Cranberry Citrus Granola

I don't have any resolutions for the new year, just the desire to keep doing the best that I can in each moment. 

I came to the conclusion, when I began working as a therapist many years ago, that this is basically what is happening with each individual at any given time -- even if he or she may be making terrible decisions or questionable choices.

She's doing the best that she can right now.

For me this held true years ago as it still does now.

If you're scratching your head, wondering what I mean, well, I was trained to listen, to be fully present to another without judgment. If I sat there thinking, "Oh no, she could definitely be doing something else right now. He should be doing better. He should've known better," wouldn't that be stepping away from the present, to some alternate-present where something else altogether was happening, where this particular person I was sitting across from was living a different life? Not the one actually being discussed?

It's not always easy to be present to another in daily life, as I am constantly reminded by my own scattered mind, with its voice that says things like, "Oops? What did he tell me? I only caught the last part!"

You can't fake it. Yes, yes, I heard you. 

Because people know. Especially the people who know you. And they get so disappointed when you're not really, fully there. 

So stop. Be present. Make that a resolution, if you must make one.

Besides the ongoing desire to do the best that I can in each moment, my other plan for the new year is to make more granola. For me, granola has become a sort of kitchen metaphor for playing and having fun. This is, I know, a far cry I know from granola's roots in the 19th century Seventh-Day Adventist tradition of eating healthily so as to maintain one's physical "temple." Despite its devout origins, though, granola is just plain fun to make. 

In the past year, I've learned a lot, especially in my home kitchen. One of the most important things I've focused on is understanding ratios, primarily so that when I look at any recipe, I can break it down to the basics and then do some experimenting. For me, ratios have made cooking truly fun, like playing in the kitchen.

One of my favorite recipes to play around with has been Nekesia Davis' Olive Oil and Maple Syrup Granola, the hands-down favorite in our home. For the cold months, I decided to mix it up and add citrus (both zest and a bit of juice) and honey as well as dried cranberries.  

After the New Year arrives, I'll be fiddling with the basic components of it more and making other varieties, but this particular granola is delicious and should get us by for now.

Cheers! May your new year be filled with the usefulness of ratios, discovery, fun and living fully in the present. 

Cranberry Citrus Granola
I use toasted nuts and seeds sometimes, while at other times, I don't bother toasting. For me, both versions taste great. You can decide on what you prefer.

Adapted from Nekesia Davis.

Makes 7 cups.

Ingredients
3 3/4 cups rolled oats
1 cup pistachios
1 cup sunflower seeds
1 cup pumpkin seeds
1 cup coconut flakes/chips
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 cup olive oil
1/2 cup loosely packed brown sugar
scant 1/2 cup wildflower honey
2 tablespoons of orange juice, freshly squeezed
zest of 1 orange
zest of 1 lemon
1/2 cup dried cranberries (the orange-flavored ones from Trader Joe's are great here)

Instructions
Preheat oven to 300°F. Line two rimmed baking sheets with parchment paper.

In a large bowl, mix together oats, pistachios, sunflower seeds, pumpkin seeds, coconut and salt. In a smaller bowl, whisk together olive oil, brown sugar honey, orange juice and the two zests. Pour over dry ingredients and mix well with a spatula, making sure all the dry ingredients are thoroughly coated. Divide mixture between the two prepared baking sheets. Place in oven and bake, gently turning the granola with a heat-proof spatula or wooden spoon every fifteen minutes until golden brown, a total of about 45 minutes.

Cool on baking sheets without disturbing. The granola will clump together, into large pieces. If you like chunky granola, this is good. Leave it chunky. If you prefer, break up the granola more. Add the dried cranberries to the cooled granola. 

Serve with plain yogurt, any milk or your choice, or just eat it without anything else. Sometimes (when no one is looking, shh!) I like to dunk a spoonful of Nutella into the granola then shove the whole spoon into my mouth. It's the perfect midnight snack.

A Winter Sorbet (Orange-Pomegranate)

It can be a rollercoaster ride around here this time of year. In the past week, we've had high winds, mud slide warnings and flood watches, with a rogue spot of sun blotted out by rain via what are known as atmospheric rivers.

And, it's not technically winter yet.

The winters of my childhood were nothing like the ones here in Western Washington. We had sunny and warm Southern California days with clear blue skies and cool nights. We could walk coatless, often even sweaterless, or if we were really daring, in shorts down to the park. 

We also had oranges. Piles of them, from the orange groves further inland. I can still see mounds of the thick-skinned navel type gathered on the kitchen table. They were an inextricable part of our Chinese immigrant household. Oranges, always oranges, after dinner.

Our uncles would tote them into our house in large, white cartons that only they could lift. The adults were crazy for them, polishing off case after case. Each time we walked into one of our many aunts or uncles' homes, we'd be greeted with the offer of tea and oranges. As a child, I wondered what magical sway the citrus orbs held over them. To me, the grown ups seemed bewitched.

Each of us kids would try to peel the fruit in one ragged spiral. I, being the youngest, was the most inexperienced, the slowest, the least competititve. With my small fingers, my orange finally clean of pith and peel, I would pry open the ball of segments, the sweet juice running down my forearms.

Even as a tiny child, I was greedy for every last drop of goodness. I wanted to -- and did -- slurp all of the juices off my hands, my arms. 

I didn't wonder, until I got older, and found out about things like cheesecake and chocolate chip cookies (which didn't exist in our home) whether there was anything better than a sweet winter orange from San Bernadino.

Honestly, I don't think there is.

A Winter Sorbet
I was interested in trying out the technique that the River Cafe uses to make their Strawberry Lemon Sorbet. They puree an entire lemon along with the sugar to bypass the usual simple syrup and add a touch of pleasing bitterness. I think it adds some body and textural interest as well. I've used all sugar here, but if you want a smoother result, you can sub out part of the sugar with a non-high fructose corn syrup. You can also remove the orange pulp and zest before freezing by pressing your mixture through a fine-meshed sieve. But, I like the texture! 

Adapted from River Cafe via Food 52's Genius Recipes (a terrific book!).

Makes about 1 1/2 quarts.

Ingredients
2 1/2 cups cold orange juice, freshly squeezed
1 1/4 cups cold pomegranate juice
1/2 an orange, preferably organic and cut into pieces
1 cup of granulated sugar
2 tablespoons lemon juice

Instructions
Mix the orange and pomegranate juices together in a large, 4-cup measuring cup. In a food processor, blitz together the orange pieces and sugar. If it remains clumpy add a spoonful or two of the juice you've measured out. Add pureed mixture to orange and pomegranate juices. Add lemon juice. 

Freeze according to instructions on your ice cream maker. It will be soft, so if you'd like it firmer transfer it to an airtight container and freeze for four hours before serving. This is nice served in small portions after a rich meal. 

Variation: To make into a sherbet add one cup of whole milk, half and half, or heavy cream to the fruit and juice mixture and freeze according to your ice cream maker's instructions.

Today's Bonus, my favorite song mentioning tea and oranges, "Suzanne," by Leonard Cohen. Actually, one of my all-time favorite songs by one of my all-time favorite artists. Enjoy!

Beef, Lamb and Spinach Meatballs with Yogurt Sauce

A few days ago, Kingston asked me to try out one of his new markers which are supposed to change colors. So, I skeptically put some scribbles and blobs on a piece of paper with the red-to-yellow marker. 

The next day, it was still red. Nothing had happened. No magic, no alchemy. We wondered, how does it turn yellow? The following morning, when we looked at it still sitting there on the table unchanged, we wondered aloud again. 

I stared at it for another moment.

"Let’s change it,” I said. Kingston nodded in agreement.

I looked at the shape of it, the blob of ink. Suddenly, I thought it looked something like an alligator's head. So I made it into one.

Kingston, being four and bossy and therefore a natural art director, began telling me what to add. 

“Put legs! Then a crow eating the alligator!” I added a body and legs then drew a little crow pecking at it. Hm.

“Now the clouds!” He said. “Oh, and snow! And ants climbing on the alligator!"

Now we were really cooking. The orginal patch of color on the paper had taken on its own life and become something quite other than what it had been. 

How elements – ingredients, objects that seem to definitely be one thing, or perhaps a mark on paper – can be quickly transformed into something else has always fascinated me. 

Maybe it comes from being a kid and watching my brother, Warren, draw as he sat in front of the TV. If I kept my eye on his hand moving across the blank sheet of paper, a few scratches and lines might turn into something magical like a cat sitting in a window, gazing out at the world.

For me, this was better than anything on television. 

Or, maybe my fascination with transformation came from watching women I knew cooking in the kitchen. The essential nature of cooking, after all, is alchemy. 

For example. Take a carrot, some celery, onion, chop everything up and add water, and you have a very simple vegetable broth.

Leave some heavy cream out on the counter overnight with a spoonful of buttermilk in it and it becomes a thick and delicious creme fraiche. 

But what comes to the front of my mind when I think back to the kitchen and being really little is watching my mother toss a live turtle into a smoking hot wok then clamping the metal lid down before the creature could crawl out. 

Later that same day, we took the soup (thank you transmuted turtle) to my Uncle Fish, who was very sick in the hospital. The healing liquid was poured out of a green thermos and spooned into his parched mouth.

Alchemy, yes.

Cooking is transformation itself and something we can all partake in. Who, after all, would turn down a bit of magic in their lives? Not I.

Beef, Lamb and Spinach Meatballs with Yogurt Sauce
I have a few people in my life who don't eat lamb for whatever reason. A mental repulsion or perhaps it's "too gamey" for them. The greens and beef used here, along with spices and the yogurt, transform these ingredients into a well-flavored meatball that I think is truly delicious. You can make more small ones for an appetizer or larger ones as a main. Up to you.

Lightly adapted from Jerusalem.

Makes 16-18 medium-sized meatballs. 

Ingredients

For the meatballs:
1/2 lb. ground lamb
1/2 lb. ground beef
1 bunch fresh spinach, stems removed and washed or 1 - 10 oz. package of frozen spinach, defrosted
1/4 cup finely minced onion
1 large egg, lightly beaten
2 tablespoons chopped parsley
2 tablespoons chopped cilantro
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon cumin
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper, freshly ground
1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper
5 tablespoons neutral oil for searing

For the yogurt sauce:
1 1/4 cup Greek yogurt
1 tablespoon finely grated lemon zest
1 tablespoon lemon juice, freshly squeezed
1 clove garlic, minced
1 1/2 tablespoon olive oil
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper, freshly ground
1/2 teaspoon sumac, or substitute in another tablespoon of lemon juice

Instructions
Make the sauce first. Stir together all ingredients in a small bowl and chill until needed.

Preheat oven to 425°F. 

If using fresh spinach, heat a large saute pan over medium heat. Add spinach leaves and cover for 5 minutes. Leaves will be wilted and will have released a small amount of liquid. Allow to cool. When cool enough to handle, squeeze out excess liquid then chop roughly. If using frozen spinach, squeeze out excess liquid then chop roughly.  

In a large bowl, combine lamb, beef, spinach, onion, egg, parsley, cilantro, garlic, cumin, salt, and both peppers. Combine gently then with your hands then form into balls, small or medium. 

In a large frying pan, pour oil and heat oil over medium-high until it is hot. Sear the meatballs for about 4 minutes, until golden brown. 

Transfer the meatballs to a baking sheet and place in the oven for 5 to 7 minutes until they are just cooked through and tender. Serve warm or at room temperature with the yogurt sauce.

Herbed Soda Bread

Every year, right around Thanksgiving, my brother sends me one or two cookbooks. This is to get me in the mindset for COOKING with him when he arrives a few days before the big event. Cooking with Warren is an all-caps activity for sure. 

Call it sibling bonding, but being in the kitchen with him once a year is a real highlight for me, something that I start looking forward to months ahead of time. Before he gets here, texts with menu ideas start flying between us. Smoke the turkey or not? --Sure. Apple Pie with Bourbon Caramel? --Yes!

Warren cooks with intensity, creativity and passion. He always makes his sticky rice stuffing jammed full of Chinese pork-and-duck sausage (a crowd pleaser), but last year there were a lot of Ottolenghi-inspired dishes, like the savory cheesecake he re-created after tasting one during a recent trip to NOPI.

This time, before I received anything from Warren in the mail, he sent a text: "Let's make bread this year."

A couple of days later, a cardboard Amazon box landed next to the front door. Guess what was inside? Yep, two bread books. One by Ken Forkish and the other by Josey Baker of The Mill in San Francisco. 

The Ken Forkish book is beautiful -- thoroughly informative, down to a section on protein levels in flour and a description of him going out to one of the Eastern Washington farms that belongs to the Shepherd's Grain collective, which is where he gets his flour. Cool.

After reading the Forkish book with a great sense of reverence (which is what naturally crept into me as I went along), I was a little startled by Josey's very casual, user-friendly tone (see I'm even calling him by his first name -- he makes you feel like you should be on a first name basis). Ugh, not for me, I immediately thought. 

But then I kept flipping through, reading, and it occurred to me. What's wrong with a casual tone? Being user-friendly? With an emphasis on no special equipment needed?

Um, like, totally nothing.

Josey starts you out from the very beginning, with making loaves of bread using packets of active dry yeast. You eventually graduate to making your own sourdough starter, from which you can make a pre-ferment and hearth breads with a much deeper flavor and longer shelf life. The real thing, in other words.

I got my starter going immediately and it's been fun tending to it. Kind of like a low-maintenance, non-complaining friend or pet sitting on the counter. It couldn't be easier. It's also pretty neat that it pulls wild yeast from the air and into itself, becoming something else entirely.

The starter will be ready to go when my brother arrives, though I'll bake a few practice loaves in case I need to make the necessary adjustments before he gets here.

While tendng to the starter and reading through Josey's book, I remembered making Irish Soda Bread a long time ago. In my memory, the loaf was squat and stodgy. But, I decided to give it a fresh try, which turned out to be fun and worthwhile.

Soda bread is so incredibly easy to make that a child can do it. And, in fact, Kingston and I have been making variations of this bread lately where he gets to be in charge of nearly the whole process, from weighing the flours to mixing it all up. The only thing he doesn't get to do is slash the loaves and put them in the oven. He is, after all, only four. 

If you are thinking about becoming a bread baker and are at all nervous, this is the one to make. You will, without barely breaking a sweat, develop complete confidence. Soda bread is also the closest thing to instant gratification when it comes to baking anything bread-like.

It's utterly basic in the best sense of the word. It doesn't rely on yeast and gets its lift from the chemical reaction that happens when baking soda meets the acidity of buttermilk. (Remember that grade-school volcano experiment where you mixed baking soda and vinegar and out flowed "lava?")

Always rustic, baking up a little bit different each time but never in any way less than delicious, this fine-crumbed bread will leave you feeling like a satisfied and accomplished baker.

Bread this year? --YES! Please.

Herbed Irish Soda Bread
Have this with some soup for lunch or dinner. It's also great toasted the next day.

Barely adapted from Super Natural Every Day.

Ingredients
2 ¼ cup spelt flour (283 g)
1 ¾ all-purpose flour (221 g)
1 ¾ teaspoon baking soda
3 tablespoons chopped fresh herbs such as parsley, sage, rosemary and/or thyme (I used a mixture)
1 ¾ teaspoon salt
2 cups buttermilk 

Instructions
Place a pizza stone on middle rack of oven (you can also use a cookie sheet if you don't have a stone). Preheat oven to 400°F. 

Whisk together the two flours, baking soda and salt. Add herbs and whisk. Make a well in the center and pour in buttermilk. Stir to combine. Dough will be somewhat tacky. Turn the dough onto a lightly floured surface. Knead for about 30 seconds just to bring the dough together. Place dough on a sheet of parchment paper. Brush top with buttermilk. Generously sprinkle flour over loaf. Make two deep slashes in an “X” pattern across the top of the loaf. You may make more slashes if you like. More slashes gives the finished loaf more crusty surfaces. Slide the bread and parchment onto the pizza stone. I typically do this with the back of a cookie sheet. 

Bake for 45-50 minutes, until well-browned and loaf sounds hollow when you tap on it. Let it cool, then slice and slather with butter. Best eaten within a couple of days.

Tangy Kimchi Mac n' Cheese

“In the dark wood, by the sodden ground, I found my way by the whiteness of his collar.”

— Franz Kafka

I've been thinking a lot about the darkness. Ever since November arrived and we turned our clocks back, it seems the rainy, low-light days of northerly living are inevitably here. 

It's been almost six years since we moved. Coming from the relentless heat of the Pasadena chapparal, adjusting to the darkness of Western Washington falls and winters has taken me a while.

I'll admit, there were days during those initial Decembers and Januarys when I would turn on the TV to watch Hawaii 5-0 with its shots of bright Oahu beaches. It was my...sun porn (Is that a real term?). This, so I could pretend that I lived with the full glory of the tropical sun and imagine that I was about to dive into the ocean sans rain pants or waterproof boots in the middle of winter.

I've finally made a discovery that in retrospect feels like it slowly crept up on me. Or, was it blantantly flinging itself at me without my noticing -- until now? 

Darkness is not terrible or even bad.

Just as we need the light and warmth of summer to really enjoy things like walking alongside the lake or savoring the flavors of the berries we've picked ourselves, we need the darker days for slowing down and reflecting. As in, who am I? How do I relate to others? How do others see me? 

You just can't do that sort of wondering in broad daylight. Somehow it doesn't match up.

So let's give a cheer to the shorter, darker days. Celebrate its necessity as a counterpoint to all that is wonderfully outward and external about summer. 

There is beauty within each of us, and this is the time of year when we should slow down, just be, and take a look inward to explore and renew our connections to ourselves.

While you are holed up this fall and winter in your cabin by Walden Pond or another such appropriate place, don't forget to also make an occasional foray into the world.

Reach out to friends. Remember to check in with the people you love. You can even invite a bunch of them over to cook up and share a bubbling casserole with you. This one, perhaps.

Tangy Kimchi Mac n' Cheese

Adapted from Serious Eats.

Serves 6.

I had forgotten all about the jar of kimchi I’d made a couple of months back in an attempt to use up some napa and savoy cabbages and a sad-looking daikon. Upon finding the jar, I promptly opened it up and gobbled some down (ummmm! tangy! funky in a good way!). Then I decided I had to put it together with that ultimate comfort food, macaroni and cheese. The richness of the cheese tempers the kimchi while the buttermilk adds to the tangy flavor, bringing the dish into balance. 

Ingredients
1 pound elbow pasta
2 eggs, lightly beaten
2 ½ cups buttermilk
1 ½ cups whole milk or evaporated milk
1 tablespoon powdered buttermilk (optional)
½ teaspoon dried mustard
1 teaspoon hot sauce, such as Frank’s Red Hot
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
8 ounces cheddar, grated
8 ounces jack or other melting cheese such as gruyere, American, Gouda, grated
1 tablespoon cornstarch
1 ½ cups kimchi, finely chopped
salt

½ cup panko breadcrumbs
2 tablespoons melted butter
1 tablespoon finely ground red chili, such as Korean gochugaru
1/4 teaspoon fine sea salt

Instructions
Preheat oven to 350° F.

Butter a 9 x 13" casserole dish. Set aside.

In a medium bowl, mix together eggs, buttermilk, whole/evaporated milk, mustard, and hot sauce. Set aside. In another bowl, toss together cheeses with cornstarch and set aside.

In a large pot, bring water to boil. Add salt and cook pasta to al dente, about 7 minutes.

While pasta is cooking, make bread crumb topping. Mix together breadcrumbs, butter, red chili, and salt. Set aside.

Drain pasta and return to pot. Over low heat, add butter. When it has melted completely into the pasta, stir in milk mixture. Add cheese and stir gently, allowing sauce to thicken. Stir in kimchi then taste for salt, adjusting to your liking. 

Pour the pasta mixture into the prepared pan. Top with the seasoned breadcrumbs. Place on middle rack of oven and bake for 30 minutes, until the top is golden-brown and crispy. 

Serve on its own, or complement it with a green salad.