Titbit or Tidbit?

Banana, Peanut Butter, Raisin, Apple

What does one eat when in a hurry? Why, a banana with peanut butter and raisins, and a sliced apple! This has to be one of our favorite snacks / afternoon meals, and has seen us through times of feeling particularly uncreative. Yes – even people who supposedly blog about food feel uncreative. Hence the current obsession with “wraps.” They’re easy, they can be held in one hand whilst using the other hand on the mouse (shameful, eating at the computer), and they take absolutely zero mental capacity: slather some hummus onto a tortilla, throw in some cucumber slices, some feta, and a veggie sausage, then … wrap. Done, takes 10 minutes to make enough for two or three people, and has the bonus aspect of being quite tasty.

Now, for today’s question: titbit or tidbit? We’ve seen it repeatedly, over here, as “titbit” … which not only seems like a misspelling, but somehow very, very wrong. We realized, though, that the word “tit” is just the name of a bird. So, a titbit would be a small bite of something tasty? Sure. Go ahead and think that, if it helps.


The draft thesis was submitted for end of year review and was apparently well received. We’ll see what comes back in writing, of course; and, of course, the school year has ended, so that written critique of the thesis is a bit long in coming. In any event, though, things are still on schedule for submission of the draft which is for the viva sometime in the next month or so, with the hopes that we can have the viva before September. That would get us free of Glasgow before it starts to really get nasty around here. Woo hoo!

Things are looking better on the health front, with all labs coming back fairly normal, and with my energy starting to come back. Who knows, perhaps we’ll even make it to our pool again some day. Thank you to all of you who have supported us both through this.

-D

&tc. And Stuff

Pancakes with Cranberry Compote 3

It’s the breakfast of champions, kids. And the lunch, and part of the dinner…

It isn’t the pancakes that are so fabulous in this shot, although they were pretty darned good with the cranberry compote that was going to be jelly except someone decided they were bored with their partner being in the kitchen watching the pot and convinced her to turn it off — ahem. It’s not the pancakes, or the slightly out of focus Linda McCartney sausages lightly festooned with apple-plum sauce, nor the pretty stainless steel fork which is the last of a very large retro set, some of which must still be buried in a drawer in T’s mother’s kitchen. No, no, it’s none of those things. It’s the fact that in the background, the sky is a washed-out blue.

That hasn’t happened in a awhile around these parts.

We got about eight consecutive hours of sun two weeks ago, but today’s temperature was actually in the fifties – 10°C – which made it deceptively warmish. (Quite a few were deceived, including the man in pink tee, white shorts and Birkenstocks. He looked to have been deceived by a great many things, however.) A few more days of warmth like this, and some of the crocuses might start to consider wakening. We are DESPERATELY hoping this happens, as the biggest of T’s so-called Littles are coming to visit, and she is trying to special order sunny skies and daffodils for them. This could take some doing.

As a courtesy tutorial for the Littles, we present this tidy little explanation of the United Kingdom. Unlike the gentleman from Stanford who recently visited the University and miscalled the country wherein he was speaking ENGLAND, we are hoping the Littles will make a better showing than this. (Explanations are more needed than you know, as we have acquaintances who believe we live in Switzerland — and last time we were home, someone asked us how things were in Finland. Americans, stop making us look bad with the geography stuff, okay?? Just because it all ends in “land” does not make it the same country!)

There. Hopefully you’ve got that now. Not Switzerland. Not Finland. SCOTland. Part of the UK, but not ENGland. ::sigh::

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It’s been a busy time. We are enjoying gaining mastery with our Rossini piece in chorus, and the Vaughn Williams is all but polished. Of course, that means Il Maestro had to introduce something new — Belshazzar’s Feast is a cantata by the English composer William Walton. It is so very theatrical,so very bizarre and so, so, difficult that we are doing a lot more snorting and chortling in the ranks than actually singing. We sound AWFUL. It’s hilarious. We plan to record rehearsal next time we think of it — the cries of dismay and the odd pauses where people attempt to come in are priceless. Music composed in the thirties — full of cacophony and general weirdness — it’s good fun, and it keeps our brains sharp to keep grappling with strange music. Or, so we tell ourselves.

It’s a good thing to be able to laugh at oneself… at times, there’s really just no choice!

In “business” news, T’s just shot off another novel to the eagerly waiting editor, who is promising to bump her to the top of the list, as her agent is buzzing to all and sundry that this is a “lovely” one. This is the fastest novel she’s ever written, as it came together in just under five months. She begs her agent not to come to expect that kind of time! Meanwhile, D. has been Glasgow Uni D 760in a bit of a funk for a bit, as his advisers got into a disagreement about how he was to display a set of statistics — ending with him having to rewrite his first chapter and do a lot of annoying backtracking, then present the statistics BOTH ways — but that’s finally over. The cobwebs are clearing, and he’s grateful indeed to be writing on his dissertation again, and making clear progress. He’s also somehow been roped into teaching this week and next, but is taking it all in stride.

As much fun as D’s time in Scotland has been, it’s definitely coming to a close in terms of the University. The BBC has reported that major cuts in both courses and in faculty, in order to raise money mean that thousands of both faculty and students will be affected, and there’s definitely a feeling of uneasiness in the ranks. Protests and sit-ins are becoming routine, and everyone is unhappy. It’s a real shame — and it seems very much to be a sign of the times, as we hear the same news from the U.S.! Friends of ours who are new graduates are not sanguine about finding positions in academia at present — but D. is optimistic that he’ll be able to find a job regardless — just not as a professor. And he’s not sorry about that, as he’s not sure he can deal with any more academia at this point anyway.

It’s a chaotic, turbulent world out there, and everyone seems to be feeling the strain. What do you do to lighten the load for yourself and those around you? At the moment, the hope of Spring keeps us going. How about you?

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Weekend Snack: Blueberry Yogurt

Blueberries, Sugar, and Yogurt

If you’ve never had it, we strongly encourage you to try mixing up a cup of blueberries (or blackberries, but you know you’ll spend an hour picking seeds out of your teeth), a generous dollop of Greek yogurt, and topping that with a few tablespoons of brown sugar. Don’t worry about not stirring this very well: it’s all about the contrasts in flavor between fresh, sour, and sweet. It’s also about how the brown sugar melts into the yogurt, but remains sort of gritty.

Truly – this is a favorite in our kitchen, and the early berries — from some warm hothouse far from Britain — were a Spring-to-come treat.

-D & T

Some Like it Hotter

We’re lousy food-bloggers. Why? Because we don’t use the blog to store basic recipes, which means that when we crave something like a batch of Pinto beans … well, we’re left guessing how much hot pepper to put in, and can’t remember what we did in the last batch. Beginning to combat that evil, here is today’s Pinto recipe, which is still not fiery enough:

  • 4 cups dry Pintos, picked free of stones and broken beans, and washed free of dust
  • 10 cups (or so – 12 would be safer, if you’re leaving them cooking and going somewhere) of boiling water
  • 3 medium, white onions
  • 1 tsp chili flakes
  • 1 tsp cayenne powder
  • 1 tsp chipotle powder
  • 1 Tbsp sweet paprika
  1. Chop your onions,
  2. Add everything to your slow-cooker and let the smell drive you mad for at least 8 hours, topping up with hot water as needed to just cover the beans,
  3. Serve over a handful of tortilla chips and some cheese, topped with lowfat Greek yogurt (and an avocado, if you have a ripe one handy).

Next batch, we’ll know: that is simply nowhere near enough pepper! The sweet paprika is an awesome touch, but adds no heat. The chipotle adds a bit of smoke, which is also nice. But: next batch, probably 3 tsp of cayenne powder, and maybe an extra tsp of chili flakes. That should just get them to where they could be described as spicy, to us. (Note: Mr. B? Omit the cayenne powder and you’ll have something which might be described as, “hurts good,” in the world of the gringo.)

-D&T

First, Eat Six Oranges…

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Ho, hum: winter.

We’ve had a ragged start to the week.

Back-to-back shows on Sunday reminded us of the many reasons why we were English majors and not musical theater majors (not the least of which it wasn’t offered at our school). We started the week tired, cranky, and sore — five hours on stage, holding a folder full of music in outstretched arms and standing still or sitting still for a long, twelve-hour period in cramped quarters will do that to you.

With the weekend partially lost, the usual housework catch-up from Sunday got pushed into Monday. T. is still trying to come to a natural sounding conclusion to her middle grade novel, instead of just quitting because she’s sick of writing it, but she had to intersperse work with doing the laundry and grousing that one other thing she wished the Pro-Snow Contingent had mentioned was the fact that with snow, a pair of jeans you just put on to cross the street to go to the store returns inevitably filthy on the hem, unless tucked into boots. City snow is filthy — and means more laundry, and much-needed time polishing shoes. (T. also groused quietly about wearing the same pair of black leather insulated boots every day and everywhere, but with these near-freezing temps, it’s just another winter reality.)

D. groused about having to meet with his supervisors, and having to hurry to a deadline for work, with his boss asking for meetings he didn’t have time to attend. Tuesday found us prepping for our last big show on the 20th, plus another event at Kelvingrove on the 19th, and we found ourselves tired and grumpy — and too busy.

Obviously, that meant it was time to start the Christmas baking. And maybe take advantage of the fact that the store is selling tons of salt for very cheap (the ice has persisted, and it’s forecast to give us another eight inches starting tomorrow – oh, joy!) and dye something a bright color. Quickly.

Creativity makes everything better.

T. decided that she was sick of racing around frantically every year in the pre-stollen prep stage, trying to find sulfur-free citrus peel, and that she should make her own. It’s funny – it’s such a simple thing — it’s orange peels, how hard could it be? – but most people only ever buy it. T. did a little research, and came up with a simple recipe. All you need is oranges, two cups of sugar, a cup of water, and some time.

  • First, eat six oranges. Or twelve clementines.
  • Okay, they don’t have to be oranges or clementines. And you don’t have to eat them right away. Just PEEL them, and set roughly four cups of peel aside. You don’t have to worry about the pithy side of the peel, either, although you should remove all the stringy bits. Just peel the fruit, and slice the skin into a size you’d like it to be. We had some dried peels sent from our favorite California citrus tree (thanks, Bean!) and some fresh ones, and simply broke them up and sliced them into a suitable size. In the future, T. thinks instead of slicing the sections crosswise, for short thin pieces, that she’ll slice lengthwise, to make as long of pieces as possible.
  • Next, chuck your peels in a heavy bottomed saucepan or whatever pot you’ve got, cover them with about three inches of nice, cold water, and bring them to a boil. Maintain that boil for forty-five minutes. The thicker the skin of your orange or grapefruit or lemon, the longer this will take. Clementines will become soft and pliable in much less time, of course, having thinner skin. If you’re using multiple citrus types, give the thicker ones a twenty minute head start. Don’t worry. This isn’t the tricky part. Just get them softened.
  • Now, drain the water, and refill the pot, and do it again, this time for twenty minutes. Incidentally, I saved the water from my peels. It smells wonderful, tastes sharply, bitterly orangey, and I’m thinking I might be able to use it as an ingredient in something…
  • As your peels boil for the second time, you can prep your simple syrup. In a heavy, non-reactive pot, put together your two cups of sugar and cup of water. I started out with boiling hot water so that the sugar would dissolve quickly. Set your syrup to simmering and when your twenty minutes are up, remove the peel from the water with a slotted spoon, and stir them into the simple syrup.
  • Candied Orange Peel 1
  • Simmer for an hour and a half to two hours — but stir frequently. That’s the only “tricky” part. Things do stick and scorch in a sugar syrup, and while a little burnt orange is actually quite tasty, these aren’t meant to caramelize, just simmer.
  • With a pair of tongs, allowing the excess syrup to drip back into the pot, remove your peel from the sugar, and lay them on a Silpat sheet, or a cookie sheet. (Many recipes call for tossing the peel in sugar at this stage; we did not — just seemed like waaaaay on the side of overkill.)The best idea is to lay them on a cooling rack, and let the excess moisture fall away. Especially if you plan to pack your peel away for later use, this is a good move. The peel will be ready to store in an airtight container in twenty-four to seventy-two hours. depending on how much moisture is in the air in your neck of the woods.
  • Candied Orange Peel 2

    Aaaaand, that’s it.

    Now we have sulfite-free peel for use in stollen, or to dip in chocolate and package up as gifts, or to ::cough:: scarf up by ourselves. Not that that would happen. Unlike with store-bought peel, this will be crisp and citrus-y, but not soft. (Don’t know why store-bought peel is soft. Does anyone?)

    We took the excess sugar syrup, which we caramelized, added a bit of vanilla extract, and bottled it. Can we say “pancake syrup?” Why, yes we can.

    Sometimes, when you’re exhausted and grouchy, it really does help to do one small, sweet thing right.

    Candied Orange Peel 3

Culinary, Quite Contrary

Not that T. would admit it or anything, but food blogger Gluten Free Girl is HER kind of girl. GFG’s …contrary. Not only for avoiding wheat products – she spends her days quietly avoiding the same social things T. avoids, which are generally the things most normal people enjoy.

In high school, for T. it was Mel Gibson movies. Now everyone else sees the wisdom in avoiding them (and him)? While T. – who actually saw him in person on a street in Vancouver when she was seventeen – was unwittingly an early adapter nonconformist. Culinarily, if that’s a word, it took us years and years to get one of those silicone baking mats, when everyone and their dog had one. For awhile the food blogger world was all agog over Jaimie Oliver, salted caramel everything, and cupcakes, bloody cupcakes. You’ll note that no more than a passing mention of that has made it to this blog. T. looks at trend-setting things, and says, “Yeah, they’re cute. Meh.” And D. has a fairly virulent distaste for all things Oliver and an eclectic desire for random recipes that are old, require strange Devices, or the use of a crank and lightning at midnight. We’re erratic and oblivious and that’s the usual state of things.

Kale Chips 1.2

So, when Gluten Free Girl talked about avoiding films like Forrest Gump (…Been there), Rain Man (…done that), and never watching The West Wing (…and have the T-shirt) and skipping culinary trends like roasted kale chips, T. gloried in the sensation of finding a woman after her own heart. And yet – last Wednesday T. got one of those best-friend emails that made confrontation unavoidable.

“Have you ever tried it?” was the innocent question.

Well, no. Heck, no! NEVER!

(But one does try so hard to look like a well-balanced, prudent person in public.) “Well, not yet – but how does Friday sound?” T. decided to reply.

As much as we love kale around these parts, it seemed stupid to not at least try it. And after some hemming and hawing and checking out Gluten Free Girl‘s take on the recipe as well as Smitten Kitchen’s T. decided on an approach.

Kale Chips 1.5

We would have preferred to use plain kale for this, but it’s not really deep into kale season here, for some reason, and the only way it’s available at Sainsbury’s, anyway, is pre-washed and pre-chopped in bag form. Not the way we want to deal with it, but since the recipe calls for tearing or chopping it into bite-sized pieces, it’s a way to begin. We used two bags of kale, which come in 200 gram bags… normally that’s a cup or seven and a half ounces, but with kale it was about five cups of springy kaleish goodness. (Most recipes call for about four cups, packed.)

We lined a bowl with paper towel and blotted the water from the kale, turning it and ruffling it with our hands. We went through and removed all of the stems (they don’t turn into chips – they’re wood, people). We then pulled out the paper and measured two tablespoons of olive oil into the bowl. T. massaged the oil into the greens.

At this point, some recipes advise the use of salt. We chose not to do this. 1.) Because we never salt food before it’s cooked, and 2.) Because salt removes water from vegetables, and if you salt before you roast, how do you know if you’ve used too much salt until it’s far too late? We also planned to use our Patented Popcorn Herb Blend on the kale, so chose to simply roast the veg. We turned the oven on to about 250°F/125°C and put the timer on for thirty-five minutes. And then we watched the oven like hawks. Depending on your greens, thirty-five minutes can be too long, and for the first time through this process, we wanted to be sure.

Kale Chips 1.6

We pulled the pans out frequently, and at one point dumped the greens out and ruffled our fingers through them and put them back onto the pan. At such a low temp, the roasting took place in roughly twenty-eight minutes, and we were happy with what they looked like. We dusted them with the PPH blend and a bit of salt, and sampled. Hmm. We shook a few of the smaller pieces through a cooling rack and set them aside to grind and use WITH the PPH Blend. We sampled some more. And some more …

You know, the world is not always kind to innovators. Who was the first person who said, “Hey, let’s take the wizened grain of this maize plant and put it over fire and watch it explode, ricochet all around, and then let’s eat the white stuff that appears next?” Or, imagine the first person to decide that cacti would be really awesome if they could just strip off the spines? Or, T’s favorite question of all time, who decided to eat the round whitish thing that came out of that bird’s backside? There are some really improbable foods in the world. Kale chips are one of them. You might consider trying them, though. Not that we’re going to talk about it all day or anything. We’re not on any food bandwagon, here. But they’re good, in a totally non-conformist way.

Just sayin’.

BUT BE WARNED. Remember how we said we’d taken two bags of kale to make this? We munched our way, reading and writing email and blah, blah, blah, with hand moving to mouth (and to towel to keep the keyboard reasonably clean) over and over again… and then remembered: That was five cups of kale in each bag. Kids: that’s a lot of fiber. DRINK a few QUARTS of water, and put the rest of the tasty crunchies away.

No, do it NOW. Or you will be very, very sorry…

-D & T

Meyer lemons, anybody?

Pleasant Hill 137

Haalo put up a recipe for Meyer Lemon pudding. As we don’t have access to such things in the tropical climate of Scotland, this post is more by way of a great, big hint: N., you are hereby instructed to make Meyer Lemon Pudding. I’m pretty sure that you’re suffering from an abundance of Meyer Lemons, or will be at some point. It sounds like a delicious recipe, and it’ll give you something else to do with your lemons.

-D

Vegan Potroast

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OK, folks. Gluten / seitan potroast. Most of the time is spent in chopping your vegetables, and it doesn’t require you to pay attention to it. Make it in the morning, have it for lunch. There’s not much of a recipe, particularly because we’ve blogged it before here, here, here, and here. Pick a recipe and form it into a roast-shaped hunk, and follow the steps below:

  1. Throw some chopped onions into your crock pot.
  2. Throw some chopped carrots into your crock pot.
  3. Throw some sliced potatoes into your crock pot.
  4. Slosh on some soy sauce.
  5. Add about a cup of vegetable broth.
  6. Settle your roast on top.
  7. Cover and turn on the crock pot.
  8. Check back in about 4 hours.
  9. When it’s firm to the touch, arrange in a pan.
  10. Put in the oven for about 15 minutes, to give it a bit of a crust.

Really – this is about as easy as you get. Forget about a 30 minute meal: this is 30 minutes you can eat from for days and days. Serve with gravy and / or cranberry sauce and the vegetables you cooked with it. Watch the video below to see the assembly.

Gluten Potroast 11

Do They Have That There?


Cholula. It’s one of those things that just can’t be picked up at the corner store, here in Glasgow. I have no idea why this should be, as it’s truly a fabulous condiment: plenty of flavor, yet not a total salt-bomb like other pepper sauces. Their online store warns, though, that “due to varying ‘Customs Procedures’, we do not assume responsibility for delays in shipment.” Don’t you just love the big old quotes around “Customs Procedures?” They deserve the quotes, though, so we’ll be smuggling hand-carrying ours as often as possible.

If anybody knows anybody who’s making a trip to the States soon … let us know? We’re halfway through our stash, and we’ve only been back a month.

UPDATE: Cholula is apparently sold at Lupe Pintos, here in Glasgow, less than a mile from us! Yay!