”  That moment, in the late 90′s, I learned about kale.

Fast forward a dozen or so years, and the sounds of elementary kids in a school cafeteria during summer camp overtakes me.  I walk in the breezy doors and set down my supplies.  My co-workers are already mid-spiel, whipping up banana, almond milk, blueberry, and kale smoothies.  “Hulk smoothies”, all the young minds call them, and they have never been so excited to eat their greens.  “We love Hulk smoothies,” they clamor.

My husband, W, asking me, what is that big green stuff?  “Kale”, I say, “all the kids love it.”  Skeptical, but open to what he now knows is more likely tasty than not, he tries it.  “If restaurants would make these sort of salads,” he says, “more people would eat them.”  I couldn’t agree more.

In the past year and a half, we’ve gone from just knowing about kale– that there was some hype in that area of the vegetable world– to eating it all the time.  Growing it on the patio, even.  Growing it at school, where even the high school students like the idea of crunchy spinach, as they have nicknamed it.

While we love kale in pasta, this salad, with honey and balsamic vinegar, raisins, and grilled sirloin, is perfect for this January season, when after the holidays we crave both fresh and clean, comforting and filling.  Even more so if tossed in with a bit of caramelized onion, this salad accomplishes both.

Honey Balsamic Kale & Sirloin Salad, adapted from Bon Appetit 

1 Tbs. raisins

4 Tbs. white or dark balsamic vinegar, divided

1 Tbs. rice vinegar

1 Tbs. raw honey

1 Tbs. extra-virgin olive oil

1 tsp. salt

1 bunch Kale, preferable Tuscan, center ribs removed, and leaves diced

8-12 ounces sirloin steak

caramelized onions, if desired

• Place raisins in a small bowl; drizzle 2 Tbs. balsamic over them and let them soak while you’re prepping the kale.
• Whisk remaining 2 Tbs. balsamic, rice vinegar, honey, oil and salt in a large serving bowl.
• Add kale and raisin mixture to bowl.  Toss to coat, and let marinate for 20-30 minutes.  Season with salt and pepper, as needed.
• Season steak with salt and pepper, and grill until cooked to desired doneness.  Let settle for a few minutes, and then slice into long strips.
• Dish kale onto plates, and add steak to the top.  Toss with caramelized onions, if using and serve.

Sourdough Waffles topped with Molasses, Pomegranate and Orange Slices

It’s been months.  My quest for the “just right” gluten-free sourdough waffle recipe is over.  I’ve attempted getting this right so many times I’ve lost track.  Now, not far from where it began, I’ll share.

For whatever reason, I can’t make gluten-free waffles with eggs turn out.  Weird, I think, because that is what makes normal waffles so good.  Neither are there milk products or substitutes of any kind.  They didn’t work to my satisfaction either.  The best part about this recipe is that if you’re not eating gluten-free, you can still make this without a great deal of modification.  So here we have it- super simple if you’re inclined to utilize your sourdough culture.

I find the absolutely best topping right now is a thin smear of apricot jam, a light twirl of molasses and a heaping of satsuma or mandarin oranges and pomegranate seeds.  Weekend perfect.  Enjoy.

Simple Sourdough Waffles, adapted from Alaska Sourdough

1 cup sourdough starter

1 Tbs. sugar

2 Tbs. canola oil

1 Tbs. ground flax seed

2 Tbs. warm water

1/4 tsp. salt

1/2 tsp. baking soda

• In a small dish, mix warm water and flax seed.  Stir to mix and allow to sit for a few minutes to thicken up.
• In a larger mixing bowl, spoon sourdough starter, sugar, oil, salt, and flax mixture.
• In another small dish, mix baking soda a enough warm water to dilute.  Gently stir soda mixture and dump into the rest.  Stir slowly until all mixed up and use immediately on a hot waffle iron.