Spelt Flatbread with Butternut Squash, Sage and Brown Butter

The other day around dusk, I was standing on a trail behind our house. I was feeling a little daydreamy, glad to have time to wander through the woods with the dog before dinner.

Beneath a spot full of vine maples, I waited while the dog finished sniffing a deer fern. Suddenly, I heard a strange, rapid noise. Click-click-click-click-click! Then again, and yet again. I looked up to see leaves the size of my palm vibrating against one another in the wind. Click-click-click-click-click!

I stood for a moment then glanced down at the dog, who was now waiting for me. Well? Shall we go on? his expression seemed to ask. I remained still, listening. 

In that moment I realized for the first time since living next to the woods these six years that the sound of the wind is not one entity, a single whoosh tearing through cedars and maples, thimbleberry and birch. It is made up of many small clicks, snaps and reverberations like that of the leaves now vibrating around me. 

Such a thing may seem small, not worth holding onto. But it was a reminder to me of what our former Washington State Poet Laureate, Sam Green, calls "small noticings." At a workshop of his which I was able to attend in June, he explained that these tiny, everyday details are what make poetry come alive.

I would also argue that these "small noticings" are a lot like catching fairy dust.. When we have these miraculous particles in hand and are able to fold them into ourselves, we inevitably become more alive.

Sam Green also spoke about his daily practice of writing at least three "small noticings" in a notebook. I think it's a practice worth emulating. Do it for a few days and I swear the noise around you will dampen down while what you'd otherwise miss comes more sharply into focus. 

Here's one thing I noticed today as I drove by the lake near our house:

The waves on the Lake, crinkles on a woman's dress. 

The dog and I eventually continued on. We looped around until we returned home, where it was time to get back to the flat reality of domestic life and finish cooking some dinner. I had soup ready, but I wanted a flatbread to go with it. 

The dough was already made and had been sitting on the counter while the oven heated up. I began peeling my squash, cutting it into thin slices while considering the wind and its many incarnations. Some, like these, whose very names impart magic...Papagayo. Mistral. Typhoon.

Spelt Flatbread with Butternut Squash, Sage and Brown Butter
A flatbread is just a flatbread, right? Not always. This one is sweet, nutty and savory, with crispy bits of aromatic sage. If food could be described as being as delicious as a poem, this humble Fall flatbread would be it. (No exaggeration!)

Dough barely adapted from Jim Lahey.

Makes two 12-inch flatbreads.

Ingredients
For the brown butter:
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 generous handfuls of large sage leaves

For the dough:
2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour (263 g)
1 cup spelt flour (123 g)
1/4 teaspoon active dry yeast
2 teaspoons fine sea salt
1 1/4 cup water

To complete the flatbread:
1 small red onion cut in half then thinly sliced
1 small butternut squash, peeled, cut in half, seeds removed
salt
freshly ground black pepper

Instructions:
Preheat oven to 500° F. If using a pizza stone, place stone on top rack.

Make the brown butter:
In a small saucepan, melt butter over low heat. Once barely melted, add sage leaves and allow to crisp. Remove sage and set aside. Keep a close eye on the butter, as from here it can quickly go from brown to burnt. When brown and nutty, remove from heat and set aside.

Make the dough:
In a medium bowl, whisk together flours, yeast and salt. Add water and mix together using a wooden spoon. The dough will appear quite damp. No need for alarm. This is okay.

Cover the bowl tightly with plastic wrap. I like to place a kitchen towel on top as well.  Allow to rest at room temperature for 18 hours, or until the dough has doubled in size. 

Divide the dough in half. On a floured surface take one portion at a time and gently fold it four times, starting with the right side and going around counterclockwise. Shape dough into a ball. Repeat with the other portion. Cover both with a towel while you prepare the topping.

Prepare topping and put it all together:
Very thinly slice butternut squash using a knife or even better, a mandoline if you have one. Make enough slices to cover the surface of a 12-inch round of dough (about 12-14 slices per, you may have extra depending on the size of your squash). Set aside. 

On a piece of parchment paper stretch out one round of dough until it is approximately 12-inches in diameter. The dough should be quite thin once stretched out.

Places slices of butternut squash on the round of dough. Scatter crisped sage leaves. Drizzle brown butter over the squash. Brush edges of dough with more butter. Sprinkle with salt and pepper to taste. Slide onto pizza stone and bake for 11-12 minutes, until golden and crusty.

Repeat process with remaining dough. If you really want to live large, drizzle more butter over the finished flatbreads. 

And now, for a little poetry...

Friekedellen - Flemish Meatballs with Cherry Sauce, & My Belgian Sister

It's summer. We're supposed to be eating salad and ice cream and grilling hot dogs and burgers. So who makes meatballs in the middle of July, anyway?

I do.

A couple of weeks ago, I posted a picture of some cherries Kingston and I were buying at a roadside farm stand. Such glorious fruit! In my post I asked if anyone had ideas for what we should do with them. I was expecting suggestions on the sweet side, like some kind of ice cream, sorbet, or that summer classic, cherry pie.

My sister, Margie, responded almost immediately with, "Flemish meatballs with cherry sauce!" 

Margie was in college when she traveled to Belgium one summer and met Patrick of Flanders who lived on a boat. After she came home, a period of feverish correspondence ensued before she soon returned to marry him.

They have three children: Brett, Macy and Matt who grew up just outside of Antwerp in the northern, Flemish-speaking part of the country. My sister was so far from all of us here in the U.S. as she and Patrick raised their kids. But these young people! So beautiful. Sensitive and kind.

Soon after her suggestion on Instagram, Margie sent me a recipe for the meatballs. Reading through it, I suddenly missed her more than anything. It might seem a little silly to get teary over reading about meatballs and not even while actually eating them (which would be more sensible, or at the very least might make more sense), but that's what happened.

It surprised me that a recipe, this recipe, could do that. I had never eaten this dish before, never shared it with Margie, neither cooked it nor even heard of it until she mentioned it from thousands of miles away.

But food will do that, won't it? Remind us of people we love and miss, bridge vast distances and encompass the complexity of all sorts of emotions.

Really, it's miraculous.

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In 2013, when Kingston was about to turn two, we traveled to see Margie and her family on a two-week visit. It had been a long, long time since we'd seen each other. Here she is in beautiful Bruges, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, with Kingston. What he recalled for a long time after that trip was hearing the "klop klop" sound of the horses hooves as they took tourists around town. 

I remember gobbling down hot, fried potatoes at the frites stand (or, fritkot) in the center of town. Feeling befuddled as I stood downstairs at The Chocolate Museum, where I could not understand even a word of the heavily-accented English of the chocolatier who was giving a demonstration. Throwing a look at my sister, who was not trying to laugh in that moment.

I also can't forget all the waffles I ate during (necessary) multiple trips to Désiré De LiIle either, or the tender braised pork cheeks at the iconic 7Schaken off the Grote Markt in Antwerp.

But what I remember most about our journey is slipping back into a feeling of comfort with my sister, one that even after such a long period of separation remained intact. That feeling was like having a warm blanket wrapped around my shoulders, old and familiar.

Traveling as a family is a luxury for us, so we do it less often than we would like. Even as far apart as we are in distance, I think of our Belgian family often, wonder what they are up to, imagine them walking down streets that smell of warm bread or cooking waffles.

People we love can come alive for us through a photo, a call and of course, even a dish. This one ties me to my sister.

My Friekedellen, Flemish Meatballs with Cherry Sauce
This recipe steps a little bit away from the traditional version of this dish. I know, I know. I did my best to stick with the original recipe, but there were a few things I couldn't help changing. First, in the traditional recipe, you are asked to make huge, fairly plain meatballs that you then boil (I think this is because they are so huge). I pan fried mine instead. 

Second, there are very few additions to the original version other than meat, salt, pepper and some nutmeg. I wanted more tenderness and flavor, so I made some additions, as you'll see below.

Third, taking a cue from the Scandinavian versions of this homey dish, I decided to add a gravy. It seems silly not to when you are pan frying, since all the flavor ends up in the bits that collect in the bottom of the pan. Scrape it up, add some liquid, flour and in this case, a bit of tangy buttermilk and you've got yourself a really tasty sauce. Serve it all up with a rich cherry sauce and you have a worthy tribute to long-distance sisterhood.

Makes about 36 meatballs.

Adapted from Fans of Flanders.

Ingredients
For the meatballs:
1 lb. ground pork
1 lb. ground beef
1 large egg
2 slices of white bread
1/2 cup whole milk
1/2 a large onion (or 1 small onion), finely minced
1 1/2 teaspoons allspice
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg, preferably freshly grated
pinch of fennel seeds
1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
black pepper
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, plus more if needed
2 tablespoons olive oil, plus more if needed 
1/2 cup buttermilk

For the cherry sauce:
2 lbs. red cherries, halved and pitted
1-2 tablespoons of honey
2 tablespoons water
1 tablespoon all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon unsalted butter

Instructions
For the meatballs:
Soak bread in milk for about 30 minutes. When it is very soft and has soaked up all of the milk, add pork, beef, onion, allspice, nutmeg, fennel, salt and a grind or two of fresh pepper. Use hands to combine together and knead gently. Form into balls slightly larger than a walnut, rolling between your hands so that their shape holds and they are fairly compact. 

Heat 1 1/2 tablespoon butter with 1 tablespoon olive oil in a large skillet. Fry meatballs over medium to medium-high heat until they are well browned. It's best to leave them for about 6 minutes before turning them the first time, then cooking an additional 4 or 5 minutes. Cook in batches or use two pans. If cooking in batches, wipe out skillet, then add more butter and oil before frying additional meatballs. Transfer meat to a platter, along with any onion bits from the bottom of the pan.

Sprinkle flour into the pan and stir with a wooden spoon. Add a tablespoon of butter and let it melt, stirring the flour and butter together until smooth and scraping up any additional bits at the bottom of the skillet. Remove pan from heat and slowly add 1 1/2 cups of hot water, mixing it in quickly. Return to heat and stir in the buttermilk until a smooth sauce forms. Adjust for salt and pepper. Add the meatballs (and onion bits) to the sauce in the skillet, cover, and cook for an additional 10 minutes until the sauce has thickened slightly and the meatballs are soft and tender. 

For the cherry sauce:
Place cherries in a large saucepan. Cook over medium low heat until the fruit softens and give up some of its juices. Stir in honey. Use more or less depending on how tangy you like the sauce. Combine flour and water in a small bowl.  Stir into the cherries and allow to cook until it thickens. Once the sauce has thickened, add the butter then give it another stir. Your sauce should have a soft, glossy appearance.

Serve meatballs with cherry sauce on the side. Friekedellen!

Snap Pea Salad with Red Chile, Feta, Mint and Lettuce

With all the beautiful produce showing up recently, it's been hard not to have salad on the brain. In fact, it's easy to start daydreaming about being Yotam Ottolenghi, the vegetable master, flipping all sorts of gorgeous possibilities around in my mind. Red chile? Snap peas? Feta? Yes.

There is much to hope for in a good salad. When seasonings and textures are in harmony and the freshest ingredients used, a salad can be invigorating. Uplifting, even. This is especially true on those hot days when we feel droopy to the point of not wanting to eat - or hope for - much of anything.

Salads can veer off into wild exuberance, with acidity, for instance, nearly taking over only to be pulled back from the edge by just the right amount of salt. Crunch can get piled on top of more crunchiness and crispness, each element steeped in its individual flavor. If they are put together right, a mouthful is bliss on a sunny day.

I know people like my neighbor, Heather, however, who dreads putting a salad together for fear of not doing it right or making it "too bland." I'm not sure where this fear comes from, but it must be set it aside. 

Those intimidated, would-be vegetable artists need to step up to the task of salad making with courage and determination. Not to do so would mean missing out on life.

"Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people," writes the very wise Anne Lamott in Bird by Bird.

But really, when it comes to warm weather produce and what to do with it, this line could be rewritten as: "Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the salad."

This means, be brave and pull it together. Don't be afraid of making a salad with what you have. Don't worry too much about the outcome. Dare to let your veggies be great. 

Walk through the farmer's market or the produce section and grab what pleases you. If you are fortunate enough to be asked by a neighbor (such as mine) to water her garden while she is visiting Southern California or even have a small plot of your very own, pick what is ready and calling out to you. 

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Step back and gaze at the pile of things you have collected and thunked down on the counter. In what ways could they possibly be encouraged to live happily together?

Maybe just a dressing will do? The simplest one I can think of for a large head of lettuce washed, torn, and thrown into a bowl is made with the juice of half a lemon, a few glugs of good olive oil (twice as much as the juice) and a generous pinch of salt.

Knit them together with a quick, energetic whisking. If no lemon is in sight, a lime will work just as well. Or use a vinegar instead.

Taste as you go along. Make sure that you have yin to balance out the yang of your vegetables. If something is crisp, add an element that may be soft or silky. Tart? Add sour. Bitterness? Add sweetness. And so on. Just have fun with it and should anything go amiss, it can always be corrected. 

In the worst case, when you can't quite figure it out (with practice, this will happen with less and less frequency until it becomes a non-concern) you will at the very least, still have something fresh and healthy to eat.

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Snap Pea Salad with Red Chile, Feta, Mint and Lettuce
Our neighbors did ask me to water their veggie garden while they were away for ten days recently. They had plenty of snap peas, which I had to snatch away from Kingston, who ate them out of hand. I had the lettuce, chile, onion and a hunk of feta in the fridge already. Mint and tarragon were in my herb box on the back deck. So, this was a salad about using what I had. These, for me, are always the most enjoyable kinds of meals. Simplicity itself. 

Serves 3 to 4.

Ingredients
2 cups snap peas
1 small fresh red chile
1 small fresh banana pepper (optional)
1/3 cup crumbled feta cheese
6 or 7 Boston or Butter lettuce leaves (larger, outer leaves)
Fresh mint, enough leaves to make 1 teaspoon when roughly chopped
Fresh tarragon, 1 sprig, leaves torn off
1 teaspoon black sesame seeds, plus more
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon olive oil
salt and pepper

Instructions
Cut snap peas on the diagonal into 1/2-inch pieces. Mince the red chile. Cut banana pepper lengthwise then again crosswise into thin pieces, about 1/8-inch each (if using). Roughly chop mint and tear or cut tarragon into small pieces.

Whisk together lemon juice and olive oil. Add salt to taste, keeping in mind hat the feta will add saltiness as well. Just a small pinch was enough for me.

Add torn lettuce pieces to the snap peas and peppers. Drizzle dressing over the veggies and scatter sesame seeds and then the feta. Add a grind or two of fresh black pepper. Toss salad gently but thoroughly with your hands or with tongs. Make sure all of the vegetables are coated with a bit of the dressing.

Serve in a big salad bowl or on individual plates. Scatter a pinch more of the sesame seeds over the salad before serving. Eat immediately.