FOOD ON THE FOOD

More Spring Events

I’m trying to get more than 24 hours ahead of the events I post.  Let’s see how I do this time: 

The 11th annual Boston Bakes for Breast Cancer is taking place all next week (May 3-9, Monday thru Sunday) at eateries in and around Boston, including Finale, Flour Bakery, Sofra, Mariposa Bakery, South End Formaggio, Aquitaine, Elephant Walk, Figs, Henrietta’s Table, and Hungry Mother.  Click here for the full list of participating restaurants, which extends well into the ‘burbs.  All proceeds from select desserts benefit breast cancer research and care at nearby Dana-Farber.  And I think we all know someone who might appreciate that.

On Friday, May 7 at 7 p.m., the Boston Museum of Science is hosting Food, Glorious Food: Our Palate vs. Our Planet.  Corby Kummer (The Atlantic Monthly) and Joanne Chang (Flour Bakery, Myers+Chang) join food sustainability expert Helene York in a discussion about balancing our enjoyment of food with the need to maintain a healthy planet.  Corby will also be signing copies of The Joy of Coffee and The Pleasures of Slow Food.  Event is free but seating is limited.  Passes available on first-come-first-served basis in Museum lobby starting at 5:45 p.m. the day of the event.

And, of course, don’t forget Sprout 2010, which helps fund Waltham Fields Community Farm in their important food distribution and education programs.  Event takes place on Saturday, May 8 from 5:30-8:30 p.m. at the Charles River Museum of Industry with food, open bar, live music, and silent auction.  More info here.

No Ice Cream Left Behind

Last week, during the First Grader’s school vacation, my dad took us out for some good, old-fashioned ice cream sundaes at Cabot’s in Newton.  Because my dad was paying, I ordered the biggest thing on the menu: The Brazilian Combo. 

The Brazilian Combo consists of four scoops of my favorite ice creams (coffee, butter pecan, maple walnut, and vanilla) topped with four different sauces (something chocolatey, something caramely, something mapley, and something with rum) and enough whipped cream to give several Brazilians a close shave. 

The waitress warned me of its ridiculous size.  I knew this—I’ve been there before—but, feeling a few pangs of guilt, I asked if they could make it smaller, maybe half the size, but with all the variety.  She said they could, but they’d still have to charge me full price (just shy of $8!). 

So, what do you think, readers?  You know me pretty well.  Did I:

(a) Accept the half-sized, full-priced sundae because: 1) my dad was paying, so who cares; and 2) we should be mindful of not wasting our precious ice cream resources.

(b) Change my mind and get a small hot-fudge sundae instead.  One that doesn’t cost as much as dinner for four in our house.

(c) Demand to know what kind of a fool she thought I was, order the full-sized, full-priced sundae in all its glory, eat half of it, have the waitress wrap the remaining puddle to go, peel out onto Washington St. and rush home to put it in the freezer, then devour the rest of it standing at my counter at 10 o’clock at night despite its compromised refrozen texture and unappetizing appearance, feeling something akin to shame but I won’t admit it and you can’t make me.

(d) All of the above.

And, yes, you will be graded on this.  Be sure to fill in the circles completely with a No. 2 pencil.

Toast: An Excerpt

So about that food anthology I’m in, Primal Picnics, which is being released by Whole World Press this spring, I thought you might be interested in sampling one more essay.  Barry Foy, author of The Devil’s Food Dictionary: A Pioneering Culinary Reference Work Consisting Entirely of Lies, generously offered to share an excerpt from his piece on toast.  I think you’ll find it to be far less idiotic than my Indian pudding contribution!

BARRY FOY 

An excerpt from
“Pioneering the ‘Spread on Toast’ Concept:
A Conversation with Louis-Émile Tartine”

Good afternoon, Monsieur Tartine.
Good afternoon. Is that chair comfortable enough?
It’s perfect, thank you.
May I offer you a drink?
I wouldn’t turn it down!
I’m in the mood for a Campari-soda myself. How does that sound?
Make it two.
Here. I hope that’s strong enough.
I’m sure it’s just right. Say, how about a “toast”?
I beg your pardon? Oh, yes, “toast,” I see. Haha, very droll. You Americans! Cheers, then.
Cheers! Well, should we start?
Whenever you’re ready.
All right. Unesco has declared 2008 “The International Year of Toast.” But frankly, I don’t see what all the fuss is about. I mean, it’s only toast.
Get out of my house!

[Unfortunately, M. Tartine abruptly terminated our interview at this point, and within a month he was dead. The following is the conversation as I imagine it, had things worked out as planned. It combines questions I intended to ask with answers that, based on my reading of various other interviews, I feel confident M. Tartine may well have provided.]

Hello again.
Oh, it’s you.
What a handsome ascot! Where did you get it?
I don’t know. Something my wife picked out. She chooses all my clothes.
I see. Well, where should we start? Maybe you could begin by describing the toast of your childhood.
Certainly; I remember it as if it were yesterday. In those days, bear in mind, the word “toast” referred merely to plain, roasted bread.
Any particular type of bread?
It varied. Given a choice, obviously, everyone would have eaten fine white loaves, but in reality only the upper classes could afford them. Working families such as mine ate darker, heavier breads made of rye and other coarse flours.
Was it always eaten toasted?
Oh, my, no! Who would have had time for that?
I don’t follow you.
Don’t forget that this was long before the home kitchen was a showroom for all manner of gadget and appliance, as it is now. When I was young, only the rich had a ready means of toasting bread at home.
So how did you do it?
We didn’t. That was the baker’s job. His oven was the only reliable source of heat in town.
You mean you bought the bread already toasted?
No. It worked like this: You’d buy a loaf from the baker and take it home. Then, when you wanted toast, you’d cut off the desired number of pieces and take them back to him to be toasted. Being the youngest child, I was usually assigned this errand. As the bread toasted, I and dozens of other children waited in a cluster outside the bakery door.
So then you’d take the toast home?
Yes. But one had to run as fast as possible, before it could cool. Unluckily for me, I wasn’t a particularly fast runner, and I received many brutal beatings from my father for bringing him lukewarm toast. My father was a remarkable man.
Tell me more about your father.
Get out of my house!

[TWO DAYS LATER]

Hello.
I’m sorry—have we met?
Yes, I was here two days ago. You were telling me about bringing toast from the bakery as a child.
I’ll take your word for it.
I’m curious as to why people wanted their bread toasted in the first place.
Why? Goodness knows. I’ve never given it any thought.
Were the breads of that era more flavorful toasted, maybe?
Not really. In fact, they were far tastier fresh. Come to think of it, I suppose it was a matter of texture.
Texture?
Good toast has a very pleasing crunchiness about it, wouldn’t you agree?
I guess so, but...
People today have no idea how rare crunchiness used to be! It seems as if everything’s crunchy now: potato chips, cookies, candy bars. There’s crunch everywhere you look. But in those days, yes, we had crispness, plenty of crispness—celery, apples, that sort of thing—but real crunch was a scarce commodity, and toast was about the only affordable source of it for the common man. It was one of our few real pleasures in life. That and worshiping Satan.
Huh?
Haha, my little joke!
I see.
I had you there, didn’t I?
For a moment, I guess...
Hahaha. You Americans!
May we continue?
Be my guest.
So, with your discerning palate, I gather the toast struck you as quite bland.
Not really.
I picture you thinking, “Something’s missing here. Surely there’s a way to make this more flavorful.”
I can’t say that occurred to me, no.
But such drab food...
Good Lord, man, it was only roasted bread! How delicious was it supposed to be? Let’s not get carried away.
Well, then...
Yes? Spit it out!
What about the innovation you’re internationally famous for?
Which one?
You know, spreading stuff on toast.
What about it?
It wasn’t for the sake of flavor?
It had nothing to do with flavor—it happened by accident!
It did?
You Americans!
With all due respect, Monsieur, I’d appreciate it if you’d stop insulting my nationality.
What?! Get out of my house!

***

To read the rest, well, you’ll just have to buy the book!

Indian Pudding

This, right here, is the best Indian pudding in the world.  I adapted this classic Yankee recipe from The Boston Cooking-School Cook Book by Fannie Merritt Farmer (originally published in 1896).  I think it’s even better than Durgin-Park’s famed Indian pudding, but don’t say anything because I don’t want to get yelled at.  (Do they still yell at people over there anymore?)  My version uses a combination of molasses and maple syrup as well as ginger, cinnamon, and nutmeg.  The consistency is very soft and is meant to whey a bit (meaning some liquid separates from the pudding—I like to call it sauce).  Serve warm with vanilla bean ice cream melting all over it in shallow, milky pools.  Dreamy!

Indian Pudding

No Indians were harmed in the making of this pudding.

4 cups milk
½ cup cornmeal
2 Tbsp. butter
½ cup molasses
½ cup maple syrup (preferably Grade B)
1 tsp. salt
½ tsp. cinnamon
½ tsp. ginger
Pinch nutmeg
2 eggs, well beaten

Preheat oven to 325°F.  Butter a 2-quart casserole dish.

In a medium pot, bring milk to a gentle simmer.  Very slowly whisk in cornmeal briskly to prevent clumping.  Cook for 20 minutes, adjusting heat to maintain a gentle simmer, until mixture has thickened and coats the back of a spoon well.  Remove from heat.  Stir in the butter, molasses, maple syrup, salt, and spices until well blended.  Temper the eggs, meaning slowly whisk in about ¼ cup of the hot pudding mixture to the beaten eggs, then return tempered mixture to the pot.  This prevents the eggs from scrambling.

Pour mixture into a buttered casserole dish and bake about 1½ hours, until center is set (the center will still be soft, but you don’t want it to look liquidy).  Some recipes call for a water bath (i.e., set the casserole dish in a larger pan, then pour boiling water into the outer pan until it reaches halfway up the sides of the pudding dish), but I’ll be honest, I don’t bother.  This right here is the Indian pudding of my childhood.  Let sit at least 20 minutes.  Serve warm with vanilla bean ice cream.

Local Sources:
Milk: Our Family Farms of Massachusetts, Greenfield, MA
Cornmeal: Winter Moon Organic Farm, Hadley, MA
Butter: Mendon Creamery, Mendon, MA
Maple syrup: Williams Farm Sugarhouse, Old Deerfield, MA
Eggs: Chip-In Farm, Bedford, MA

Come to Sprout!

So my farm, Waltham Fields, is having a fundraiser open to the public and you should totally come.  It’s happening on Saturday, May 8 from 5:30 to 8:30 p.m. in the very cool Charles River Museum of Industry space in Waltham.  There will be food, music, open bar, raffles, and a silent auction with all kinds of awesome stuff like shares in Waltham Fields' sold-out CSA, Red Sox tickets, a tour of the cheese cave at Formaggio Kitchen, gift certificates to restaurants like Blue Ginger and Aquitaine, vineyard tours at Westport Rivers and Turtle Creek, and weekend getaways around New England.  You might even see me there, though don’t let that be the deciding factor.  I’m a master of disguise.

Community farms rely on community support to keep their educational programs, public access work, and food pantry donations going.  So if you live nearby and you like fun, and even if you don’t like fun, it always feels good to support a good cause.  Tickets are $35 for members, $40 for nonmembers, $25 for every ticket after your second.  For more info, go here.  Hope to see you there.  (Charles River Museum of Industry, 154 Moody St., Waltham)

Salad Dressing Refresher

We haven't had a bottle of salad dressing in our refrigerator for more than 10 years.  True story.  Now, some of that time had to do with me not eating very much salad, I will confess.  I’ve always been more of a meat and potatoes and dessert kind of girl.  But, most of that time had to do with me not liking bottled salad dressing, and finding that I eat a lot more salad when I actually like the dressing. 

My younger, restaurant-going years were spent in part devouring wonderful tangles of micro-greens, tender lettuces, and pea tendrils and wondering how these little bistro salads could attain such a level of deliciousness while my own homemade lettuce piles remained so uninspired.  The thing to know about salads if you want to like them is that you need to use fresh vegetables.  Like really fresh.  Straight from the farm if you can get them.  They should talk back.

The second thing is to wash your greens and spin them dry, dry, dry if you want your dressing to cling to the leaves instead of sliding off into a puddle at the bottom of the salad bowl.  If you don’t have a salad spinner, toss them into an old pillowcase, then walk outside and whip your arm around real fast as if it were the sole windmill powering the entire Internet.  The people on the sidewalk might look at you funny.  Just aim the centrifugal stream of water at their faces and they’ll keep right on walking.  

Thirdly, you should make your own dressing.  Supermarket dressing sucks.  Most of it, anyway (if you have a favorite, you can put it in the comments).  I don’t even know what they put in those bottles half the time, but you don’t need more than five ingredients, which you probably already have.  Two, if you’re really short on time and patience.  It will only take 30 seconds to make your own and it makes everything go down so much better.

The final thing to remember about green salads is that you should never dress them ahead of time.  Do it approximately one second before you’re going to eat.  Everyone should already be sitting down and complaining about the fact that there's salad tonight.  Don't worry.  They'll shut up once they taste the dressing. 

30-Second Vinaigrette

Here’s my everyday vinaigrette technique.  There’s no recipe—just a basic ratio that you can scale up or down depending on how many people you’re feeding.  Store any extra in a jelly jar in the fridge.  The olive oil might congeal, but some time warming at room temperature and a brisk whisking will revive it.

1 part red wine vinegar, white wine vinegar, or apple cider vinegar
Touch of Dijon mustard (optional)
2-3 parts extra-virgin olive oil (I like my dressings tangy, so I use closer to 2)
Salt and pepper

Whisk together vinegar and mustard.  Add oil in a slow, steady stream until the mixture thickens and emulsifies.  Season with salt and pepper. 

To upgrade this to a 3-minute vinaigrette, juice a lemon instead of using vinegar, add the mustard along with some minced garlic or shallots and chopped herbs.  Then whisk in the oil, salt, and pepper.


Buttermilk Herb Dressing

When I get sick of vinaigrettes, here’s what I make instead.

2 parts buttermilk
2 parts mayonnaise
1 part minced shallots or onions
1 part chopped herbs like tarragon, parsley, and chives (but the seasonal variations are endless)
Salt and pepper

Whisk or shake together in a jar, adding more buttermilk if too thick, or more mayo if too thin.  Season with salt and pepper.  Store in the fridge.  Always shake before using.  This is also great for crudité platters.  Use extra mayo for a thicker consistency.

So, I Got A New Camera

About time, huh? It was a pretty painful purchase, but it had to be done. Between the cancer-talk and the photos, it’s a wonder I have any readers left at all.

I got an amazing deal on a used Canon Digital SLR on Craig’s List a few weeks ago. You’ll be happy to know that I left pies entirely out of the negotiating process this time. I bought it from an MIT student from India. I know a good omen when I see it. While he was demonstrating the camera’s numerous features, I peppered him with personal questions about his mother’s cooking. By the time he was done, I would have paid whatever he asked, but the price we settled on was more than fair.

Anyway, I’m still figuring out how to use it. Aperture and ISO and f-stops.

We've been going on lots of nature walks, which is a good way to practice. Mmmmmmm, frog's legs!

It’ll be a while before I have the stomach to spring for the all-important, much-coveted Sigma macro lens that gives you those juicy up-close shots that you see on Smitten Kitchen and the like. But with great power comes great responsibility. And I don’t think the world is quite ready to put that kind of power into these hands.

Digging Mussels

I’ve mentioned before that I’m a big fan of mussels. I think other people would be too if they knew how delicious they can be. And how easy they are to cook. Also, how cheap they are ($2-$3 per lb.). And that farmed mussels are on the Monterey Bay Aquarium’s Best Choices list, so you don’t have to be paralyzed by fear at the seafood counter trying to figure out what the hell is okay to cook for dinner.

I’m here to tell you that blue mussels are okay. More than okay. They’re sustainable and delicious. That is, if you can train your attention away from the particulars of their anatomy, just scoop the whole thing into your mouth no questions asked. That’s how I got the kids to like them. Told them to close their eyes and then I shoved a mussel into each of their mouths. Granted, it took years for them to trust me enough to go along with it, but now we have a pair of mussel-lovers on our hands and I claim full credit.

Mussels are filter-feeders, which means they strain plankton and other organic matter out of the water. Farmed mussels, mostly from Prince Edward Island in Canada but also Maine, are raised in waters that have met approved international water quality standards and the whole process is managed in an ecologically safe way. Most cultured mussels are grown on ropes raised off the bottom so there’s minimal habitat disruption when harvesting. Because mussels don’t require any additional feed and don’t produce any waste, they don’t pollute their environment the way that, say, farmed salmon can. In fact, they can actually improve water quality. (For more information about farmed mussels, go here (read text in blue).

Wild mussels, when you can get them, are also a treat, but you need to be aware of red tide, blooms of tiny algae-like microorganisms, which contain toxins that accumulate in mussels’ bodies and can make you pretty sick. A red tide warning was just announced yesterday for the Cape. By the way, blue mussels are not to be confused with the highly endangered fresh-water mussels, which have been prized for their use in pearl cultivation rather than human consumption.

But let’s go back to how easy they are to cook. Really easy. You clean them, dump them into a pot of liquid, cover, bring to a simmer, and steam them for five minutes. It’s literally as simple as that. A classic preparation is to steam them in a white wine and herb bath and serve them alongside a big basket of fries, preferably with a hearty Belgian beer nearby. I’ve also had them served in the North End in a light tomatoey broth with basil. But last week, since I had a half a can of coconut milk in the fridge, I turned to my favorite Indian cookbook (have you bought it, yet?) and we had curry instead. We served it over rice one night, and the next in a big bowl with some kale tucked in there, a baguette handy for mopping up any remaining sauce.

Mussels in a Green Curry

The other great thing about mussels (and clams) is that they trick you into thinking you’re eating more than you actually are. Your brain registers the size of the shells, but the meat is actually only half that volume. When I see the big pile of empty shells I’ve just created, I feel psychologically full.

2 lb. mussels
¼ tsp. cumin
1 small tomato, seeded, diced small
½ cup cilantro leaves
¼ cup mint leaves
1 Tbsp. minced fresh ginger
2 small green Serrano chiles, seeds removed
2 Tbsp. canola oil
1 cup onion, finely chopped
1 cup canned coconut milk
Water, if necessary
Salt

Scrub the mussels well in cold water and pull off any beards (they look like strands of steel wool hanging out of the shells). If using wild (non-farmed) mussels, check for any decoys filled with mud. They’ll be heavier than the others and should open up and expose themselves when manhandled. You’ll want to identify these and toss them out before they end up in the pot and ruin everything.

In a food processor, grind the cumin, tomato, cilantro, mint, ginger, and chiles to a smooth paste. Or finely chop and mash with the back of a spoon. Set aside. Over medium flame, heat the oil in a large, wide pot that has a lid. Sauté the onion until golden, about 5 minutes. Add the green curry paste and sauté about 5 minutes more. Add the coconut milk and salt to taste. You may also want to add some water if your coconut milk is on the thick side, as mine was. I added somewhere between ¼-½ cup of water. Bring to a boil, then add the mussels, and reduce heat to low. Toss well, cover, and cook until all the mussels are open, about 5 minutes. Discard any mussels that haven’t opened. Serve over rice or in a big bowl with some crusty bread for mopping up the sauce. Serves 4.

Source: Adapted from 5 Spices, 50 Dishes by Ruta Kahate. I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again: My quality of life has dramatically improved since I bought this book.

Like shellfish? Here's more:

Mussel and Chorizo Soup
New England Clam Chowder
Shrimp Bisque
Oyster Soup
Pasta with Clam Sauce

Easter at the Beach

I have to say that spending a cloudless, 70-degree Easter weekend at the beach was pretty sweet! I love having in-laws that live on the Cape. From the looks of the traffic trying to get back over the bridge on Sunday night with one lane closed, it appeared that everyone else has in-laws on the Cape, too. I think we’re going to need to get together and coordinate our visitation schedules on alternating years or something. Better yet, maybe you could just stay home!

The drive down on Saturday morning wasn’t too bad, though, and we spent a good part of the day on the bay side building sandcastles and kite-flying and generally grinning our shit-eating grins at each other all day long. It was disgusting. After a while, unaccustomed to so much sunlight, I starting having visions of an epic Easter egg hunt that I would organize on First Encounter Beach the next day. I mean, how many opportunities do you get to have an Easter egg hunt on the beach in Massachusetts without freezing your asses off?

There were a few logistical flaws in my mental plans, however, like all of the telltale footprints that would be left behind after I finished burying the eggs in the sand. And the way the eggs would crack as little feet, which aren’t so little anymore, would run right over the tops of them over and over again until they finally zeroed in on the buried treasure. And little hands, which aren’t so little anymore, that would start chipping away at them with plastic shovels. And the flocks of seagulls that would immediately become attracted to the area, dive-bombing the beachhead in droves, digging up broken, sandy eggs, beating the children with their frenzied wings.

So we just stuck to the original plan: Sunday brunch, an Easter egg hunt limited to the confines of the yard, and a second, separate beach trip where I steered clear of all birds.

As for the eggs, here are some better ideas for how to use your hard-boileds:

Deviled eggs with capers and parsley from Savour Fare
Scotch eggs from Al Dente
Curried egg salad from 101 Cookbooks
Moroccan-style egg salad from my archives

Macaroons: Not To Be Passed Over

I went to my first Passover Seder last week. I’m not sure how it is that I’ve never been to one before given how many of my friends and family are of the Jewish faith. I suppose it’s because I tend to shy away from religious celebrations of any kind with as much polite respect as possible. It’s just that I find religion to be extremely personal.

However, I’ve been thinking lately that maybe too much distance from something can bring you to the brink of closed-mindedness. Or maybe loosening some of my boundaries when it comes to religion is part of the whole process of confronting one’s own mortality. Who the hell knows? I heard there would be food. Maybe that was it.

As a newbie, I enjoyed the accessible, non-traditional format that our neighbors L and W embraced. Before eating, for example, everyone broke into groups of three or four and pantomimed the story of Passover in memorable fashion utilizing stuffed animals for props and the like. While a few of the songs were in Hebrew, most were humorous English interpretations, like the Exodus Rap: Well my name is Moses, you can call me Mo…. Suddenly, I realized what all of my years of after-school Catholic tutelage had been lacking: Rap. Oh, and food.

Dinner began with hard-boiled eggs, a symbol of spring, fertility, and the giving of life, which were dipped in salt water to represent the tears of the enslaved Jews. Parsley also received a dip in the salty brine to signify rebirth and renewal. Charoset, a tasty concoction of apples, nuts, and wine, represented the mortar that the Jewish slaves used to build the pyramids of Ancient Egypt. Sweet charoset combined with horseradish, the bitter flavor of which is analogous to slavery itself, was meant to remind one that there is sweetness in even the most bitter of times. Matzo, the unleavened bread that the Jews carried with them on their impromptu exodus out of Egypt, symbolized oppression and the importance of freedom. Did I get any of this wrong?

I was impressed with how important and symbolic the food was. We also had matzo-ball soup, chicken, vegetables, and extra helpings of charoset. I don’t know the story behind the four glasses of wine, but I know I like it. For dessert, there was chocolate- and toffee-covered matzo, which should be eaten year-round I declare. Our neighbor S also brought these amazingly rich chocolate-coconut macaroons. The recipe came from Clear Flour bakery in Brookline and they are the perfect treat for either Passover or Easter. You could even flatten the mounds into little nests and, once baked, set Cadbury mini-eggs or malted milk robin’s eggs in there. You know, if you’re into that sort of thing. They’re also gluten-free. Something for everyone.

Chocolate Coconut Macaroons

Don’t scrimp on the chocolate here. Skip Hershey’s and Nestle and go for Callebaut, Valrhona, even Ghirardelli. And, for the love of god, never use anything wrapped in Easter foil and marked as “chocolate” for baking. That stuff’s disgusting.

9¼ oz. semisweet chocolate, cut into ½-inch pieces
4½ oz. unsweetened chocolate, cut into ½-inch pieces
5 egg whites (save the yolks for pasta dough!!)
8 oz. granulated sugar (about 1 heaping cup)
1 Tbsp. vanilla extract
14 oz. sweetened shredded coconut

These cookies are meant to be frozen before baking to maintain a super-creamy center, so don’t preheat your oven just yet.*

Bring an inch of water in a medium saucepan to a boil then turn down the heat to maintain a gentle simmer. In a large metal bowl, combine the two types of chocolate. Set the bowl on top of the pan of water (the bowl shouldn’t touch the water—the steam provides the heat). Stir the chocolate until it is melted and remove from heat. If you have a double-boiler, use that instead.

In a large clean bowl, beat the egg whites with an electric mixer until foamy. Slowly add the sugar and keep beating until the mixture has the consistency of melted marshmallows. With a rubber spatula, fold in the vanilla, coconut, and melted chocolate until well blended.

Line 3-4 cookie sheets with parchment paper and scoop out batter into small mounds about 2 inches wide and an inch or two apart. Once they’re frozen, you can either store the macaroons in plastic containers to get your pans back into circulation, or bake them right on the pans. Preheat the oven to 350°F. Bake the frozen macaroons 16-20 minutes or until the outsides have developed a delicate crust and the tops are set. Slide the parchment paper (with the macaroons still on it) off the cookie sheets and onto a wire rack to cool. Makes 25.

*If you don’t have time for freezing the batter, you must have macaroons now, then preheat your oven to 425°F and bake on parchment-lined pans about 10 minutes until tops are set but centers are still soft. Let cool on pans several minutes more. The centers won’t be as creamy, but they’ll still be pretty damned good.

Source: Adapted from Boston.com. Original recipe from Abe Faber and Christy Timon, owners of Clear Flour Bread in Brookline.

Mushroom Update

Here’s what my mushroom looks like after the rains. It’s about triple the size it was earlier this week, and has gone from looking like a regular button mushroom to an actual shiitake. Tomorrow I’m putting it in an omelet! Squirrels, stay away or meet my wrath.