masala sweet potato scramble

Tomorrow is May Day (what?! how?!) and I'm feeling re-energized, re-inspired and re-motivated. This could be the result of having Monday off from work. It could be that Kelsey is back from her week of Kansas wedding planning and we can watch Parenthood again. It could be the Good Lord's undeserved mercy. It could be because the bike trail looks like this again (also see previous example):

To celebrate all this goodness, I bring you the latest in a series called: Combine Things that Taste Good to You and Call It Breakfast (or lunch/dinner/apps 'n' taps). As always, the trick is to be as daring as you can. The more random and unexpected the ingredients, the better.

You know what else is random? I now have a bunch of friends that went to the University of Delaware. How 'bout that.

For me, culinary creativity and courage comes most easily when I have very few ingredients to work with. If you keep some key things (like sweet potatoes) on hand at all times, it is easy to scrounge up the rest. Here is what I pulled from the fridge this morning:

Why not eat leftover masala chickpeas for breakfast, I ask you? This stuff is the bee's knees.

Now go forth with boldness. Tonight, black bean burgers. Look out! 

(Disclaimer: All images in this post were lovingly edited in Instagram, which is a bit inconsistent with color but arguably the laziest? cleverest way to turn camera phone pics into photography.)

With love.

Shameless St. Patrick's Day brownies

I won't further bemoan my recent lack of downtime, because I have been busy with some really fun things. I also won't deny that I miss cooking and writing, nor will I apologize for publishing a post that is now more than a month outdated. It may break some blogging etiquette to jump around chronologically, but I'm here to throw convention out the window. These boozy brownies were delicious. And who says you need a holiday to bake with beer, anyway?

My fondness for St. Patrick's Day (and Guinness) is due in large part to the six weeks I spent in Ireland in 2007. That's where I first tried the creamy stout and fell in love with everything Irish.

As I walked down the block to pick up a bottle from the enclosed-glass corner store, I reminisced about sharing a pint with my mama when she joined me in Galway. I would love to know what that 21-year-old pixie-headed version of me would think of this urban life I'm living. I bet she thought I'd live in Ireland by now.

When I returned home with that ubiquitous black bag, I opened the bottle and measured out one cup, then poured the rest into a couple pint glasses to toast the holiday with Kels, while the reserved cup reduced by half on the stove.

The other ingredients are pretty standard for fudgy brownies: chocolate, butter, eggs, vanilla, sugar, flour. The Bon Appetit recipe calls for a good bit of salt, which is a lovely touch. You know how I feel about salted chocolate.

Lindsey was in town that weekend, all those many moons ago. (Kelsey wasn't engaged yet! KU was still playing in the tournament! Grandma and Grandpa had yet to see Philly! I hadn't heard my new favorite song 1,000 times!)

My sisters whisked the eggs, sugar and vanilla together, then I added melted chocolate and the Guinness concentrate.

These babies baked for more than an hour before they weren't a jiggly mess. The reviews on the recipe said it might take longer if you don't let the beer reduce enough. It's quite possible that was my problem -- I don't claim to be the most detail-oriented baker. I will say, the long-awaited results were worth it.

Especially with the decadent stout/chocolate/butter glaze. Do I even need to say that?

To add some credibility to the meal, we first ate some refreshing pasta primavera from our trip to South Philly's Italian Market.

Then we indulged in this chocolaty, slightly salty, delightfully stouty dessert. Don't feel bad about baking these in late April. Sláinte!

Guinness Brownies
From Bon Appetit

1 c. stout (such as Guinness)
16 oz. semisweet or bittersweet chocolate, chopped, divided
1 c. plus 2 T. unsalted butter
1 1/2 c. sugar
3 large eggs
1 t. vanilla extract
3/4 c. all-purpose flour
1 1/2 t. kosher salt, divided

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line a 9x9-inch baking pan with foil and coat generously with non-stick spray.

Bring stout to a boil and cook until reduced to 1/2 cup, about 12-15 minutes. Let cool. Reserve 1/4 cup.

Melt 12 ounces chocolate and 1 cup butter (in the microwave or a double-boiler) until smooth. 

Whisk eggs, vanilla and sugar in a large bowl to blend. Gradually whisk in chocolate and 1/4 cup reduced stout. Fold in the flour and 1 1/4 teaspoon salt. Pour batter into prepared pan.

Bake brownies until surface begins to crack and toothpick inserted in center comes out with a few moist crumbs, 45-60 minutes (depending on how well you followed directions about reducing the stout). Transfer pan to a wire rack and let cool for at least 20 minutes. Remove from pan using the foil.

For the glaze, melt remaining 4 ounces of chocolate and combine with 1/4 cup reduced stout, 2 tablespoons butter and 1/4 teaspoon salt; whisk until blended, then pour over brownies. Let stand at room temperature until glaze is set, about 40 minutes, or use your better judgment and eat immediately.


With love.

Of Montreal

As much as I like this little blog of mine, quality time with visitors (and sleep) will always win out. I'm not sure if it was encouragement or justification I felt listening to this wonderful TED Talk last night, in which Susan says that 'solitude is a vital ingredient in creativity.' All I'm saying is there is probably a correlation between more guests and less writing. So I am using this period of solitude as my parents, grandparents and Linds fly out, and Ken flies in, to post a photographic retrospective of the last time he was here, about a month ago, when we drove to Montreal, Quebec.

We convinced customs that we weren't fugitives in Kelsey's VW Rabbit.

We marveled that we could drive nine hours and end up in this lovely French city.

We took many photos.

We ate crepes and dumplings and poutine and everything bagels.

We hiked up a treacherously icy slope to get a better view. And then slid back down.

We visited this Biosphere, without really knowing why it's there.

We drove home in time for dinner...cheesesteaks.

With love.

Kelsey Gets Engaged

I left you hanging with that post about mouse poop while I kept so many exciting things to myself. Writing stories helps me process all the wonderful events I get to experience, but sometimes one must postpone the processing phase and continue to absorb the experiences.

It's especially hard when so many joyful moments happen in quick succession. In this case: Spring came early. Then Ken came to the East Coast and drove me to Montreal. Then Lindsey came for a glorious sister reunion. Then Jim came and surprised Kelsey with this...

I decided to jump ahead in chronology and process this while it's still fresh. This is a big one. My sister is marrying a man who loves her very well and has also proven to be an incredible brother to Lindsey and me (I mean, we don't have anything to compare to, but we do love him). Our family is blessed to have him. And I am so thankful to have helped him with the series of covert operations that led to his popping the question.

Since Kels didn't know he was flying in a day early, Lindsey and I secured her car claiming that Linds couldn't go back to Lawrence without a trip to IKEA. (We dropped Kels off at work and went IKEA for tea lights.) After lunch with the unknowing bride-to-be, Linds and I drove to the airport to get an exhausted and emaciated yet excited Jim. Linds gave him a sandwich and, as Kels bore the afternoon CSM drudgery, we rounded up the last necessary items: pizza components, red wine and the neighbor's card table.

The first mission was to get everything to our roof, which is accessible through the skylight in the bathroom Kelsey and I share. Using the extension cord, Jim hauled the table and chairs up three stories like they were nothing.

Everything else fit through the skylight. And, conveniently, that ladder is stored in our bathroom and used as a towel rack, so that was one less thing we had to carry.

It was a bit cloudy, but the weather was otherwise perfect for this. So romantic.

Meanwhile, Linds folded paper into about 45 origami boxes to create tiny lanterns. So romantic. Thanks, Pinterest.

Jim sacrificed a much-needed nap to finish the playlist.

We cleared the evidence and Linds and I picked up still-clueless Kelsey from work. With a retro Polaroid (thanks, Ken) photo shoot as our means to an end, we encouraged Kels to change into a dress then we left the house to roam around Brewerytown and take some fuzzy (yet cherished!) photos.

When we got home, Jim was preparing their pizza in the kitchen and I got a really sweet video of Kelsey saying 'Oh my gosh' a lot and Jim skirting the question 'What are you doing here?'

Linds and I excused ourselves to head to the roof one last time to light the candles for the second surprise. We were so excited for Kels to see it.

After the lovebirds climbed to their ultra-romantic date spot, Linds and I were left to eat macaroni and cheese by our own candlelight. And wait. And fight the urge to eavesdrop. And wait.

When they finally came down, we learned that she had said yes. And this adorable spectacled couple became bound for the altar.

The rest of the night naturally included hugging the roommates and calling the families (who were anxiously awaiting the calls).

Like I said, we're pretty pumped.

The next day, Kels helped deconstruct her romantic evening and Jim grilled her a steak. Ah, the joys of engagement.

With love.

How to Decrease One's Mouse Population

In Philly, the universal mentality about mice is that they are 'just part of living in the city.' Where I come from, they are more often 'part of living near the country.' Either way, it is winter and mice are seeking a home.

I didn't plan to write about our recent string of unwanted pets. For one thing, it's not appetizing and it seems unnatural and gross to talk about mice alongside posts about pizza dough. But we finally seem to be emerging from the worst of it, and in my state of pleasant surprise and relief, I believe I have some wisdom to share.

This story begins, as most of them do, in the pantry. I will not skirt around the topic. There was poop. The little baby was feasting on brownie mix, everything bagels and croutons. It was messy.

We threw away food and sealed what survived. We swept and bleached and set traps.

In three weeks, we caught five. I know that working as a camp counselor desensitized me a bit to these critters (we used sticky traps there -- blech), but my comfort level reached a new height. One early morning, as I ate oatmeal before work, I watched one of the cuties climb around our pantry shelves and marveled at how creative and agile it was. On another occasion, I found myself locked in a small bathroom with one.

I'll admit, although it may seem counterintuitive, these encounters make it more heartbreaking to carry one out in an awful trap. They were simply enjoying the warmth and peanut butter. It feels so deceitful. But it is unsafe, they carry disease, I know, I know.

A couple of us were pulling for a kitty... But before that debate was concluded, Megan got a great tip: mice will avoid peppermint oil because the scent is too strong for their delicate noses. At that point, $10 for two ounces seemed like a bargain if it meant we would stop feeding and killing God's precious creatures.

The trick is to put the oil on cotton balls and place them in paths that the mice often travel. The pantry got peppered with them. We set a couple on the kitchen counter and used one to block this handy little entryway:

The ever-present smell of peppermint is getting a bit old, but we have not seen a mouse since laying these humane little land mines! No more poop and no more senseless killing!

A bonus outcome that will (theoretically) bring more overall harmony to the household is this shiny new cleaning schedule!

I suppose, after all, we should thank the little darlings. As long as they stay outside.



With love.