I have done this for many days, in many forms. I’m addicted to the zip zing of crystalized ginger, the crunch of a toasted nut, and the richness of oats crisped up in almond butter. I eat it with almond milk, with yogurt, sometimes sprinkled over oatmeal…or over ice cream. I ate it while flipping note cards and textbook pages, and now I eat it over the paper, or in a Ball Jar with milk in my cubicle at the DA’s office. I am always careful to put on my suit coat after I take the last spoonful, so that there’s no dribble of milk on my buttons. And then, I head up to Court 10 for the fugitive docket.

Can you imagine a better way of reminding yourself… “Hey! Life could be worse?” Sometimes I shudder at the memory of eating breakfast while trying to understand the Rule Against Perpetuities. But then I remind myself…there could be a warrant out for me somewhere.

But seriously, this stuff is so good, it should be criminal.

Almond Ginger Granola

2 c oats

1 c canola oil

1/2 c honey

1 c almond butter

1/2 c almond slivers, toasted

1/2 c dried cranberries (optional)

1/3 c crystalized ginger, chopped

2 t cinnamon (optional)

1 t salt (& more to taste)

___

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Combine honey, oil and almond milk in a small sauce pan on very low heat.

Stir constantly until mixture is just warm enough to be thinned out.

Pour almond butter mixture over oats, add salt and cinnamon and stir until combined.

Bake 10 minutes, then rotate pan and stir oats.

Bake 5 more minutes, and if mixture looks golden, add nuts. (If not, bake a bit more.)

Toss and bake a final 5 minutes.

Stir in ginger and cranberries and cool: do not transfer to a jar or container until mixture is cool, or granola will get soggy.

Store in a Ball Jar for up to 2 weeks.

Go Huskies.

Texas Guacamole

Serves 4

1 large shallot, chopped

1 medium, red onion, diced, divided

1 jalepeno pepper, finely diced

1 large, red tomato, diced

2 jumbo avocados (or 4 small)

1/2 c chopped cilantro

salt and pepper to taste

olive oil

lemon juice

–
Saute the shallot and 1/2 of the onion in olive oil until soft and transluscent. Set aside to cool.

Place chopped onion, tomato, pepper and cilantro in a bowl and mix.

In a separate bowl, mash avocados with hands until smooth.

Combine avocado, vegetable mixture, cooled shallots, lemon juice and salt and pepper to taste.

Serve immediately, I like mine with plantain chips.

Fizzy Greyhound

Serves 1

1 oz vodka (maybe more)

3/4 c grapefruit juice

1/4 c soda water

ice

__

Combine

Sometimes the only ambition you need is a heap of browning bananas.

Both Christopher and I recently both bought bunches, and the next thing I knew, our kitchen was overcome with the smell of very ripe fruit. I came home one afternoon and realized I had to put away (or put up) five bananas before the morning, or I might not get any at all. Another neglected foodstuff came quickly to mind. And so breakfast for the week was born.

And then breakfast for another week. And snacks. I made my latest batch into muffins, so they could be toted around or easily frozen. I haven’t had to save any yet, though. I think I’ll probably just make a batch of muffins every Sunday, and finish them off by Friday. Aside for the time this loaf is in the oven, it takes longer to wash the two bowls than to use them for mixing. And there’s not a single, regrettable item in the batter.  Unless you don’t like bananas or buckwheat.

Buckwheat Banana Bread

Makes 8 slices or 12 muffins

1/2 cup buckwheat flour
1/4 cup whole wheat flour
1/4 cup oats (toast lightly in a dry skillet until golden)
1 tsp cinnamon
1/4 c toasted, chopped walnuts or pecans (plus extra for garnish) 
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 c birch sugar (or 1 c regular sugar)
5 ripe bananas, 4 mashed + 1 sliced for garnish
2 large eggs, whisked
1 c plain yogurt

___

Pre-heat the oven to 350.

Mix the flours, oats, salt and spices in a medium-sized bowl.

Mix the mashed banana, sugar and yogurt in a large bowl.

Add the flour to the wet ingredients and stir gently to combine.

Pour the batter into a greased and floured bread pan.

Garnish with sliced bananas and nuts, and bake for 35-45 minutes.

(If you do these as muffins, bake only 20-25 minutes.)

This recipe is the one I make when I need to make an impression. Since carrot cake seems relatively innocuous, nobody thinks you’re being a show-off. Plus, it’s so easy, you literally can’t ruin it. I’ll explain…

I once made this cake for a faux-Thanksgiving and accidentally used flour in lieu of half of the confectioner’s sugar called for in the recipe, (never mix-up your Mason jars) but even so, people ate it up. Not just to be polite, although I think it went down a little easier since so much wine had been imbibed.

Another time, I made this for a real Thanksgiving dinner at my in-laws house. Needless to say, I neglected to flour the greased pan, and ended up removing the cake in chunks. Even so, it was incredible: nothing like a thick cream cheese frosting to layer into your dough and glue things right up.

What I’m saying is that this cake simply can’t be ruined, even if you commit the most egregious of cooking errors. And when you do it right, it’s mind-blowing.

I recently had a Sunday afternoon to spend with my friend Katelyn, and we decided to make this in a more diminutive form–the kind that’s easily shared and wins you lots of friends and fans. Every crumb of our cupcakes seemed suspended in air, or perhaps a lattice-work of carrot and coconut shreds. There was the occasional walnut to add texture and the slight tartness of the cream cheese did wonders for off-setting the sweetness of the caramelized batter.

The recipe below is copied almost exactly from Saveur, although I like to add 1/4 c of maple syrup to the batter and sprinkle toasted coconut on top of the finished product (usually 1/2 cup will do). When I do this as a full-sized cake, I bake 2 rounds, double the frosting and make a layer cake with walnuts along the sides and coconut on top.

Carrot Cake (Cupcakes)

Makes 24

BATTER:

Nonstick cooking spray
2 cups sugar
1 1⁄2 cups canola oil
3 eggs
2 cups flour
2 tsp. ground cinnamon
2 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. fine salt
1  8-oz. can crushed pineapple, undrained
1  7-oz. bag shredded sweetened coconut
1 cup finely chopped walnuts
2 tsp. vanilla extract
2 large carrots, trimmed and finely shredded (about 2 cups)

ICING:

3 cups confectioners’ sugar
3⁄4 lb. cream cheese, softened
8 tbsp. salted butter, softened
1⁄2 tsp. vanilla extract

CAKE: Preheat oven to 350°.

Fill 12 cupcake tins with liners. (You’ll do this twice.)

Put sugar, oil, and eggs into a large bowl and whisk until well combined.

Add flour, cinnamon, baking soda, and salt and stir with a wooden spoon until just mixed together into a batter.

Add pineapple with juice, coconut, walnuts, vanilla, and carrots and gently fold together until combined.

Transfer batter to prepared pan, smooth top with a rubber spatula, and bake until deep golden brown and a toothpick inserted in the middle of the cake comes out clean, 50–55 minutes. Set cake aside to let cool completely.

ICING: Put sugar, cream cheese, butter, and vanilla into a large bowl and beat with an electric mixer until fluffy, 4–5 minutes.

Generously frost each cupcake (once cooled) and sprinkle the top with toasted coconut.

Tomorrow, I will make one of my favorite forms of chicken salad–the kind that doesn’t leave you with an unctuous film at the corners of your lips. I would be a damn liar if I claimed not to like mayonnaise, but this has none, and that makes it easier to pack for lunch. It’s so simple, even a law student can blog about it, which generally means it’s quick to make. I tend to spend more prose on the recipes that involve a lot of steps, if only because I like to keep my cooking and writing efforts somewhat commensurate.

So for those of you with big weeks ahead, here’s to a bird that will keep you sated for at least a few lunches. Sunday supper rolling into healthy Monday lunch–and all you have to do is supply the vegetables, the fork and the appetite. And please don’t let this post implant in you any identification with a grotesque and greedy cartoon man, although I will say that if it were possible to down a drumstick in one fell swoop, I’d be all about it.

Chicken Salad with Herbs and Vegetables

Makes 4 servings

Leftover meat from a 4-5 lb chicken (about 1 lb), shredded

2 T olive oil

2 t lemon juice

1 t dijon mustard

1/2 c chopped parsley

2 scallions, diced

1 c cherry tomatoes, quartered

2 celery ribs, diced

1/2 bell pepper, diced

1/4 medium red onion, diced

salt and pepper

___

In a large bowl, whisk olive oil, lemon juice and dijon mustard.

Add chicken and toss to coat–you may not need all the dressing. Then again, you may want more.

Add chopped herbs and vegetables and toss to coat. Season with salt and pepper.

This recipe tastes best if left to marinate over night–toss again before serving to distribute dressing.

When I ate mine, (the rest were sent to Christopher’s office) I paired it with Earl Grey in the afternoon. It was dignified and much more elegant than the bowl of oats I eat every morning. That said, the humble gruel sustains me for hours: this snack had me drooling for more in minutes. These bars are heaven on earth. Have I mentioned how much I like the saying, “The kingdom of God is within” ? When I ate my jammy-nutty-buttery tea-time dessert, I was filled with something holy.

It’s not just the flavor that makes these remarkable, it’s the way they react to the teeth. As you bite, this is what you feel: a crunch from the walnuts, followed by the enduring chewiness of baked jam. As you chew, your mouth is filled with the commingling of melting butter crust and dissolving fruit. It’s a tactile paradise. Something worth getting up for, or the perfect way to punctuate the doldrums between lunch and dinner. Just make sure to give most of them away, or you’ll end up eating every last crumb, and nobody wants a stomach ache in the morning. Or in the afternoon.

Borrowed from Gourmet, may it rest in peace.

Makes 12 bars.

• 1 1/3 cups all-purpose flour
• 2/3 cup sugar
• 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1 1/2 sticks (3/4 cup) cold unsalted butter, cut into tablespoon pieces
• 2 large egg yolks
• 1 teaspoon vanilla
• 1/2 cup berry jam or preserves, such as Bonne Maman Four Fruits Preserve
• 3/4 cup chopped walnuts (3 oz)

__

Put oven rack in middle position and preheat oven to 425°F. Butter a 9-inch square baking pan and line with 1 sheet of foil, leaving a 2-inch overhang on 2 opposite sides, then butter foil.

Blend flour, sugar, cinnamon, and salt in a food processor.

Add butter and pulse until mixture crumbles and has pearl-sized lumps.

Add yolks and vanilla and pulse quickly, just until dough clumps, about 30 seconds.

Press 3/4 of dough evenly onto bottom of pan, then spread with jam.

Crumble remaining dough over preserves and press down so dough is evenly distributed. Sprinkle with walnuts.

Bake until top is golden brown and jam bubbles up the sides, about 20 to 25 minutes.

Place pan on a rack to cool. Lift from pan by grasping both ends of foil.

Cut into 12 bars and lift bars off foil with a spatula.

For most of my life, I’ve not been a chicken roaster. I’m aware that this topic might inspire various moans and groans and “Is she actually talking about roasting a chicken?” responses. But I think that people who feel that way may have forgotten—or never suffered from weekly-roast-chicken-deprivation—how hard it is to imagine that a grayish, pimpled, heavy lump of a cold carcass could create something as spectacularly juicy and golden as a properly roasted chicken. If you’ve ever been dissuaded by the appearance of a raw bird, well, this post’s for you.

Before I get into it, I must also say this: the origins of your bird are highly important. I recently wrote about the treatment of chickens in factory farms, and cannot emphasize enough how critical it is to procure your poultry from a reputable, neighborly type. If you can find a local farmer whose chickens you can visit—which is easier than you probably think—then please do that. You don’t even have to visit: just knowing that somebody in your area has his own chicken or hen operation feels mighty good.

Typically, Christopher and I fetch our chicken at the Saturday morning market. If the farmer is out of fresh birds, we buy one frozen. We also pick up our weekly eggs and bring Mr. Hatterman his egg box back to fill again. I get a secret (no longer) thrill of returning last week’s egg carton. Maybe he’s just playing along, but he always acts surprised and delighted. Anyway…if the bird was frozen, it sits in the refrigerator until late Sunday afternoon. Either way, we take her out at about 4 in the afternoon so she can come to room temperature before the 5:30 roast.

For the first few chicken-roasting weeks, I spent about 15 minutes over the sink, seriously contemplating a whole-hearted return to vegetarianism. Let me assure you—if you’ve also been deterred by this part of the process—that cleaning the bird gets easier. I no longer close my eyes and hold my breath while searching in a dark, slick chicken cavity for packets of innards and the loose giblet or two. At first, I squealed and tried to make haste during the dismemberment process. Now, I remain fully present, although I won’t lie and say I let it take any longer than it has to. I believe it is total cowardice to eat meat and not think about the meaning of the animal’s life, or to participate, even in some small way, in what it takes to get an animal ready for consumption. I don’t mean to belabor death here, but if you seriously can’t imagine cleaning a bird, then you should rethink your comfort with eating it.

I am a vegetarian most days of the week, but Sunday chickens are a habit worth having. I can’t tell which comes first, the smell or the sound…the popping chicken skin may be just as pleasing to hear as it is to sniff. For a full hour or so more, the little kitchen of ours fills up with the most heavenly scent on earth. I spend every minute before 7 inside, fully enjoying the extraordinary transformation the house makes into a home. Michael Pollan commented on how meat brings people together in The Omnivore’s Dilemma. Early man, he claims, didn’t throw ragers over the discovery of a yam patch. Meat is a celebratory thing: its smell and taste are hardwired in our evolution as symbols of communality, security and celebration. There really is something to it the appetite that builds inside of me during those Sunday evenings has never been paralleled by the roasting of a vegetable or the searing of seitan. As I pull the bird from the oven, all I can think of is the parallel between cooking and alchemy: how the whitish grey skin is transformed into a taught, gold, herb-infused crown, just waiting to be sliced and divided among those who have waited all week.

I am aware that there are many basic methods of roasting a chicken, but mine works for me. No matter what, don’t lose confidence in the simplicity of it: olive oil or butter; salt; pepper are really all it takes. If you want to up the ante (and spend an extra 5 minutes prepping) some herbs and aromatics go a very long way. Serving this with a side of roasted potatoes and a simple green salad is as good as dinner gets.

Herb Roasted Chicken

1 chicken- approximately 5-6 pounds

1 lemon, sliced in half

2 garlic cloves

3 sprigs rosemary

3 sprigs thyme

2 tablespoons dried herbs (I like herbes de provence)

2 tablespoons browned butter or olive oil

salt and pepper

__

Preheat oven to 425.

Remove lingering giblets from the chicken.

Wash thoroughly, inside and out.

Dry completely with paper towels, inside and out (this is critical if you want a brown, crisp chicken, because water inside the skin or body will cause it to steam and the skin to separate and soften).

Stuff with fresh herbs and lemon halves.

Cut two 1” slits just about the thighs and insert garlic clove in each.

Coat chicken with brown butter or olive oil.

Season with herbs and sprinkle liberally with salt and pepper.

Roast chicken for 1 ½ hours then test for doneness by slicing between the leg and thigh: if the juice is clear, the chicken is ready.

When this blog was young, before I bought myself a respectable camera, I took pictures with a teensy point and shoot, whose viewfinder is so small it looks like a postage stamp. I want to take it to Goodwill, but the camera is covered in sticky crumbs and has butter in all of its metallic creases, so I’ve kept it. I moved on to a fancier point and shoot for a while there–one with a ‘food’ setting–but then I started reading other food blogs and realized that my photos were an absolute embarrassment. They’re still here because I am sentimental and want my great, great grandchildren to have access to all accounts of my cookery, just in case they’re curious about what a dead relative was like. Honestly, though, I blush at the idea of anyone looking at food pictures I took before May, 2009. This will probably be funny to read in the year 2109, so laugh it up little ones, if you’re out there.

But to those of you who read other incredible blogs, like 101 Cookbooks, Orangette, or Smitten Kitchen, please don’t judge me for my bizarre recipe choices. After all, I’m only doing my best to keep up with the caliber of food photography out there–and to do so, I must shoot by day. I’ve tried to hard to make more elegant lunches, but frankly, people don’t typically come over for lunch. Cooking up a grand meal for 1 in the middle of the day is a sad idea indeed. I’d rather throw cold leftovers onto a bed of lettuce and eat in a much less depressing fashion. This is why full-out, gorgeous pieces of meat and fish are rare appearances here at Bread & Courage. I’d even venture to say that whatever recipes do involve warm proteins are remnants of my point and shoot days, before I realized that big, white flash patches are not all that appetizing.

In that respect, I guess, this post isn’t really a departure from what I’ve been up to. After all, Ceviche is cold–and as old as a leftover. But it is at least a leftover worth writing about, since its extended time in the refrigerator is what makes the dish so worthwhile. I had never made Ceviche before this week, but I will never be intimidated again.  The possibility of eating (or feeding) raw fish is pretty frightening, and I’ve always wondered if I’d botch the marinating process or buy bum fish. (Although I suppose if I fully believed that, I would stop eating at dive-y sushi joints.) But really, my own hand in it is what scares me most. It still does, I’ll have you know, but not because of the cooking process.

Ceviche takes care of itself, and is refreshingly uncomplicated–especially if you use a fork or wear rubber gloves. The only qualm I have (which is entirely preventable!) is that Ceviche can make you smell–strongly–like a fishmonger. You’ll need at least 8 limes for this recipe, and I suggest buying a couple of lemons, too, so that you can vigorously scrub your fingertips after you’ve chopped and mixed the fish. When you serve it later, please have hearty chips or forks alongside so that your guests won’t go home cursing your recipe. And DO NOT send it with your husband as a ’snack’ at the office. These warnings should by no means be a turn off: Ceviche is too delicious to shy away from either for its raw-ness or for its scent. Just marinate it for a solid 8-12 hours (I let mine sit a full day)… and be sure it’s not served as finger food.

I like Ceviche full of chopped herbs and vegetables, although you can leave out the extras and serve it as plain as you like. I also used a 1:1 ratio of scallops and shrimp, although comparably-sized pieces of white fish or calamari are also delicious.*  Either way, be sure that the fish is swimming in juice–if any pieces are exposed, squeeze more lime, or shake the bowl every few hours to ensure that all of the fish gets ‘cooked.’

Shrimp and Scallop Ceviche

Serves 2-3 as a main course

1/2 lb shrimp, peeled, deveined, chopped

1/2 lb scallops, cleaned and chopped

2 stalks celery, diced

1/4 c cilantro, finely chopped

1/4 c parsley, finely chopped

1/2 yellow bell pepper, diced

1 c  cherry tomatoes, cut in half or quarters

2 green onions, diced

1/2 Serano pepper, finely diced (about 1 T)

1/2 cup lime juice (about 8-10 limes)

salt and pepper

__

Squeeze limes to render 1/2 c lime juice.

Place fish in a bowl with a lid, large enough to accommodate all of the other ingredients.

Pour lime juice over fish and let sit 8-12 hours at a minimum, although preferably longer.

1 hour before serving, drain half of the lime juice and add chopped vegetables and herbs.

Season to taste just before serving.

*It goes without saying that if you decide to add more fish to the recipe, you’ll need to add enough lime to keep the ratio of lime juice to fish the same.

It started innocently enough, with a languishing bag of chocolate chips. What could be more wholesome than baking a batch for an overworked husband? It was all well and good, of course, until impudence struck and I decided to test the viability of one of my favorite nut flours.

I don’t typically substitute flours in recipes that I bake for Christopher. He can smell a whole wheat crumb from a mile away. While I love spelt and oat and quinoa flours, I wouldn’t deign to bake them into his birthday cake. These cookies were baked for comfort, as a surprise brought up to his office late at night—tempting fate with a bag of hazelnut flour was truly reckless.

Madcap baking is rarely successful, but in this case, I got lucky. These cookies spread from a scant teaspoon-sized ball, into thin, graceful spheres of caramelized lace. They melted in my mouth, crispy and chewy all at once. It felt like eating delicate burnt sugar, with a tough of Nutella throughout; the subtle flavor of hazelnut, the occasional hunk of bittersweet chocolate.

I suggest making these to accompany vanilla ice cream.

Hazelnut Chocolate Chip Cookies

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Have ready two lined cookie sheets.

In a medium sized bowl, mix:

1/2 c hazelnut flour
½ c plus 2 tbsp all purpose flour
½ tsp baking soda

In the bowl of a stand mixer (or with hand mixers and lots of patience) beat:

½ c (1 stick) unsalted butter at room temperature
½ cup sugar
½ cup packed light brown sugar

Add and beat about 5 minutes on medium to medium / high speed:

1 large egg
¼ tsp salt
1 ½ tsp vanilla

When this mixture is very white and fluffed, slowly incorporate flour mixture, stirring just to combine.

Add 1 ½ cup chopped dark chocolate, or 1 ½ c dark chocolate chips.

Place teaspoon-sized, rounded spoonfuls on your baking sheet with ample room between.
(I baked only 6 per sheet.)

Bake for 7-8 minutes.

So it is with great glee and delight that I have been heating up my Houston kitchen well past the 100 degree point, if only to keep my cookie jar replete with the crunch and zing of the perfect ginger snap. An that is what they’ve got, really: loads of ginger, loads of snap. They practically crinkle in half the second they touch your lips, they’re so explosively crisp.

Mark and I have been making these cookies for a few months, for many a catered affair we’ve done at Rodriguez Elementary as part of our Recipe for Success after school program. We’ve had many occasions to cook for large crowds, including one afternoon where Secretary of Education Arne Duncan came to the Houston Department of Education. It was pretty neat, mixing batches of rosemary-infused lemonade and ginger snaps, knowing that our snack would go to someone with such clout.

The real gift, of course, was watching the kids make these (without licking the spoon!), but a close second was coming away with one of Mark’s most impressive recipes. Mark, I should say, was the head of the pastry department at Hotel Zaza’s Monarch, and is, quite possibly, the best baker I’ve ever met. But it doesn’t take a pro to make these:  even 9 year olds can whip up a professional looking batch. I even had a thought while watching Dominique roll one in sugar before gently pressing it with her thumb: if a 3rd grader can do these right, then there’s definitely hope for me after 3 eggnogs… which is often when I decide to make a few extra batches of Christmas cookies.

But I do these an injustice: they really shouldn’t be limited to cold weather holidays. In fact, I recently grilled some nectarines, drizzled them with honey, and set them beside a bit of whipped cream and crumbled ginger snap. It couldn’t have been more appropriate for the times. Another favorite: coffee ice cream with crumbled ginger snap. It sounds odd, but it’s a terrific pick me up. Oh, and let’s not forget them as the crust for a crumble or fruit pie. As with most baked goods, the only threat to success is my own anticipatory appetite. I tend to end up with about 2/3 of the recipe, because the batter just goes down so good…

The Ultimate Ginger Snap

Adapted from Martha Stewart’s Baking Handbook

Makes about 5 dozen

2 c all purpose flour
2 t baking soda
½ t ground cinnamon
¼ t ground cloves
¼ t freshly ground pepper
½ t salt
¾ c unsalted butter
1 ¼ c packed, dark brown sucar
¼ c unsulfured molasses
1 ½ T finely grated fresh ginger
1 large egg
¼ c granulated sugar
½ c crystallized ginger, cut into small, even pieces

___

In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda, spices and salt. Set aside.
In a stand mixer fitted with a paddle attachment, beat butter, brown sugar, molasses and ginger on medium-high speed until light and fluffy, about 4 minutes, scraping down the sides when necessary.
Beat in the egg untol smooth and combined.
Add the flour mixture and beat on low speed until just combined.
Transfer dough to a bowl, wrap in plastic and refrigerate until cold, preferably overnight.
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees, positioning racks in the middle and lower third of the oven.
Line baking sheets with parchment paper.
Place granulated sugar in a shallow bowl.
Shape dough into balls the size of a teaspoon scoop.
Roll balls in sugar and place on baking sheet at least 2 inches apart.
Press balls with thumb, and place a piece of crystallized ginger in the center of each cookie.
Bake, rotating sheets halfway through, about 15-18 minutes, or until cookies are thoroughly brown—don’t worry if they look too dark… it means they’ll snap!