30 January 2009

Welcome home Jenny

A few weeks ago Jenny of All Things Edible invited all of us over for her housewarming. The catch is we are to bring something to nibble or sip on.

I was lucky enough to meet our lovely Jenny a couple of years ago when she swung through Toronto. She, our favourite
Puff of Cream and I spent a few hours together shopping, eating and talking. Jenny is absolutely darling and I'd be so happy to get together with her again.

So when she emailed the event announcement, I knew I wanted to particpate. But what to bring? We'd just done our DB tuiles and although she gave us license to morph them into something housewarmy, I didn't want to go that route.

Given it's winter here in Canada, I thought I'd offer up something warm and savoury to share with the crowd. I decided upon a variant of my bacon, ramp and mushroom swirls--I like the flavour combination: tangy cream cheese, sweet onion and savoury mushrooms. Instead of little spiral rolls, I decided on a mini-springroll like offering, this time with phyllo.

In general, these mini rolls are very easy to whip up. Just pre-cook and cool the filling prior to spooning it onto the phyllo. Roll them up and bake in a preheated oven (380C/375F) for about 10-15 minutes, or until golden.

As usual, I didn't really write out quantities. Sorry. I know...a bad habit..especially if you want to recreate these...just rough out approximately one to one and a half teaspoon of prepared filling per roll

- a knob of butter

- a couple of cloves of minced garlic

- a medium minced onion

- a few handfuls of chopped mushrooms
- a splash of white wine vinegar

- salt

- pepper

- thyme

- softened cream cheese--enough to bind

Soften the onions in butter, add the mushrooms and garlic and stir while letting the mushrooms soften. Add the vinegar, then season to taste. Remove from heat and add the softened cream cheese. Let cool before filling the rolls.


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29 January 2009

Daring Bakers: Tuiles

• Recipe's origins: Savoury tuile/cornet fromThomas Keller's "The French Laundry Cookbook"
• Recipe's orginator: Thomas Keller
• Our hostess: Karen of Bake My Day

• Our co-hostess: Zorra of 1x umrühren bitte

This month's challenge is brought to us by Karen of Bake My Day and Zorra of 1x umruehren bitte aka Kochtopf. They have chosen Tuiles from The Chocolate Book by Angélique Schmeink and Nougatine and Chocolate Tuiles from Michel Roux.

"What? Wait a minute, " I hear you say. "You wrote that the recipe is savoury tuiles are from Thomas Keller's The French Laundry, but the next paragraph says the challenge is chocolate tuiles from either Angélique Schmeink or from Michel Roux for what's suspiciously resonant of sweet tuiles.

Well, yes. The original challenge was for sweet tuiles...but the savoury recipe kindasorta snuck its way into a challenge variation.

Hurrah for savoury choices!

Don't get me wrong, I love my sweets, but my sweet tooth has been on strike for a while, so when given the choice between savoury or sweet, I choose the former.

"What the heck are tuiles," I hear some of you say. "I thought that was ballet tutus were made of."

That's tulle.

A tuile is a crisp and thin biscuit, usually shaped. According to our lovely hostesses, traditionally they are gently molded over a rolling pin or arched form while they are still warm. Once set, their shape resembles the curved French roofing tiles for which they're named. In The Netherlands, this batter was used to bake flat round cookies on 31st December, representing the year unfold. On New Years day however, the same batter was used but this day they were presented to well-wishers shaped as cigars and filled with whipped cream, symbolizing the New Year that's about to roll on. And of course the batter is sometimes called tulip-paste....

Tulle is a very fine, starched, light netting that's used for bridal veils, foofoochichi gowns and ballet tutus (which one could argue is a foofoochichi gown in its own right).

"No, I meant that thin cottony cloth."

That's toile. My word...how old are you that you recall ballet tutus made of cottony cloth? Depending upon how you use the word, toile can be a painter's canvas, or a dressmaker's pattern or a repeated pastoral scene on an off-whiteish cottony cloth.

"Isn't that a person who follows Islam...what you claim the dressmaker's pattern is."

No. An adherant of Islam is a Muslim...not muslin. And yes, muslin is a material used to mock up dresses and clothes.

"Then what's Muesli?"

An oaty cereal made with oats and fruit. It's like granola.

"I thought that was French for "frog."

Non. Le mot pour "frog" est "la grenouille."

"Isn't that in the Alps?"

Grenoble is a city in the French Alps. Les grenouilles are found in ponds and rivers and other wetlands...although there may be ponds in Grenoble..."

"The Alps. Isn't that a god or something?"

You're thinking of Apollo, who's in both Roman and Greek mythology. He's associated with music, light, intellectualism and a raft of other things.

"Yeah, but wasn't he in the stars or something."

Maybe you're thinking of the Apollo missions and the moon landing.

"I love looking at the moon and stars and all that outer space stuff."

(SIGH) Yes. I know (even though, if I were you, I'd be more concerned with your inner space).

"Hey. You know French. What's the French for moon and stars?"

The moon is "la lune."
Stars are "les étoiles" or the singular is "l'étoile."

Etoile. Isn't that a cookie?

That's a tuile...as in this month's Daring Baker's challenge.

The recipe called for black sesame seeds to be sprinkled on the biscuit before baking. That, I did. But I also sprinkled on some nigella seeds (hey, January is her birthmonth) on some others. We were asked to pair our biscuits with a light-ish topping. Well...it's January. In Canada. I'm not so into light and am firmly entrenched in hearty. Sorry ladies...well, not really. I paired the sesame seed tuiles with black olive tapenade (store bought) and the nigellan lotus cups (square biscuits cooled in cupcake bowls) with a white bean hummous, specked with nigella seeds.

To see what the other Daring Bakers did, please visit our blogroll.


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28 January 2009

I declare...

Gosh, I'm leaving this year's theme announcement late.

Each year I decide to focus on one foodish area of concentration. Previous years had me in a soup, developing my tarty ways, deciding that
vanilla really isn't so boring and, of course, last year I cooked through the Milk Calendar's recipes.

Between work and the various non-work-that-sometimes-seems-like-work, more often than not I just feel run off my feet. I know I'm not alone--many people I know seem to be looking for that elusive balance. Long, shortstaffed office hours, swarms of deadline-a-dactyls, family and personal commitments that are best met with a combination of
TARDIS and highly caffeinated drinks are no longer the exception, but the norm. Add ubiquitous, expensive and pervasive marketing lobbed to convince us of our own personal inadequacies via our appearance, age, bank balances, capabilities in the workshop/kitchen/bedroom, and the myriad layers we carry (by choice or foisted upon us) seem to bury us.

Some of us are lucky to have our own self-righting mechanisms: friends and family, physical escapes to cottages or a half-day at a spa or hobbies such as music, writing or a good hour or two at the pool. Me, I find peace in solitude; I draw the curtains and retreat into a quiet space with some music and a stack of books. Instant therapeutic bliss is usually discovered within the confines of my kitchen or a bowl emanated from someone else's kitchen.

I find no fault in foodish comfort, although I know some do. Perhaps its because so many traditional comfort foods use a combination of fat, sugar and salt--all daemonised in today's nutritionism-cum-marketing gone awry. Although the restorative properties of fruit, veg and spices are well known--and I've partaken in such things, I personally have never found solace in a raw carrot stick or a 100-calorie pot of low-fat anything. Really. When I need consoling, a bowl of ice cream with fudge sauce works more miracles than every probiotic, blue algae-imbued, Omega 3ed high-fibre, low-fat energy bar.

Comfort and restoration are incredibly personal things. What comforts me may discomfort you. I understand that. What restores me may make you run for the hills. I get that too. Different things restore me in different ways. It's not all butter, sugar and cream. Sometimes it's a clear broth or a hot cup of tea. My foods that comfort rarely use recipes. It's by usually by feel and instinct. Even though I think it important to know what lifts our mental load, I don't necessarily want to know why it offers respite. Sometimes the only real explanation needed is "because it does."

So betwixt and between all the scurries of life, all the demands placed upon us and we place upon ourselves, I hereby declare 2009 the year of comfort and restoration.

So, what's my January restorative? What am I drawn to to bring not only comfort, but balance? Miso soup. After the traditional Christmas-New Year somewhat zhuzhed gluttony I want the converse. I want simple and I want clean. I don't want to fret over the stove and prepare a long list of ingredients, but I don't want a heat and dump meal.

Miso is a thick paste made by fermenting rice or soybeans with salt, some fungus and some soy. It can be used for sauces, marinades, spreads, pickling vegetables or meats as well as soups. If you've not tried it, it's a bit salty and the ones I've tried have an earthy, yeasty (think vegemitish) aroma.

It's usually my starter at a sushi supper--bits of seaweed, green onion and tofu floating in the broth--but at home, I'll make a light supper or lunch of it. I still keep it Spartan--a teaspoon of miso mixed into a mug of boiling water alone, or sometimes with a few thinly sliced mushrooms.


26 January 2009

Perogying Parliament

You know I couldn't let this opportunity pass me by.

In December our Governor General prorogued Parliament. The playpen opened, our MPs escaped to their respective ridings and the dramas of December were postponed to today. Since then, the Liberals acclaimed a new leader and, quite honestly I'm not sure what's happening with the coalition. If those in power lose the confidence motion we could see another election or maybe the coalition gets its chance. Regardless, it might be an interesting day on The Hill.

As mentioned in a previous post I wasn't the only person who kept hearing "perogying of Parliament" instead of "proroguing Parliament." I'm sure some think wrapping our politicians in dough, boiling before searing them and serving them with sour cream and chopped bacon would be slightly more than a propos. I'm a firm believer that everything is better with bacon, but really...who would do that to a good rasher or two of bacon?

Perogies are one of my Farmers' Market staples--the heady treat of hot bacon and onions atop fried dumplings, served with cold sour cream lures many a person to her stall. Really, it's a little Styrofoam box of hearty heaven.

At home, I root about the kitchen for topping ideas. Spinach with feta, curried mushrooms or sausage with tomatoes--whatever looks interesting will be combined and served with these potato dumpings.

With this iteration I pretty kept my inspiration from the Farmers' Markety offering I adore. Like so many things that come out of my kitchen, this really isn't recipe-able. I treat it as a not-so-random sequence of ingredients flung into my frying pan. The only real tips I have are to be light with the salt as streaky bacon is usually salted and to make the topping first, using the rendered fat to sear the dumplings. It is bacon fat...

Bacon-Mushroom topping
for two servings of perogies

4 rashers of streaky bacon, chopped
half a globe onion, sliced into half lunettes
one clove of garlic, minced
a handful of sliced mushrooms
ground pepper

Crisp the chopped bacon in a preheated, oiled frying pan. Remove the bits and add the onions. Let soften. Add the garlic and stir for about 30 seconds before adding the mushrooms. Add oil as you see fit, to let the mushrooms soften. Salt and pepper as your palate dictates.


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24 January 2009

We'll return to our regularly scheduled programming in a bit

Apologies for the relative silence, but have been preoccupied with non-foodish worries. One of which is the passing of one of the exbf's kitties, Hillary (named after the mountain climber, not Ms Clinton).

We adopted her and her littermate Ophelia back when we were together, in 1994ish. Since then Hillary has barey left his side.

I'll be honest and say we didn't get along. She saw me as "the other woman" and I saw her as the creature who kept beating up my precious little Ophelia. But between her ninja-like attacks, the weirdest predicaments she got herself into (including running around with a watering can stuck on her head), even I'll admit that she was a special little thing.

Her health hasn't been well for a few years--we suspect she was an early victim of the tainted pet food issue, as she lost the use of her kidneys. Much to everyone's surprise, she lived on 20 per cent kidney function for the past few years (yes, subcu fluids every night...which she hated). She was happy (happier now that I'm not in the picture) and purry. This week she essentially got thrush and she stopped eating. This combined with other things precipitated a quick decline. We lost her a couple of nights ago.

Will be back in a few days.

I suspect she is in kitty heaven, asserting her top-cat ness upon every being...and plotting something against me...like arial attacks from celestial book cases or digging little hidey holes from which to leap out and bite my toes...that's okay...I actually kinda liked it here on Earth.


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18 January 2009

A tart for Jerry

Oh my word. How may I adequately thank our dear Jerry of Cooking by the Seat of My Pants?

A couple of months ago he sent me a note, asking for my snailmail addy because he had a little bit of Christmas love to send my way. Gosh.

Jerry and I "met" a couple of years ago, when he was still a newish foodblogger. He sent me a note and I rambled on and on and on (anyone who emails me knows that they run the distinct risk of receiving anywhere from a one-word reply to upwards of a 2 000 -word treatise).

I love hearing from new bloggers and people who want to be bloggers (foodish or otherwise). Sometimes they just want to say "hi," sometimes they've got technical questions, sometimes they need a little moral support or a big kick in the electronic tushie to get going and put their thoughts and creativity to pixels. I do my best to impart whatever it is I can and when I can, I'll peek at what they're doing. It's all about paying it forward, my friends.

Jerry's one of the regular ones I keep an eye on. Not only is he a dear soul--supportive, bright and creative--his foodish passions are expressed so well. If you've not visited it, by all means take a look.

Anyway, Jerry sent me a little box of goodies as a way of thanking me for my supportive words early in his blogging career. As usual, Canada Post decided to have its way with my foodish giftie and deposited it into the infernal Supermailbox well into January. (I swear...there must be a notice in the Postie lunch rooms across Canada telling them to withold any and all parcels destined for me because there's a good chance there will be food...good food...in the box. I think I'm running a 50 per cent delivery rate...and of course, when you ask them about this, the *lovely* people at the Post Office tells you it was delivered. They just don't tell you to where it was actually delivered...this marks the end of this round of my Canada Post rant.)

So, how to thank such a kind and sweet soul for his time and efforts to the e-foodish world, as well as the support he gave me last year?

Well...I do the only thing I can...and make him a treat. I've been hankering to do a tart for a while--a return to my tarty ways, I suppose and after some pondering, I came up with a simple and lovely apple tart.

I normally do a traditional double-crusted apple pie, but my pastry skills have atrophied quite a bit...definitely not up to gift-giving snuff. So, instead of a flaky-crusted pie, my sights turned to a sweet shortcrust tart.

The crust itself is closer to a shortbread-type dough, fortified with egg yolks. Sweet, crisp and just lightly scented with vanilla, even the most nervous pastry maker can turn out a lovely tart.

I'm a bit of a fan of caramel apple pies, but for something like this, I wanted just a hint of caramel, so after par-baking the crust, I slathered a couple of spoonfuls of dulce de leche on the base. The apples were zhuzhed a bit with cinnamon and spritzes of orange juice before fanning onto the sweetened, sweet crust. After those slices' edges have bronzed, and the tart is removed from the oven, brush melted apricot jamp over the still warm fruit.

Thank you so much, Jerry. You are an absolute gem.

Apple Tart

For one 23cm/9" tart

One recipe, sweet shortcrust tart, par baked (recipe follows)
2 bulgey teaspoons of dulce de leche or caramel sauce
3-4 apples, depending on the size of the apples, peeled and sliced into wedges
the juice of one orange
0.5 tsp cinnamon
melted apricot jam for glazing

Preheat the oven to 180C/350F.

Roll the pastry to about .8cm thickness and lay in the tart pan. Trim the edges and dock the bottom before parbaking for 10 minutes. Brush the base with dulce de leche.

Combine the apples, juice, a few spoons of sugar and cinnamon. Fan the apples onto the pastry. Cover with tin foil and bake for about 20 minutes. Remove the foil and continue baking for another 15-20 minutes, or until the crust is golden and the apples' edges are bronzed.

While still warm, brush fruit with melted jam.

Sweet Shortcrust Pastry for one 9" tart
225g ap flour

110g Butter
2 Beaten Egg Yolks
30g Sugar
0.5 tsp Vanilla Salt
0.5 tsp Vanilla paste
1-2 Tbsp Water

Sieve the flour, sugar and salt together into a bowl. Then grate the butter into the flour and rub lightly until the mixture resembles breadcrumbs. Stir in the yolks, vanilla paste and water, until a soft but not sticky pastry is formed.

Wrap tightly in cling and chill for about half an hour.


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14 January 2009

Banana Oat Muffins

I'm trying to decide if my recent migration towards heartier muffins--ones imbued with whole grains and other nubbly bits, from sorry excuses for eating cake for breakfast, signals something significant or is just my body's natural attempt at rebalancing itself from sugarfest that marks each and every December.

Don't get me wrong, I think into every life more than a little cake for breakfast must fall. Same with cheeziepoofs for supper: sometimes all you need for a full meal is something you'd normally reserve for a once in a while treat. Perhaps it's my embodiment of the great Julia Child's belief of everything in moderation, including moderation.

My problem with oatmealy muffins is their inextricable association with old people and "regularity." The same sort of regularity that comes from prunes and castor oil. (Okay. I do love prunes...but not for that reason. I think they are just like candy.) Then there's the McHealthiness associated with nutrionism and the bandwagon jumpers who drone on and on about whole grain this and oaty that.

These muffins were born from a burden of a couple of mushy bananas and utter boredom with my usual banana bread (which does get turned into muffins from time to time). Yes, I could jazz things up by switching the fruit, adding nuts or introducing chocolate, but no. I wanted something different, something with a bit more oomphy-heartiness to it. Hearty--but not leaden--they are. Oomphy...not so much. But that's okay.

Banana Oat Muffins
Yield 6 ginomous muffins or 12 regular ones

130g ap flour
65g whole wheat flour
0.5t cinnamon
1 dspn baking powder
0.5t bicarbonate of soda
0.25t salt
90g sugar
2 mashed bananas (roughly 250ml)
60ml vegetable oil
1t vanilla extract
80ml buttermilk
2 eggs, beaten

50g rolled oats

Preheat oven to 170C/350F. Line or grease a 6-bun muffin tray with papers. You're looking at the ginormous muffin-sized tray, not the sane muffin-sized ones. If you want sane-sized ones, grab and grease or paper as 12-bun muffin tray.

Stir together flours, baking powder, bicarb and cinnamon.

Combine bananas, salt, sugar, oil, vanilla, buttermilk and eggs.

Stir the dry mixture into the wet until just combined, then fold in the oats.

Dollop into the prepared muffin trays. Bake for 25-30 minutes.


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11 January 2009

So...what part of the fish do fingers come from?

I guess that question ranks with anatomical placement of the ever popular chicken nuggets (umm...gosh...that came out differently in my head..really.)

But still...

I've never really been a fan of processed fish fingers or patties. The texture's never right, the coating is disgusting and usually left on the plate, along with dandruff-like flakes of reformulated fish. I much prefer whole fillets, with their big, juicy hunks of flesh. And yes, the coating is still left behind.

I fully admit to not buying a lot of boxed fish products. Most of it just doesn't appeal...and the one kind I actually did like (a particular type of beer-battered fillet) can no longer be found. So whether or not I can find fish fingers made of whole fish pieces, I really don't know. But it no longer matters as I now make my own.

Buttermilk-marinated fried catfish is one of my favourite dishes, so it only makes sense to turn the whole fillet into fingers...but without the hot dog-like grinding and sticking together of the fishie bits. Besides...the informal nature of foods you can dip is just gosh-darned fun. It shouldn't all be knives and forks. I suppose you could dip it in some home-made ketchup, to truly bring back childhood memories, but I decided to try and be grown-up about it all and made some aioli.

The fingers are really easy to make, but may set off some innate fears about shallow or deep fat frying. If you have one of those deep fat frying gadgets, by all means, use it. I don't so I shallow fried, moderating the oil's temperature as I went. It's not that hard. Really. What follows is more of an idea of a recipe than a real recipe--use more seasoning if you want, do a double dredge if you really want. For me, one fillet can do about three servings, but a more hearty eater might be able to polish off a whole fillet herself.

Catfish fingers

250ml buttermilk
1 dspn Old Bay Seasoning
400g catfish fillet
60g ap flour
1.5 Tbsp cornmeal
peanut oil

Mix together the buttermilk and Old Bay.

Cut the fillet into finger-like pieces and marinate in the spiced buttermilk mixture for 1-2 hours.

Mix the flour and cornmeal together. Dredge the fingers in the dry mixture prior to shallow frying in hot oil (4-6 minutes per side, until the meat is cooked and the coating is golden).

Removed fingers to drain on paper towels and lightly salt while still hot.

Serve hot with aoili for dipping.


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08 January 2009

Elvis, you'll always be the King

I grew up watching Elvis Presley movies on TV. Everytime one of his films aired, my parents made a mini event of it and we'd sit on the couch and watch...sometimes sing.

I loved (and still do) films of that era and genre. It was a sort of candy-coated, sparkly world where everyone broke into song at a moment's notice. I never quite figured out why life wasn't quite like that. Oh sure, I treat pretty much everything as a song cue and will warble a few lines of this or that to prove a point...but for some reason people rarely join in...even rarer still, do they do that lovely spontaneous, en masse choreography.

I found out sometime mid-day that today marks his 74th birthday. Which surprised me. Not the number itself, but the fact that I found out mid-day...and quite by accident. It used to be on his birthday the radio station (regardless of the one I listened to) would mention something...even play a song or two...but not today.


Is that any way to treat The King?


His culinary predilictions are known...along with his appetite...Hamburgers, mashed potatoes, pound cake...What I always found a little sad was how so many people seemed to turn their nose up at a particularly yummy one: fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches.

Really all it is is a pb and banana sammy on toasted bread, browned in butter on the grill. Gosh, make an eggy coating and it would be a divine cross between French toast and pb&b...

What I like about this sandwich, is how both the banana and peanut butter just sort of melt into one other...all warm and gooey between pieces of fried bread...There are no quantities needed--you may want more pb than b or you may want more b than pb...it's all up to you.

You know what I'll be munching on, as I watch Bruce Campbell as that hunkahunka burning love in Bubba Hotep (if you've seen the movie, you know why I'm laughing as I type) tonight, wishing The King, a happy, happy...

Fried Peanut Butter and Banana Sandwiches

Lightly toasted bread
Mashed banana
Peanut butter

Spread peanut butter on one slice of toast, then slather it with banana and top with a second slice.

Melt butter in a pan. When it starts to sing place the sanwich in and let it fry for a couple of minutes. Add more butter (if necessary) and flip the sandwich and fry for another minute or two.
Serve immediately.


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04 January 2009

Hurrah for cookie-eating small children with snow shovels

It's no great secret that my lower back might as well have been bestowed upon me by Loki himself.

Anything can send me in wincing in agony. Moving the wrong way as I walk, heavy lifting (no, cuddling Beanie does not count as heavy lifting), even sitting on the wrong type of fabric can cause great shooting pains down my spine and render me almost immobile.

How did I originally hurt myself? Gr. IX Phys Ed and the absolutely *lovely* teacher we had...heck, any 40-something woman with sun-damaged skin a bad orange dye job (I think she was going for blonde) who gloats about wearing her nine year-old daughter's skirts (which didn't fit the mother in the least) really does have the necessary psychological fortitude to be put in an authoritarian position over students.

So when it comes to snow shovelling, I rely upon the kindess others. Some I know (like the exbf and my father) and others I don't...like the mystery snowshoveller who cleans my driveway so incredibly pristinely before I get in from work. In my old neighbourhood, teenaged boys with shovels would show up expecting $10-20 to move your snow. They'd do a wretched job of it, and I'd wind up getting the exbf in to do it properly.

But in my new neighbourhood...

Christmas week-ish we had a gloriously amazing series of snowfalls. Environment Canada christened it "snowmaggedon" -- highly melodramatic, I know. But it was a highly melodramatic amount within a short period of time (most of which has since melted). Out I popped to survey what Ullr himself deemed necessary to drop on my doorstep, path and driveway. Back in I popped, hoping the snow really wasn't there. A short while later, the doorbell rang.

Two boys, vaguely recognisable as being from the neighbourhood, bundled in their winter warmies, toting shovels larger than they themselves asked if I wanted to be dug out.

"But I don't have any cash."

"That's okay, we want to do it."

Apparently these boys were very, very bored.

"Okay...do you want cookies instead?"

"Oh wow! Yes, please!"

Good gawd...and they say "please" without their mothers being present.

Needless to say, as they shovelled I packed a dozen cookies for each of them. Afterwards, I surveyed my small patch of asphalt. My word...it looked as if a snowblower had done it.

A few days later, after the next dump, I poked my nose out in much the same fashion. This time the boys saw me and came running over to see if I needed to be dug out again.

And again, they did it for a dozen cookies each...with delivered commentary from their families as to how much they liked the first load.

So now, I try and keep three dozen cookies on hand, in case the snows return, and with them cookie-eating small children with snow shovels.

Oatmeal Cookies
Yield 3 dozen, depending upon the generosity of your cookie spoon

112g butter
110g brown sugar
100g granulated sugar
0.5 tsp salt
0.75 tsp bicarbonate of soda
2 eggs
0.5 tsp vanilla
175g ap flour
0.5t cinnamon
115 g rolled oats

Preheat oven to 170C/350F.

Cream together sugars, salt and butter; add eggs and vanilla and stir well.

Sift together flour, bicarb and cinnamon, then fold with the oats into the wet mixture. Drop by onto prepared cookie sheet and bake for 10-12 minutes.

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