Sometimes I just want to eat a color.

…Does that make sense?  Does that ever happen in your brain?

Usually I want to eat things that are green (kale), milky (coffee), made of booze, made of chocolate, or made of pie.

For some reason, yesterday I wanted something orange and spicy.

I made soup.  Because all I ever make is soup… then I put it in this wood bowl and take two pictures of it before I have to sit down on my couch and eat it.

That’s how it goes around here.  It just does.

Carrots with their hair are so much more romantic that the stripped version.  Don’t you think?

The cute bagger boy at Whole Foods asked me if I was going to juice the greens when I got home.  I think he was trying to impress me.  I looked at him like he was from Mars.

I was also wearing my super fitted workout pants.  He tried to recover from the juicing comment by asking me how many miles I ran that morning.  I answered ‘zero’, which was totally true.  Awkward.  Asking a girl how many miles she ran is basically announcing that you’ve checked out her rear end and find it interesting enough to ask about.

I wasn’t doing anything to make him feel any better about checking out my butt and trying to impress me with his carrot juicing knowledge.  Poor thing… he was trying.

Anyway….

Onions and garlic go in soup, because onions and garlic always go in soup.

Duh.

An apple and ginger can totally go in soup too.  These two items can also go in spice cake… but we’re not here for cake.  Concentrate, will you!?

Carrots, apple, and ginger cook down beautifully in this soup.  The carrots are slightly sweet and full of good-for-you-things.  The apple adds a necessary touch of sweetness (although it doesn’t taste distinctly apple-y in this soup), and the ginger is perfectly spicy.  It’s good for you.  It’s orange.  It’s really delicious with buttered bread… that goes for just about anything in life, though.

This whole mess is vegan too.  Minus the delicious buttered bread.  Silly.

Please allow me this bright and promising Monday morning to keep it one hundred percent real with you.  While this gluten free cake was buttery, nutty, bright with the flavor of lemon and perfectly sweet, the truth is, it ended up all over my floor.  Well… ok, bits on the floor, chunks on the counter, and pieces in my dirty sink.  Basically, this cake landed everywhere except the cake plate where I wanted it.

I salvaged a few if the larger pieces to mock up a pretty picture for you.  For a few moments I thought I might not even tell you about my cake accident.  But… see, my cake didn’t just land on the floor because I’m clumsy, but because I was taking baking liberties that I shouldn’t have.  Fact.

This cake taught me a small lesson about baking pan choices and cooking times.  It also helped me get my cake dropping out of the way for the next several months.  I only drop a cake every three months or so.  I feels good to be free and clear for a few months to come.

Here’s what you should know about this cake.  The crumb is held together with butter, almond flour and eggs.  While the cake is full of great flavor, it’s a bit crumbly.  To best work with the crumb of this cake, I think it would be best baked in mini loaf pans, or mini bundt pans, or those long and skinny loaf pans (6×2 1/2-inches) if you have them.  Cupcakes also worked out well, baking for 20 to 25 minutes, until the edges were nice and brown.  Regular sized, larger loaf pans will most likely create a cake that is sunken in the middle.  Bundt pans.. well that’s how I dropped my cake on the floor… no good.

When it comes to baking this beauty, you might be surprised when I say: longer is better.  We’re not looking for a lightly colored American style cake here.  We’re looking for a French brown:  a baked good left to bake until the sides are beautifully dark brown.  I think the longer cooking time will help the crumb stay together better.

I’m thinking my mistakes will help you create a better cake.  Go on… bake away!

On losing, letting go of little sisters, and warm biscuits:

We never talked about this.  I didn’t know how to bring it up.  The 2009 Bloggies.  Remember?  Best New Blog?  So… I sorta…. kinda…. mostly… didn’t win.  The thing is, I really really wanted to win.  I did.  I played it cool though.  On the outside, I pretended to not care either way.  That was a big fat lie.  But the thing about losing… it’s pretty cool actually… it makes me want to be better.  It also makes me unbelievably grateful for all of your smiling faces.  Fact.

I found myself in a frenzy this morning.  My little sister left for a many month long European adventure.  The thought of her being so far away that I can’t easily call her at two in the morning to scream our favorite Mariah Carey song at her sent me into panic mode.  I calmed myself, safe in the knowledge that my sister deserved some life changing adventures and I am due many presents from far away lands upon her return.

Biscuits.  If I were to hand you a warm biscuit with raspberry jam would you: a)  throw it on the ground and shove me on the floor or b) thank me kindly, gobble the biscuit and give me a giant hug?  If your answer involved shoving me on the floor… well, that’s kinda funny, but throwning biscuits on the floor is just plain rude.  Don’t do it.

These Buttermilk Buiscuits… well, they must be blessed by the heavens.  I don’t think there’s any other way to explain just how good they are.  They’re best right out of the oven, steaming hot, doused with butter and jam.

My dad has been making this recipe for Buttermilk Biscuits for our family for, exactly, ever.  Incedentially, my sister has been swiping them of the table for as long as I can remember.  They’re simple family goodness.

Everyday requires a little adventure, wouldn’t you agree?

Some days (say… yesterday for me) that adventure can be as simple as taking a new route home from work (and getting lost driving through the canyons).

Other days, that adventure might mean moving to France for three months  (not my adventure, but bon voyage dear Carsen!).

Maybe sometime during this bright and brisk week, your adventure will involve these Chai Spiced Pancakes.  I dunno about you, but there’s something about a steaming plate of pancakes makes me feel like I’m living the good life.  And chai spice?  Well, let’s just agree to calling that a mild pancake adventure.

Whatever adventure means to do, I say go and do!  Big or small.  France or pancakes.  Treat yourself to a little adventure this week…. and forever.  Foreva, eva, eva?  Yes.

In other exciting, non pancake related news, the 2009 Bloggies are announced this afternoon.  You might want to hop on over there and check out the big winners.  Remember waaaaay back a month ago when I was nominated for Best New Blog?  Yea… well.  Win or no win, being nominated has been the most awesome kick in the pants.  Thanks for making that happen for me.  Really.  Thanks!

Wait!!  There’s more!  Here’s a super secret tip!  You might want to find yourself back here this time tomorrow for a super awesome giveaway.  I’m just sayin’…

Pancakes.  Sweet.  Slightly spiced.  Otherwise perfect.  Do it.

I used to keep a dream dictionary by my bed.  Fact.  I thought that I could wake up from a vivid dream all about pansies and weasels, broken clocks and cotton candy to thumb through a book and answer all off those deep subconscious questions.

It never worked.  I was lucky enough if I’d remember the dream, and luckier still if I had the wakefulness to actually reach for a dictionary first thing in the morning.

My dreams are trying to tell me something, I just leave it up to my sly and cunning brains to figure it out or leave it a mystery.

In the same way, my body was trying to send me a message early this morning.  I hadn’t been awake and in the world for more than an hour when I found myself standing at work in the restaurant saying exactly this, completely unsolicited:

I want potato salad.  I want potato salad exactly now.  Potato salad sound SO good.  I want pounds and pounds of potatoes in my belly right this second!

How’s that for a craving!?

I know what you’re thinking.  But Joooooy!  You didn’t make potato salad.  What’s all this cabbage business!?

Well,  my body and I have figured out that when I have a crazy potato attack, my body really just needs a comfy sweater, a cup of tea with loads of honey, and a good long hug.  It’s not about the potato, it’s about comfort and warmth.

See it’s just like that dream I had the other night about my teeth falling out.  It’s not about my poor teeth, maybe it’s just my brain telling me that I should talk to that girl at work who says mean things to me, I should tell her how I feel instead of simply ignoring her everyday.

um…..  does that make sense?

With that, I bring you Spicy Sweet Cabbage Salad.

It’s everything I wanted from the world, without the heavy potatoes.  I save the potatoes for a time when I know I won’t completely gorge myself.  This salad has got spice, sweetness, and a salty crunch.  Throw on some tuna and its like  healthy, expensive spa food.  Super pleasing!

I’m a flake.

Ok… maybe that’s a little harsh.

I flaked on plans I made last Friday night, and I felt guilty until exactly this morning.

See… (I’ll try keep this short) I was supposed to go to see a friend’s play on Friday night.  You know,  it’s just one of those things you do.  Friend.  Theater.  You just go see it.

I was on the list.  The play was showing walking distance from my house.  I had no other plans.  The weather was gorgeous.  Really… I’d have to be a complete jerkface to not show up, right?  Well I didn’t, and here’s why…

I threw on my favorite jeans.  I was wearing my cute jacket and scarf.  I walked myself over to the theater feeling pretty good about the world.  That’s when I saw it:  a crowd of strangers.  I froze.  All the charm and clever wit that I might have possessed simply drained out of my system.  I suppose that happens to the best of us sometimes.  In my case, rather than facing my spontaneous fear of strangers, I turned myself right around and walked back home.

On the way home I concocted an elaborate lie to tell my friend the next time I saw him.  It was full of stress, drama, lost time and regret.  I stopped myself.  Literally.  In the middle of my street.

Why lie?  Why not keep it simple?  Why not express a little vulnerability?  Why not just say I couldn’t handle strangerdanger that particular night?

That’s just what I did.  Next time I say my friend, I simply apologized, looked him directly in the eye and told him what a ‘fraidycat I was.  It felt like one of those simply, human moments when you just lay it all out there for better or worse.

Life is complicated enough.  Why disguise your vulnerabilities with lies?  And why disguise your potatoes with a bunch of nonsense?

There are few things in the world more simple and honest that a potato.

These Oven Baked Fries with Herbes de Provence are a lovely way to celebrate simplicity.  Herbes de Provence is a spice mixture that usually contains thyme, rosemary, basil, bay leaf, marjoram and lavender.  It’s gentle and kind, and a classy touch to these oven potatoes.

Life is all about balance, right?  Balance and beans.  Ok… maybe not that last part.

While I’ll be the first person in line to pick at those brownies fresh out of the oven, I also know that I have to fill my belly with foods that make my body feel strong.  Because I think food is just downright dreamy, I like to take the time to make something special for my body.  Why?  I figure if my body is happy, then my brain is pretty stoked and my heart feels pretty rad… and that trickles out to every part of my life.

Can I tell you a secret?  I gave up working out for the new year.  That’s right… I gave it up completely.  I had absolutely no interest at all in even glancing at my running shoes.  About two months in, I went to slip on my favorite jeans.  Um…  they were tight… and they hadn’t just come out of the dryer.  What did I expect?  Seriously…

Well, I’m back at it.  I’m taking my running shoes out for a spin every once in a while, and my body is all smiles.  Incedentially, my body also wants to celebrate its new found activity with French fries… but that’s a whole other battle we can talk about later.

This Borlotti Stew over Creamy Polenta feels exactly as good as getting out of the shower after a long run and sliding under the electric blanket for the night.  It’s one big bowl of good-for-you comfort.

It’s a small way to celebrate real food being really good for you.  I dunno… I think there’s something really special, and necessary about taking care of your body with a whole, happy meal.

Yes, I still love cupcakes.

Yes, I’ve been thinking about oatmeal cookies all week.

Yes,  I think pancakes should have a daily requirment like fruits and vegetables.

All of these things are true, yet here I am… and all I have to offer you is a pile of dried beans.

Do you feel wronged?  A little?  Be honest.

Let me explain.  These beans are special.  These beans have character, color and integrity.  These beans were inspiration enough for me to sit down and actually consider cooking dried beans at home.

See, I’m convinced that food has a story to tell and a story to create.  I want to know where my food comes from, so I’m always aspiring to find new foods from people who care about it as much as I do.

I don’t want to settle, but I also don’t want to spend a fortune on some fancypants ingredient that I won’t even have the tools to cook.  That’s just silly, right?

Well… these beans… they just made me swoon.  They’re beautiful.  And!  And!  I can cook them at home.  And if I can cook them at home, you can too.

Can I share my beans with you?  Will you indulge me?

These beautifully brown striped and plump heirloom beans are from Rancho Gordo in Napa Valley.  Steve Sando and his family of growers care about beautiful beans.  More importantly, they care about making these beans as approachable as possible.  They actually want you to cook and enjoy them.

I chose Borlotti beans for my inaugural cooking.  They’re a bean typically associated with the Piedmont region of Italy, but also have strong roots in Colombia.  They’re a fat brown bean that cook up super meaty, earthy and delicious.

First let’s talk about how to cook these suckers, and tomorrow we’ll talk about how to incorporate them into an unforgettable dinner.

Good food is worth the time.  Beans are no exception.  Come on….  we can totally do this.

Cooking Dried Beans in the Rancho Gordo Manner

There is not one single method of cooking beans.  The most basic method is to simmer the pot until the beans are soft.  Soaking can speed up the process, and vegetables or stock will make them more flavorful.  It’s really that simple!

Check beans for small debris and rinse in cool, fresh water.  Cover beans with two inches of water and soak for 4-6 hours.  In a large pot, saute finely chopped onions, celery, carrot and garlic (or any combination you prefer) in olive oil until soft.  Add beans and water, and make sure beans are covered by at least one inch of water.  Bring to a hard boil for five minutes and then reduce to a gentle simmer.  Once soft, add salt.  Beans can take from one to three hours to cook.  Slow and low is always best.

Crockpot Method

Saute half a chopped onion in about one tablespoon of olive oil.  Place in a crock pot followed by the cleansed and soaked beans.  Cover with water (about one part beans to three or four parts water).  Turn heat to “High” and give the contents a stir.  Do this is the morning and your beans will be done by the late afternoon.

Pressure Cooker Method

Check with manufacturer for the exact method for your model, but generally you want to cook under pressure for 20 minute, release, and then cook open on the stovetop for another 20 minutes.  Now that’s speedy!

More Fun Bean Facts

Don’t add acids like tomatoes or vinegar or sugars until the beans are just tender.  Acids can toughen the cooking beans.

You can replace some of the cooking water with beer or stock.

Bay leaves are nice… so are ham bones or smoked turkey legs.

In general, fresh, heirloom beans need little help.

And…  here’s a preview of what we’re making.  Tomatoes, Parmesan, polenta, fennel…. Goooooood!

My Mom used to crawl in the bed at night, after a long day of being a mail carrier, a wife and mother and exclaim “Best part of the day!” just before she drifted off to sleep.  To her,  it seemed like there was no greater reward that peaceful rest at the end of the day.

As a kid, I had a hard time relating to my Mom’s Ode to Bedtime.  I was sure that I could have, at the very least, squeezed one more episode of The Cosby Show into my night.  Nope.  Bedtime was bedtime, not because there were overly strict bedtime rules, but because my Mom was just dog tired.

Nowadays I feel like I have a better understanding of my Mom’s nighttime sentiments.  My head hits the pillow after a long day and I’m asleep before I can even turn the bedside lamp off… and I don’t even have little kids yet!

You were right Momma.  Sometimes crawling under the covers is the best part of the day.

Other times, quiche is the best part of the day.  True.

In exciting, not sleepy or quiche related news:  my Mom, after over 30 years of delivering mail, retires from the Post Office… today!  Holy heck Mom!  Way to go!  Thanks for working hard for the family all those years.   I couldn’t be happier for you.  I hope you find a new “best part of the day”.  For reals, I love you Mom!

Thanks for letting me get that off my chest.  Moms are important.  I have a good one.

Speaking of good.  Um… I should warn you about this quiche.  It’s not good.  It’s so crazy great you might hurt yourself!  Truly.  Between the puff pastry, bacon, creme fraiche and Gruyere, this quiche just about made me cry.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Pop Quiz:

If you could only eat one thing for the rest of you life what would it be: sweet and creamy breakfast polenta with milk or (oh my gracious heavens) sweet and creamy fried polenta bars with blackberry meyer lemon jam?

No contest.  Fried polenta with blackberry jam every day, all day.  Let’s do this.

Remember yesterday I told you about Vanilla Brown Sugar Breakfast Polenta?  That was just a dirty trick to make you have enough leftover polenta to make the real deal:  fried polenta.

A quick heads up:  this recipe involves butter and results in an almost French Toast-ish, outta this world breakfast.  If you’re not ready for that… completely understandable… you might want to sit this one out.   I won’t judge.