In their dusky depth

The other day, I met a chair. It is solid walnut, and exceedingly handsome, with four sturdy legs and a softly-curved back that cradles the body and encourages the spine to recline. It is worn in places, with dings and nicks from days upon years spent in service.

It is a chair that should belong to a studious sort, one predisposed to a woolen wardrobe, layers upon layers of gray and black. The sort of owner that bears the weight of a long scarf wound endlessly about the neck.

One that would ponder in this chair. Consider. Discuss obscure literature and drink very strong coffee. By candlelight, most likely, or at most an antiquated fixture that would offer the dimmest circle of golden light.

It is a chair that encourages me to change my name, to cast off the trappings of the world, to instead choose to "live in a garret and eat black bread". It would be quite theatrical. And I would be quite comfortable.

That is, as long as you understand that by garret I mean our den, and by black bread I mean bittersweet chocolate scones. This chair inspires scones. Demands them, even.

Slightly austere in their sweetness, and comparitively meager in their fat, these scones revel in their dusky depth. The tenderness of their crumb is mitigated by the edge of cocoa and shot through with bitter chocolate.

You can call me Nina if you'd like.

Bittersweet Chocolate Scones
Think of these as the biscotti of the scone world; slightly sandy textured and subtle in their sweetness, and pair well with coffee and tea.

Ingredients
2 cups all purpose flour
1/3 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1/3 cup granulated sugar, plus additional for sprinkling
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
8 tablespoons (1 stick) cold unsalted butter, diced
1 large egg plus one egg white for glazing
3/4 cup 18% cream, chilled
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
4 ounces bittersweet chocolate, chopped

Preheat oven to 400°F (200°C). Use parchment paper to line a standard baking sheet and set aside.

In the bowl of a stand mixer with the paddle attachment, combine the flour, cocoa powder, sugar, baking powder and salt. On the machine's lowest setting, cut in the chilled butter until the mixture resembles course meal. The butter should be in small pieces approximately the size of peas. Alternatively, sift together the dry ingredients in a medium bowl, then cut in the chilled butter with two knives or a pastry cutter. As before, the blend should be rough, with uneven pieces of butter still visible.

Lightly whisk together the whole egg, cream and vanilla. With the machine running still on low (or stir), pour the liquids slowly into the flour and butter mixture, stirring until just combined. Small bits of butter should still be visible, but almost all the flour should be incorporated. With the mixer still on low, stir in the chocolate. If proceeding by hand, use a wooden spoon or silicone spatula to fold and turn the flour mixture to incorporate the liquids, then stir in the chocolate. Do not overmix.

Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface. Working quickly, gently knead the dough, folding and pressing gently until fairly smooth. Divide the dough into three, and shape each ball of dough into a 4" round about 3/4"-1" thick. Cut each round into four wedges, and place on the prepared baking sheet. Once finished, brush each scone with the egg white and sprinkle with extra granulated sugar.

Bake in preheated oven for about 15 minutes, or until the tops are matte and the cut sides look flaky and dry. When fully cooked, scones should feel light for their size and sound almost hollow when tapped underneath. Cool on a wire rack for at least 5 minutes. Best served warm.

Makes 12 smallish scones.

Notes:

• As mentioned, these scones are only modestly sweet. For a more indulgent treat, substitute the bittersweet chocolate for a semisweet or even a milk chocolate. I encourage cutting up bar chocolate rather than morsels as bar chocolate is free from the stabilizers in chips that help them keep their shape. The uneven shards of chocolate will slightly melt into the dough, turning into little puddles of oozing darkness.
• For added richness, substitute 1/2 cup heavy cream for the 18% and use 2 large eggs instead of 1. In this variation you may need more flour for the dough to come together. Add it sparingly, a bit of stickiness to the dough is good.

All the more welcome

Some leftovers lose their allure rather quickly. Seemingly overnight, they become insufferably-dull house guests who have overstayed their welcome. In the light of day, gone is their allure, and with it, any remnants of your hospitality.

Most members of the fried food family, for example, fall into this category. They are the sort of guest with only one amusing anecdote to share. Sure, they are ever so witty and amusing for that one story, but a singular performance is all they can muster. After that, the conversation falls flat and everyone is looking at their watches, praying that nobody is in the mood to stick around after dessert is finished.

On the other hand, there are those dishes you hope will stick around long enough to become leftovers; in fact, you anticipate their arrival. Every Thanksgiving, whether it is me or another family member roasting the requisite bird, we purposely over-estimate our needs just so we will have some left over. Goodness knows, turkey sandwiches in the days following are almost more tempting than the feast the day before.

Roasted vegetables are agreeable fresh off the barbecue and paired with grilled meats for supper, but they are all the more welcome the next day when they reappear in a sandwich or are tossed with some greens for a salad. These are the sort of kitchen guests you look forward to, those which seem sublime at all times, even if their sojourn lasts more than a day or two.

Bread might be the most wonderful of leftovers, with almost endless charms. Slightly-past-its prime brioche is perfect for summer pudding, and I am altogether too happy to have a country boule hang about, drying out, just so there can be a panzanella in a few days.

Up until last evening, our inordinately-large bread box was playing host to the stragglers from our St. Patrick's Day festivities, a half-eaten round of Irish soda bread. While the loaf was far from dry, thoughts of bread pudding inspired an impromptu kitchen visit.

Eggs, milk cream and sugar blended together in a quick custard base. Cubed bread took to its bath, soaking for a long while. After a slathering of velvety raisin jam, the bread rested again, before a long, low bake in the oven. Still warm, the bread had the slightest bit of resistance left, only just yielding to the tooth.

Exactly the sort of company I was looking for.

Irish soda bread pudding with raisin jam
This is a hearty, not overly-sweet rendition of bread pudding; suited as much for breakfast as it would be for dessert. The raisin jam, which is really more a purée, was included for a loved one who likes the taste of cooked raisins but not their texture. Layered in the pudding, the raisin jam becomes a dark ribbon of concentrated raisin-ness, ginger and spice. I particularly enjoyed how the crags and crevices of the bread cubes allowed for alternating pools of jam, then rivulets, so that each bite had its own character.

Ingredients for bread pudding
4 eggs, at room temperature
1/3 cup brown sugar, packed
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/8 teaspoon kosher salt
3 cups milk
1 half and half
A generous 6 cups of 3/4-inch cubed Irish Soda Bread, see note
1 recipe raisin jam

Ingredients for raisin jam
1 cup raisins
1/2 cup water
2 tablespoons orange juice
1/4 teaspoon freshly grated ginger
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon salt

Make the jam first; in a small saucepan over medium-high heat, combine all the jam ingredients. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to maintain a simmer for around 10 minutes, stirring occasionally. At this point, the raisins should be soft and plumped, with a bit of moisture left in the pan. If it gets too dry and sticky, add more water, a tablespoon at a time. Working carefully, transfer the raisins to a small food processor or blender and purée until fairly smooth, again adding more water if necessary. The purée should be rather thick, but spreadable. Remove the jam to a bowl and allow to cool.

Meanwhile, lightly grease a 9-by-9-inch baking pan with butter and set aside.

In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs, brown sugar, vanilla, spices and salt. Whisk in the milk, continuing until all the ingredients are well-combined and the sugar is dissolved. Add the cubed bread, pressing down to submerge it into the milk mixture, and set aside to soak for around 30-40 minutes. By that point, almost all the liquid should be absorbed.

Preheat an oven to 350°F (175°C).

Spread half of the bread cubes in the prepared baking dish, making an even layer. Spoon the raisin jam over the cubes, spreading to cover all but a 1/4-inch border around the sides. Carefully top with remaining bread. If any liquid remains in the bowl, pour it over the pudding; soak for 10 minutes.

Set the baking dish in a larger roasting pan, and put in the preheated oven. Pour very hot water into the roasting pan, until it comes halfway up the side of the baking dish. Bake the bread pudding for about 50-60 minutes, or until a knife inserted near the centre comes out almost clean.

Serve warm or at room temperature, dusted with icing sugar or a drizzle of maple syrup.

Makes one 9-by-9-inch pan, serving 8.

Notes:

• The character of your soda bread will make all the difference here; I like a loaf that incorporates at least some whole wheat or oats, for added texture. The density of the bread will also determine how much soaking time is necessary. Be patient, and adjust timing accordingly.
• For a taller bread pudding, which is my preference, use a greased 8-by-8-inch baking pan instead. In this case, it may be that not all the liquid will fit in the pan right away. Pour as much as possible in without overflowing, let stand until absorbed and then repeat until done. Resist the urge to compress the bread too much, too soon. The cooking time will need to be longer to compensate for the additional depth.

An unending chorus

Lightly toasted; an adapted Irish soda bread slathered with butter and black raspberry preserves, served on my Grandmother's china.

When I married my husband, I adopted his surname. Lucky for me, attached to that marvelous man was a name that suited my own and came with an added bonus - an apostrophe as its crown. And so, on our wedding day, my Indian self became an Irish girl.

At birth each of our sons were claimed by their history, given names which carry meaning in our respective families. As the boys grow, I am time and again amazed by the echoes of their heritage as they become evident. William's smile is the replica of his father's at the same age. Benjamin's eyes carry my expressions. Family members tell stories of relatives we have never known, and how they are mirrored now in our children.

I am struck by the wonder of it, the way that traits find their way through bloodlines, inextricably weaving generations together in repeating pattern. It is an unending chorus, sung in round, sung back.

Our sense of identity is in constant evolution; carrying on and adding on, as we move forward in lives and relationships. Despite this change, we often remember back as we move ahead - gesture a nod of acknowledgement to the clans, countries and cultures from which we came.

Although I cannot pretend to be an expert Indian cook, I do attempt to speak that language of spice in our kitchen. My chicken curry might not exactly be my father's, but it is the one my children will know as "theirs". I have made a refrain of my commitment to maintaining that vocabulary of food, so that it will remain familiar.

With the day for St. Patrick approaching next week, my thoughts took a Gaelic turn. Irish might make up only a fraction of our family, but its brand upon us is indisputable - therefore it seemed proper to herald the feast of the patron saint of Ireland. Ever-present on the Irish table, hearty, satisfying soda bread made its way to our plates, with its unassuming stature and nubbled crumb. Although its rough-hewn crust seems substantial, its cheeks are tender. Soda bread is heavier textured than a scone, and with a flavour more subtly-complex than the all-out buttery-ness of a biscuit.

The romantic side of me wants to say that the reason my sons and husband enjoyed this bread so much was because of some genetic predisposition - a subconscious recognition of an ancient root in their geneology. That may be the case, or it might have just been some good bread. Either way, the intent was there; a meal to celebrate not one day, but all those that had passed before.

Irish-ish soda bread
Traditional Irish soda bread only contains flour, buttermilk, baking soda and salt. This version uses a mix of flours, along with oats for texture, and an egg for richness. Since I more often than not have yogurt in the fridge, I have used it as my liquid. A quick bake in high heat allows you to have bread on the table, from start to finish, in about an hour.

2 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/2 cups whole wheat flour
1/2 cup old-fashioned rolled oats (large flake, not instant)
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
2 tablespoons golden (light) brown sugar
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 1/2 cups yogurt (I use non-fat)
1 large egg, lightly beaten
4 tablespoons (1/4 cup, 1/2 stick) cold, unsalted butter, diced

Preheat oven to 425°F (220°C). Line a standard baking sheet with parchment paper and set aside.

In a large bowl, whisk together the flours, oats, salt, sugar, baking powder and baking soda.

In a small bowl, whisk together the yogurt and egg. Set aside.

Using a pastry cutter, two knives or your fingers, cut the butter into the flour cutting and work the butter until the mixture resembles coarse meal. Stir in the yogurt, mixing until you have a rough dough. Use your hands to turn and lightly knead the bread in the bowl, incorporating all the dry ingredients.

Working quickly, turn the dough onto a lightly-floured work surface and knead gently for about 30 seconds; the dough should be soft and elastic. Form the dough into a boule, about 8-inches across with a gentle dome and slightly-flattened top. Dust the surface of the bread with a sprinkling of flour, then use a sharp knife to slash a shallow cross from edge to edge of the loaf. Transfer bread to prepared baking sheet.

Bake for 35-45 minutes, or until the bread is golden brown and sounds hollow when tapped on the bottom. If the crust gets too dark during baking, tent loosely with foil. Cool on a rack for at least 10 minutes, then enjoy.

Makes 1 loaf.

Notes:

• The dough make take a few turns in the bowl to fully come together. If only absolutely necessary, add a bit more yogurt, a teaspoon at a time, to incorporate all the dry ingredients. Work the dough as gently as possible.

To covet and crave

Covetousness is probably not the most noble of things to admit, but I am guilty nonetheless.

I have, at some point or another, yearned for the following:

• Eyeglasses. I do not wear them, but I have often thought that a well-chosen pair can make the wearer look instantly infinitely more interesting. I have a love of sunglasses for this same reason.

• A pair of slouchy, winter-white suede boots with layers upon layers of fringe and little silver beads adorning said fringe that would click as you walked. I thought them fabulous, and my heart tightened a bit every time I heard the distinctive sound they made as my classmate skipped about the playground. How I would have skipped had those boots been mine.

• Curly hair. Or straight. I had curls when I was an infant, fairly-straight hair in my teens, and now it falls somewhere (infuriatingly) in between.

• A jaunty accent. Or a mysterious one. Or a charming one, even. Now I know I have an accent, a Canadian one, and could easily move to a foreign country and attain this aspiration. Problem is, I like living in Canada. And, if we are being honest, I do not often hear comments on the lilting tone of the Canadian manner of speaking. Give me a good, rich Irish brogue or something equally melodic.

• The set of wicker Barbie doll furniture (loveseat, two chairs and a table) owned by my friend who lived up the street when I was six years old. How I wished it was mine. Looking back, I assume that this set was not an officially-branded Barbie product, as all of her furniture was molded plastic and this, this was the real thing. Delicate rattan interwoven into pattern upon pattern, with twists and arabesques and florets as decoration. My friend would bring her set over to play, which was fun, but deep down I wished it was mine. I imagined that my Peaches n' Cream Barbie, renamed Scarlett or something fittingly-dramatic, would flit gracefully about the verandah of her Dream Home as best as one without fully-operational joints could flit, only to finally alight upon the edge of the wicker settee as she entertained her gentlemen callers.

• Gorgeously-ripe, local strawberries in March. Crimson to their cores, such jewels that if you strung them on some silk you could wear them as a necklace. Juicy, luscious fruit, tasting of sun.

As you might surmise, dear reader, that last object of desire is my most recent fixation. My preoccupation developed when I looked at Helen's site a few weeks ago. Ooof. That first photo brought all my want for springtime into one perfect image, and it hit me with the weight of all the snow we have had this season. The mint is so green, the soup so vivid, the berries so vibrant, they belong in a jewelery box.

My longing was only exacerbated by two gloriously-sunshiney days that came that same week; the wind had turned mild, carrying the kiss of spring to our cheeks. Sadly, it was not long lived, and we were back to a windchill of -17°C by the weekend. But although the warmth was gone, my desire for strawberries remained.

I could not ignore the cold, and so I looked to make something that would appease my craving, but still took its inspiration from my meteorological circumstance. I settled on oatcakes, ones that incorporate cooked steel-cut oats, griddled little cakes that are substantial without heaviness. The oats contribute not only a slight chewiness and nuttiness, also a cobblestoned texture.

Of course I needed to have my strawberries. This was one of those occasions when the habit freezing local berries when in season comes in handy. A scarely-sweetened sauce, simply crushed fruit, a sprinkle of sugar and a squeeze of lemon, brought zest and brightness and smacking sharpness to the pleasantly-stodgy oatcakes. The most modest drizzle of maple syrup rounded out that edge, with a mellow sweetness that worked with both the berries and the oats.

Breakfast done, I could not help but smile in the knowledge that both our appetites and my want were satisfied.

Steel-cut oatcakes with the quickest strawberry sauce

Ingredients for the oatcakes
1 cup of all-purpose flour
3 tablespoons granulated sugar
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1 cup of prepared steel-cut oats
1 large egg, lightly beaten
1/2 cup yogurt (I use nonfat)
1/2 cup milk (I use 1%)
3 tablespoons melted clarified butter or neutral oil
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

Ingrediens for the sauce
strawberries, frozen in my case, fresh if you are lucky
freshly-squeezed lemon juice
granulated sugar
salt

melted butter, optional for cooking
maple syrup, optional for serving

In a large bowl, whisk or sift together the flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda and salt. Set aside.

In a medium bowl, stir together the oats, egg, yogurt, milk, oil and vanilla. Stir these wet ingredients into the dry, mixing until incorporated but not completely smooth. Allow to rest while you make the strawberry sauce.

For the sauce, take a few handfuls of strawberries, and put them in a small saucepan over medium heat. Add a squeeze of lemon juice and a sprinkling of sugar. Cook, until the berries begin to soften and release their juices, about 5 minutes. Crush the berries using a potato masher or the back of a fork, until you have a coarse, chunky sauce. Taste, adding sugar accordingly and a pinch of salt if desired. Bring to a simmer and cook another 5 minutes, stirring occasionally, or until the juices have reduced to your liking. Take the sauce off the heat and allow it to cool slightly while you prepare the oatcakes.

To cook the oatcakes, preheat a non-stick or cast iron griddle over medium high heat. Lightly brush with melted clarified butter if desired. Ladle about 1/4 cup of the batter onto the pan. Cook until the edges become dry and bubbles begin to form in the centre, about 3 minutes. Flip and cook on the other side until golden and puffed, about another 2 minutes. Remove to a platter and keep warm in a low oven if needed. Continue until all batter is used. Serve the oatcakes with the strawberry sauce and a drizzle of maple syrup.

Makes 20 small pancakes, serving about 4-6.

Notes:

• This blueberry sauce (scroll down) would also be a fine accompaniment. And congratulations to Carrie and Andrew on their 50th post.
• For those with fresh berries, you might want to forgo cooking the sauce entirely, instead crushing the fresh berries and allowing them to soak in their juices, along with the sugar and lemon.

Curing what ails me

Important note: My sincere apologies; when this was first posted, there was an error in the quantity of milk used - it should be 2 cups. If anyone did make the recipe with the incorrect amount of liquid, I hope you did not fret too much; bake the oatmeal for an additional 15 or so minutes. The bottom oats will be a bit softer, but some of the excess liquid will have absorbed. Serves me right for attempting to write while my head was shrouded in cold symptoms!

I am feeling more than a tad under the weather. I know that a lot of people, including my dear husband, are in the same circumstance just now, but even company is not making this misery go away any faster.

The company is appreciated though, as Sean and I are spending our time comparing analogies to our symptoms. At last count he was mired in a rather fog-shrouded bog, whilst I was enjoying the company of particularly-prodigious pachyderms as they perched upon my head.

I am not so sick as to require reinforcements to help me wrangle the boys or make it through my day, but I am sick enough that said wrangling sometimes sets my mind aswirl and by the end of the day I am reaching for the coziest of sweaters and the softest of pillows. I am not so sick that I did not get dressed today, but I am sick enough that when I noticed my socks did not exactly match, I shrugged my shoulders and pulled them on anyway.

I had meant to write about bread baking and chocolate cakes and other such interesting things. But to be honest, I am not in the mood for food just now. I have little appetite, and when I do eat, that's not the food I am wanting - I want warmth, and I want it in a bowl.

Wandering about the kitchen this morning, I set about making a pot of steel cut oats; hearty and filling, a regular winter breakfast for us. I took pause however, and thought of baked oatmeal instead. This is the goose down duvet of breakfasts; stewed fruit is tucked beneath a layer of soft, pillowy oats, with a thin, crisp crust atop. My banana and blueberry version is like eating banana bread combined with a fruit crumble, with the best qualities of a breakfast bar and oatmeal cookie thrown in for good measure.

The potent mix of spice and fruit filled the kitchen with a soothing fug that brought appetites to the table. Textured and toothsome, the oatmeal was greedily spooned out and gobbled up, warming both our hearts and bellies. It was just what the doctor ordered.

Be well.

Endnote: If anyone might happen to find me, still in my robe (and possibly mismatched socks) eating this cold out of the fridge (and directly from the dish), please don't judge.

Baked oatmeal with blueberries and banana
Perfect for a cold morning, this baked oatmeal can be served as is or, as I like it, with a splash of extra milk or a dollop of yogurt.

Ingredients
Softened butter for greasing the pan
2 cups large flake rolled oats (not instant)
1/2 cup sliced almonds, lightly toasted
1/3 cup brown sugar, packed
1/4 cup pepitas, lightly toasted
2 teaspoons flax seeds
1 teaspoon baking powder
3/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground ginger
1/8 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/8 teaspoon ground clove
1/8 teaspoon kosher salt
2 cups milk (I use 1%)
1 large egg
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 teaspoon pure maple syrup
2 medium bananas, diced
1/2 cup frozen blueberries (not thawed)
Coarse sugar, optional

Preheat oven to 375°F (190°C). Lightly grease the inside of a 8" round baking dish (around 2 quart capacity) and set aside.

In a medium bowl, mix together the oats, almonds, brown sugar, pepitas, flax seeds, baking powder, spices and salt. Set aside.

In another bowl, whisk together the milk, egg, almost all of the butter (save about 1 teaspoon for drizzling over the finished dish), vanilla and maple syrup. Set aside.

In the prepared baking dish, spread the diced bananas in an even layer, then scatter the blueberries over top. Pile the oat mixture to cover the fruit, but do not pack too tightly. Carefully pour the wet milk mixture over the oats; it will look as if there is too much liquid, but not to worry, it will be absorbed during baking.

Drizzle over the reserved butter, sprinkle with a scant teaspoon of coarse sugar (or to taste), and bake for 35-40 minutes, until the oatmeal is puffed and set, with a golden brown top.

Remove from the oven, allow to cool for a few minutes, then enjoy.

Makes about 4 hearty servings.

Notes:
• Although I have given measurements, the fruit simply needs to completely cover the base of the baking dish. You might need to adjust your quantities to suit your baking dish. Speaking of which, an 8x8 inch square baking dish can be used in place of the round; the oatmeal will be crisper, though.
• This is one of those recipes that allows for a host of variations; I simply pillaged my pantry for ingredients and went from there. Almost any nuts and an array of fresh and dried fruit would all work here. Some specifically-tasty combinations: grated apple with almonds, bananas, dried cranberries and pecans, blackberries and peaches with almonds, dried figs with pistachios, or diced pears with walnuts. In each case, spices should also be adapted accordingly.

Menu for Hope V update: Marty McCarthy, winner of CA06: The flavours of Canada, please email me at tara[at]sevenspoons[dot]net with your contact information.