Food

Sourdough Bread Advice for the Forgetful Rebel

March 3, 2017

Hey. Long time, eh?

I could tell you all about my personal angst and mental gymnastics and procrastinations that might explain my absence a least a bit, but they are truly unoriginal and boring. Keeping things current, today, I’m avoiding the following:

Mayer Lutheran’s website update
The weather
My insane closet purging and cleaning phase

So I’ve been sitting at my computer doing things like:

Trying to figure out &^%$ Spotify, and the difference between “Save”, “Favorite” and “Thumb Up”, because: wtf?
Troubleshooting WordPress update after my months-long blogging absence. Admin screen went blank and I was close to simply saying, “Fine. Done with blogging forever.” But as you can see by this post, I prevailed. Because: I’m that good.
Finding funny bitmoji’s to send to Hope Salonek because… well, if you know Hope, then you know why. 🙂

Out of desperation to find meaning and purpose in my day, for the inevitable text or phone call from Dave asking me what I did today, here I am. All sunshine and roses. Back in the saddle. Ready to regale you with my wit and sarcasm. The question is: are you ready?

This morning, for literally the fifth day in a row, I walked into my kitchen and immediately remembered what I promised myself I would remember before going to bed and then didn’t: FEED the SOURDOUGH STARTER.

Now, let’s be 100% clear about something that is very important to remember: you don’t need sourdough starter to make bread. So, on any of these previous four days, I could have easily made my old standbys, without the damn starter. I mean — why bother?

As far as sourdough starter goes, I’ve been there, done that. I abandoned baking bread with starter literally years ago. It’s a pain in the ass and — for me and the bread eaters in my family — not all that distinguishable from bread not made with starter. Because, I’m not a true-blue sourdough fan, so I wasn’t baking it for the tangy taste. I used it for the novelty. To say, “I use sourdough starter.” To give the bread a longer shelf life — which, let’s be honest: it didn’t need with Charlie in the house. Plus, it made me sound cool. Even if the bread snobs I know (and you know who you are) dismissed me out of hand for my blasphemous use of a food processor and Kitchenaid mixer. To them I say: go ahead and be all virtuous with your big strong arms, I’m happy flipping a switch.

Anyway.

Baking with starter isn’t hard at all. It simply involves having your starter “fed” and “healthy” and “strong enough to rise dough.” In order for those prerequisites to be met, you need to “feed” it on a regular basis. Which requires you to remember TO FEED THE DAMN STARTER in the first place. And, if you want to make bread with it rather than dump 3/4 of it out every time you feed it, you have to remember to feed it the night before you want to bake.

OMG should this be so difficult?

No.

But, apparently, it is.

For me.

Which brings me to the title of this post, which of course should be split into at least three posts, because WHO HAS TIME TO READ THIS RAMBLING?

This morning, I googled many iterations of the following:

“forgot to feed the starter want to make bread today”
“baking bread with unfed starter”
“bread recipe using starter and commercial yeast”

…and so on (and on and on and on and on). Google: you failed me today. Because: I know I’m not the only person who forgets to feed her starter and wants to make bread with it anyway.

Or am I?

The point is. I learned nothing. I could not find another post in the first three pages of google results (I draw the line at 3 pages, cuz, like, I have things to do, man) saying “go ahead and use the unfed starter and just add some commercial yeast” like I thought I would.

No, instead I saw all kinds of crap about the nuances of healthy, fed, bubbly sourdough starter. Oh — and a ton of ideas for things to do with “discarded starter.” Pizza dough! Cinnamon rolls! Banana Bread! Waffles! Pancakes! Muffins!

And I realize I’m not really a baker after all because I have zero interest in making any of those things except very occasionally.

But anyway, here’s the really puzzling thing: WHY AM I EVEN BAKING WITH STARTER IN THE FIRST PLACE?

I honestly do not have any answers for you other than these:

It’s trendy
It’s supposedly healthy
Adrienne Escher keeps posting these ridiculous photos of her #starter #levain #delish and I want to be just like her
I’m a well-known martyr and masochist (thanks mom)

So there you have it. As an empty nester (!!!) I clearly have too much time on my hands because logically, I should just pour that shit out and be done with it. Instead, here is your permission to bake bread with your COLD, UNFED SOURDOUGH STARTER.

You heard it here first folks. There is literally no problem with it. Unless you are some uptight puritan who has something against using commercial yeast (you know who you are, now just move along to a different website), just add a bit to your recipe and proceed as normal.

After doing exactly that, I FED my starter and plan to make the exact same recipe using only starter to rise it. I will compare the two and report back with an update. But honestly. Someone please. Just come kidnap my starter so I can be done with this lunacy.

Well, maybe not yet. That actually looks pretty good.

I was a Popover Failure.

June 22, 2016

Until last night…

By now, most of you who are reading this know that I have a tendency toward the obsessive when it comes to certain things. Most of the time it shows up when I’m troubleshooting some tech problem — I simply must find a solution. But this trait can rear its head in other areas as well.

I don’t like to fail.

And I was a popover failure.

It has been eating me to the core. Oh, I have read every @#$%# damn thing there is to read about popovers and still mine refused to “pop.” I googled: “I am doing everything right and popovers won’t pop.”

For those less industrious than I who want to know what those “everything right” things are, here is a brief rundown to “guarantee” popover success:

Preheat your popover pan
NEVER open the oven door while baking
Use room temperature ingredients
Use the freshest eggs possible

I did all those things every single time. My eggs were laid the same day for crying out loud. Still, my popovers refused to rise.

Until last night…

Let’s start at the beginning, shall we? Why this sudden popover angst, you ask?

Because I asked for (and received) popover pans for my birthday. Years ago, I made popovers in my muffin pans, which are a larger size than most. I made them with no problems. This was pre-internet and I had no idea popovers were even considered temperamental. I might have had one or two issues, but I don’t remember it being a huge deal. The last several times I made them, using the same recipe, in the same pans they didn’t work. I gave up on popovers.

Fast forward to one month ago. I saw a picture of some insane popovers on food52.com right at the time my family was asking me for birthday ideas. Popover pans. The key to popover success. Done.

As soon as I got them, and with the help of my new chicken friends, I set about to blow Charlie’s mind with some wicked good popovers.

Nope. Middle age. Popover paunch. Popover pucks. “What changed from my younger years,” I asked myself. “Why won’t they rise?” …I googled until my fingers were raw.

“No. I am doing everything right, dammit!” I exclaimed. (Why can I not remember how to punctuate dialogue? I really don’t care enough to google that, mind you. My obsessive tendencies are apparently very narrow….)

I conducted various unscientific experiments. (my German Pancake is a lot like a popover and IT rises… this flour from Costco is strange… when I make bread I always need more water than recipes call for…) I thought long and hard about this…

Before I progress, I’d like to comment on a couple of the aforementioned items:

Strange flour from Costco. About a year ago, I was delighted to find Unbleached All Purpose flour at Costco that was not in 25 pound bags. I bought it and immediately found it to be strange. I talked to a couple friends who had also bought it and they, too, had issues with it. It was more like whole wheat than white, and yet the bag said nothing other than “All Purpose Unbleached White Flour.” This past week, my mom picked a few things up at Costco for me while she was there, flour being one of them. I assumed the flour I bought last year must have been a fluke. However, this new flour says “All Purpose Unbleached White with ‘Ultragrain‘.” Well at least they are now labeling it correctly. Turns out that this white flour contains 30% whole wheat. Which explains a lot. Not that whole wheat is bad — of course not. But it definitely does not behave the same way.

I need more water in my bread recipes. Over the years I’ve learned that when making bread using volume measurements vs weight, I need more water in my bread. I’m not food scientist, but I would venture to guess that our Minnesota flour is more dry due to our winters. I have always compensated by adding more water. Can anyone verify this? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?

My German Pancake rises. The recipe for German Pancakes is very, very similar to popovers. It gets baked in a cast iron pan. I do nothing special for this recipe; I do not worry about room temp ingredients, I don’t preheat the pan… and it works. Why? Why why WHY? But I did notice that the batter is much runnier than all the popover recipes I have tried. Could this be the answer to my popover problem??

Which brings us to last night.

Finally. I had REAL All Purpose flour and not some hippy-ass ultra grain blend. I had four fresh eggs. I had a husband and son who were home to prevent me from eating all the popovers — for it seems to make no difference to my palate whether they rise or not…

I looked at my German Pancake recipe and three other recipes. The discrepancy in egg/milk/flour ratios across different recipes is pretty incredible. I sort of made my own up, trying hard to mimic the pancake recipe while making just the right amount for six popovers. And when I finished the math I realized my recipe was identical to the updated food52 recipe (did I mention that? oh, whoops! The first recipe that was posted was wrong and has been tweaked due to commenter complaints…). The only difference was that my recipe used 1/4 cup less flour. Here it is:

Jennie’s Popover Recipe for MINNESOTA Flour

1 cup flour
1 t salt
1 cup milk
4 medium (or 3 extra large) eggs
2 T melted butter

Put popover pan into oven and preheat to 425 degrees.

If possible, use room temperature ingredients. I never plan that far ahead, so I put the milk in the microwave for 1 minute on 50% power. If my eggs aren’t fresh out of the coop, I put them in hot water for about 10-15 min.

Whisk eggs and milk together in a large spouted measuring cup (I use an 8 cup pyrex). Measure 1 cup of flour and carefully stir salt into the flour which is still in the measuring cup (less things to wash people!). Gradually add the flour to the eggs & milk whisking constantly. Batter should be very runny and mostly smooth — think of the consistency of heavy cream. A few lumps are ok. Add melted butter and stir well.

When oven is heated, take pan out and spray with nonstick or grease with butter. (My popover pans are nonstick so I just used Pam. If yours are cast iron, use butter). Fill cups to just over halfway. Bake at 425 without opening the door for 20-25 minutes. Pray.

After they have popped and are done, slit the tops with a knife and either serve immediately or return to the oven for 5 minutes at 350 degrees to preserve the ‘pop.’

I am convinced that my failures were mostly due to the flour to egg to milk ratio. My batter was not runny enough. Nowhere online did I come across this as being a reason they did not pop. I read that the consistency should be “runny” and “like pancake batter,” but those descriptions are not very precise. I also believe that stupid Costco flour played a part, however I used that flour for the German Pancake and it worked just fine, so… If you are having problems with popovers not popping, try decreasing your flour or adding an egg if you have already tried all the other tricks and you are sure that, like me, you are doing everything right.

How Roasted Eggplant for Dinner Turned into Brownies

August 25, 2015

Let me first say this: I like eggplant. I really do.

I like how it tastes, pretty much with no adornment. I slice it and grill it and drizzle it with olive oil. Sometimes a splash of balsamic.

I’ve never been one for ratatouille. Or eggplant parmesan. Because, I don’t know, tomatoes on eggplant just doesn’t really sound good to me. I used to work at The Malt Shoppe in college. To my mind it was a burgers and malt place. I mean, it was called The Malt Shoppe, right? But there was this weird hippy element to the menu. And ratatouille was one of their more popular items. Understand something: this was before I met Dave and I was still, at that point, a “picky eater” whose acceptable vegetables were a short list: raw carrots, canned (not garden) beans, iceberg lettuce and corn on the cob. So all these people ordering ratatouille at The Malt Shoppe…

Frankly, it just grossed me out.

And maybe I’ve never gotten over it.

Don’t judge me. I’ve come a long way.

So anyway. I started growing eggplant years ago, after reading that they are quite pretty plants in the vegetable garden. I had never once eaten one. In fact, I’m pretty sure that I didn’t even know that eggplant was a major ingredient in ratatouille. And then I grilled one and really liked it. I found they even froze quite well.

The problem was, no one else in the family really liked them.

Not even Dave, Dave the Vegetable Slave. So I got all these damn eggplants and no one to eat them. And I learned over time that they are pretty hard to give away. Eggplant is far from beloved by the masses.

And then this year, I went and bought an “eggplant variety pack” at my favorite nursery, so instead of my normal one or two plants I have six. And they are all doing wonderfully, thank you very much. Why can’t my damned tomatoes do as well?

And then there’s that whole element of my personality that can hardly believe that I like something that Dave doesn’t. And so I keep trying to get him to like eggplant (and mushrooms and tofu) by trying new things and torturing him (and Charlie). Tonight it was Yotam Ottolengho’s eggplant and lentil recipe from this utterly gorgeous cookbook called Plenty.

Plenty Yotam — Look: even the cover photo has eggplant on it. Yes, it shows pomegranate seeds, which seem a bit strange… but it’s so pretty!

It showed promise for a couple reasons:

Eggplant was not even close to being the main ingredient
The eggplant was not in slices or chunks and therefore it might be less obvious and therefore objectionable.

lentil and eggplant recipe from Plenty — That looks quite good, does it not?

I was really excited about this. And not just about the recipe itself, but the sweet taste of victory. Washed down with the delicious tang of smug when I announced to Dave he really did like eggplant all along!

I know that you know where this is going. I wouldn’t tip my hand so early if all had gone well. But this… this recipe was just such an utter disaster that I am still reeling. I simply cannot believe how unbelievably awful that orb of puss tasted.

Yes. I said orb of puss.

Or would you prefer I call it a mouthful of snot?

It’s up to you.

My God in Heaven. It was the single most vile tasting thing that I can remember coming out of my kitchen ever. And that doesn’t even begin to explain what it looked like.

Even worse, I can discern nothing that went wrong. Usually when a recipe or technique flops, I can point to some absurd substitution I’ve made. But this went so well. You start by cooking the whole eggplant over the gas burner of a stove — so cool! And it worked awesomely.

eggplant on gas stove — This was so cool! You put it right over the flame.

It’s supposed to be totally charred and deflated. Check. Check. Then you wait for it to cool off and peel the blackened skin off.

charred eggplant — Charred and blackened and deflated eggplant

Hmmm. Ok. That’s pretty gross, but… check.

So you scoop out the flesh and mash it up and season it well and splash it with balsamic. Sounds fabie. But my gosh, does it look awful.

I got a pocket, got a pocket full of sunshine.

And now for the taste test.

Well I already told you it was like a mouthful of snot. But what is harder to describe is the taste. I roasted three different, very fresh, eggplant varieties. And they all tasted awful. Like… I don’t even know. Watery blood. Metallic. I didn’t even know what to do with the disaster that was my kitchen with the several bowls full of watery tasting bloody snot.

I walked around in shock. I couldn’t get the taste out of my mouth.

So I made brownies.

And ate them for dinner.

Cuz I just found out that Dave isn’t even coming home tonight. How ironic is that? Here’s another irony: I was on my way out with some of the hellacious byproduct to see if my poor chicken would be interested in eating it and guess who ate it all before I could find out?

Hey! Mikey! He likes it! So weird.

Does anyone want some eggplant? I got a lot of it.

A Blast from the Past: Baked and Stuffed Northern Pike

July 12, 2015

I really do wish my mom would stop correcting my memory every time I try to tell a compelling and nostalgic story. Saying “That’s not how it happened.” Or, “You didn’t even live in that house then — you were only 5.” Blah blah blah. Like HER memory is all perfect. Actually, her memory is pretty good. It’s in the fleshing out of details where she fails. As in, she makes them up and then argues with you, when you were usually the person who told her the story in the first place. In other words: she tells your own story back to you with all kinds of colorful yet completely inaccurate details. Then argues with you about it.

Yes, yes. I realize now that I’m basically writing about myself.

Are you listening Morgan Menke? This is your future.

Anyway. One of these vivid memories is of eating baked, stuffed northern (fish) and actually liking it. I wasn’t much of a fish lover as a kid. I did love shrimp, crab and lobster — much to my dad’s displeasure — and I tried to order it every time we were out for dinner.

Remember Mr. Steak? Let me just say: their deep fried shrimp was sublime. [It was also the most expensive thing on the menu.]

And the reason I remember the stuffed northern was because it tasted so mild and we ate it with melted butter. It tasted more like lobster than fish. Of course, I didn’t TOUCH the disgusting pile of stuffing baked under it. So gross.

It has been years and years since we had northern prepared this way — 35? More?

So: my mom and dad have had a dear friend staying with them in Hayward and… he LOVES to fish. What has me scratching my head, though, is that he is actually catching fish. Dave fishes that same lake with dogged determination and has been largely unsuccessful. [Dave calls Round Lake The Dead Sea.]

And now we find out that it isn’t?

Is Dave boating around the corner and napping, rather than fishing?

It is not unlikely.

Anyway, somehow Stan even got my mom into the fishing boat, which I am trying hard to even picture. I have never seen her fish. I know she was there, though, because I got this picture in my inbox a couple weeks ago:

She not only reeled it in successfully, but she held it for a picture. Crazy times. [The trouble was in trying to get one of my parents to send it to me at a size larger than a postage stamp. Since you are looking at it and it is the size of a postage stamp, you will have realized that I was unsuccessful.]

Then I got word that we were having it baked and stuffed over the fourth of July. I immediately shared the good news with Dave, who was completely baffled since he had never had it — or even heard of it — prepared this way.

I always thought the recipe was handed down lovingly on my dad’s side by my Grandma Esther. In fact, I was saying this very thing to Dave while my mom was within earshot and she nearly jumped down my throat, saying “That wasn’t Grandma Esther’s recipe!” [The printed word can’t actually convey how strongly she objected to this startling bit of apparent misinformation.]

It was an easy mistake to make. My Grandma Esther practically lived on fish and wild game. She was a bit of a renegade (and illegal poacher) and larger than life in my memory. She is also the one who taught me how to make popcorn balls, which live on at our house — and on my hips — year after year. I only remember eating this fish recipe at my grandparent’s cabin on Roosevelt Lake, where I’m pretty sure she fished the lake dry of big northerns. There was always a big cane pole baited with a perch (illegal) stuck into the pipe at the end of the dock and left out overnight (also illegal) hoping to snag a big one. Sometimes we would wake to find a northern. Sometimes we would wake to find a snapping turtle that ate the northern that ate the perch. One time, she made soup out one of those snapping turtles. I will not be sharing that recipe.

Anyway.

The recipe apparently came, not from my grandma, but from an old neighbor of my parents. Carol Feck, to be exact. My parents also neglected to ever write the recipe down.

Hello internet.

We found a very close version of what they remembered the recipe to be in a very old forum discussion and went from there. It turned out delicious — though my dad wished he would have taken it out of the oven a little earlier.

Here is the process:

First you need a big-ass northern. Like 27″ or more. Why? I don’t know why. But that’s what my parents say and that’s also what all the discussions on the internet say. Maybe it’s a myth. Maybe it makes the recipe more special. I just don’t know so stop asking.

Don’t fillet the fish. Instead, gut it and scale it. I wasn’t there for that part, so I can’t give any details. Basically you don’t try to Y-bone it or fillet it — just gut and scale.

Make your preferred stuffing recipe. Stovetop will work or make what you do at Thanksgiving. Salt the cavity of the fish. Stuff with the dressing. Sew up the fish and place it on a foil lined baking sheet. Cover the fish with bacon and bake at 400 until internal temp is 140 degrees (1-3 hours depending on size).

When it’s done, carefully remove skin (it will peel off fairly easily). The fish should be flaky and opaque and lift away from the bones without much effort. Remove the pieces of fish to a serving platter leaving the bones in place.

You will be left with the fish skeleton over the dressing. Carefully lift that up and discard it.

Scoop the stuffing (which looks absolutely disgusting, but now — miraculously! –tastes delicious to these 50 year old tastebuds — or maybe it’s my bad eyesight,who’s to say) into a serving bowl. Serve the fish with lots of lemon wedges and melted butter.

Yum.

I can say with certainty that it satisfied this group of Namekagon River tubers:

A Menke-Child Chore, Resurrected

May 27, 2015

Today is the day after my 50th birthday. For most, that means the celebration is over, but not for me. I milk birthdays for all they are worth. My fiftieth? Are you kidding me?

So, today, my bestie Michelle is coming over to celebrate my birthday and have our first pool day. Michelle is who I have gotten into the most trouble with as an adult. Pool days can go one of two ways: leisurely and lovely, or boozy. Ask my kids their most vivid memories of childhood and one or two of our pool days will probably come up. And probably not in a good way. Although if you ask me, I was a barrel of laughs. I don’t know what they had to be “scared” of…

No, I’m not proud of this.

And in my defense, there were only probably two that I have anything to be ashamed of.

And really only one that the kids witnessed. But still.

So I always have to sort of brace myself and clear the calendar on pool days. Just. In. Case.

But no worries. We behaved today. Morgan was home and had a friend over. It was leisurely and lovely. Which is a good thing, because I have a board meeting in about an hour. Showing up boozy probably wouldn’t be a great idea.

I have become distracted by the after-glow of the day. It was a ten. Really and truly. But back to the point of my post: before anyone showed up. I had to get a few things ready: pump TONS of rainwater off the pool cover, put out cushions, drag out the umbrellas, make rhubarb sorbet (RIDICULOUS EASY AND GOOD*), and…

Clear the pool area of slugs.

slugs on the pool deck — all those dark specks are slugs

I walked out there to a veritable slug convention this morning. All this rain… humidity… and cloud cover has made them feel right homey, indeed. And it occurred to me: this was an actual chore for my kids back in the day. Oh would that I COULD find my old chore lists!!! How awesome would that be? If memory serves, me, it would say something like this:

Morgan:

Water plants
Clean pool skimmers out
Pick up slugs and feed to chickens
Take out compost

I’m not kidding. And today, guess what? MORGAN IS HOME! I actually told her to go pick up the slugs outside.

_MG_7719 — Mmmmm good. I wonder if it tastes like escargot

Then I made Charlie feed them to the chicken (singular).

My old chickens would literally peck out another’s eye to get them a taste of a squishy slug. Lil Red wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. It was kind of a bust.

But a fun stroll down memory lane.

Michelle had the nerve to point out the cat puke that I somehow missed while on slug patrol, so I’m not sure she really appreciated our efforts.

Still, it was a great day. And I had the perfect opportunity to try out my new selfie stick — a gag 50th gift that I promise — PROMISE — they will regret giving to me.

*Rhubarb Sorbet (in case you are interested)

3.5 cups Rhubarb, cut up
1.5 cups sugar
2.5 cups water
1/2 tsp salt
zest of one lemon
1-2 tsp chopped ginger
2 tbsp corn syrup

Put everything except the corn syrup into a sauce pan, bring to a boil and simmer until rhubarb is mushy, 5-10 minutes. Add corn syrup. Cool and blend till totally smooth (in a Blendtec I used “ice cream” setting). Cool overnight in fridge or in freezer stirring every so often until totally cold) Churn in ice cream maker and serve soft or freeze until hard in freezer.

Beet Chips! Yum!

October 17, 2013

I’m not a beet lover. In fact, I can barely get them down without gagging. It pains me to admit that, but I have tried them over and over and over. Waiting for more of my tastebuds to die as I age. Maybe by the time I’m 70 I will be able to abide by their barfy, sweet, earthy wrongness.

Have I offended anyone yet?

I just know how I feel when people say bad stuff about kale. I always think to myself: they just haven’t had it cooked the right way...

Well I have tried beets ten ways to Sunday. Yuk, yuk, and more yuk. My family loves them, though, so I grow them in the garden every year. And while they eat the beets, I eat the beet greens. Those, I DO love. 🙂

So it is with GREAT pleasure that I introduce the ubiquitous beet chip. –For no one can deny their crispy-salty-spicy goodness, not even me.

I have to cook these sliced at all different thicknesses — from see-through, paper thin to 1/8″ thick. They all taste good. But there does seem to be a perfect thickness that cooks and crisps the best. I have learned the hard way to go light on the olive oil and salt. These beets shrink by 50 – 75% of their original size and all of the stuff you put on them concentrates down quite a bit.

I slice them with a mandoline. You could use a knife? (But then you would be a masochist.) Go buy a cheap mandolin and thank me in the comments. You will use it for literally everything.

So here is where I have to swallow my last sentence. I have two mandolins. One is the cheap version (but I love it and use it the most often). The other is the Rolls Royce. I, personally, would never have bought the Bron ($150) for myself. Dave gave it to me as a gift. For breaking my jaw and being pregnant all at the same time. Sound fun? Well it wasn’t. Let me know if you interested in hearing that story!

Anyway. I love the quick, light, simplicity of the Borner V slicer ($38 on Amazon). It has a thick and thin option, as well as two sizes of julienne. I used the thin setting for the first couple batches of beet chips. But its thin wasn’t quite thin enough to make things easy for me. Oh, yes, you can use it. Yes. Yes. Yes. But if you have the option of slicing them slightly thinner, go that route because they cook faster and stay crispier. So, I defaulted to the Bron.

So here’s the deal:

WHATever you can do, it will be fine. Even if your chips are’t crispy, they will taste amazing.

Preheat your oven to 250 for thicker chips, 225 for thinner chips. I use convection, but honest to goodness I can’t tell a difference. I really can’t.

Put a THIN film of olive oil on a baking sheet and spread it all out even with your hand (refrain from licking your hand). Lay the beet slices down close together. When my slices are uneven, and go from thicker to thinner, I even overlap them a bit. you do so many flips during baking it won’t make a difference. You will be astounded by the amount they shrink. It’s like bacon — maybe even more! (the photo below does not show them overlapping)

Then, sprinkle the beets with salt and pepper. Don’t go mental. Just a nice, even amount. I like them spicy, so I use as much pepper as salt.

Put them in the oven and set the timer for about 30 minutes. Then flip them. Then do that over and over until the thinnest parts start to darken and almost get over done. If your oven is like mine, there are hotter parts. I turn my baking sheets and pull the chips out one by one as they get done.

After you try this once you’ll get the hang of it. You pull them out when they are still bendy. As they cool they crisp up. If, after they are cooled off they aren’t crisp enough for your taste, put them back in. Putsy, but not rocket science. Pour some wine. Pour some more. It’s all good.

I hope you love them. I hope you love me.

🙂

No Added Pectin Apple Rosemary Jelly Update!

October 17, 2013

I thought it was worth re-visiting my original Apple Rosemary Jelly Post, since I have been making a lot of it this past week and have been experimenting with the amount of sugar necessary for a good gel. That recipe has generated a lot of comments and questions from people who want to make a lower-sugar jelly and I really didn’t have any answers at the time.

And, to be fair, I still don’t really have ANSWERS so much as solid experience that says using less sugar should work for you, since it has consistently worked for me. To make the jelly, be sure to read the original post for the recipe and directions. For lower sugar, read on!

The base of the problem is that jams and jellies are all about food science. I have neither the time nor the inclination to do the full research on the subject. I just want jams and jellies that spread. I want to make it once, not two — or God forbid — three times. I did spend time delving into the subject online to see if I could understand how the amounts of water, sugar, acid and natural pectin affect the end product, but alas, I am not much more informed than I was when I set out.

What I WILL say, is that I am so VERY sick of reading about the USDA standard for jams and jellies and all kinds of nonsense. I’m not a proponent of putting anyone’s safety at stake, however, I surely beg to differ that you need to use a box of Sure-Jell. Good grief. Have you read those recipes? Four cups of juice to eight cups of sugar… and I rest my case.

The bottom line is that you can cook just about any fruit down to a spreadable consistency with very little sugar. Period.

Jelly is a little trickier.

So this is what I’ve learned: 220 degrees is the magic gelling temperature — as stated in my original apple jelly recipe. Just to compare, I checked the temp of my raspberry jam when done (using my normal sight and sound cues described here) and it was also 220 degrees! I thought that was pretty cool.

I’ve noticed that using less sugar for the jelly takes longer to reach that temperature. I’m not sure if the longer cooking time is a factor of how much water is present in the juice or from the reduced sugar. I just don’t know. At any rate, you also end up with less end product when you use less sugar (obviously). What gets my brain running in circles is this: Is it possible that by the time you reach 220 degrees, you’ve boiled off enough water and juice to have the same amount of sugar to apple juice in the finished jelly? My dad, a food scientist in his working days, says no. But then, it’s my dad. And I have a long history of not believing him. So why start now?

Ha ha ha. I love to tweak on my dad.

Anyway, that’s the scoop. My former Apple Rosemary jelly used a 1:1 ratio of apple juices to sugar. 4 cups juice, 4 cups sugar (which is still low sugar, when compared to commercial pectin recipes). My 2013 jellies have used ratios of 2:1 all the way to 4:1 juice to sugar. And they have all worked. I like to think the jelly is lower sugar, but I can’t say that it is for sure. What is truly amazing though, is that the lower sugar jelly tastes just as sweet. The only difference that I can detect is that it tastes more “apple-y”! Cuz, duh, I’m not a martyr. I still want my jelly sweet…

For all the questions this will generate (and, no doubt, sad stories of failures) Here are some visual clues to the point at which your jelly will set.

When it is in the early stages and boiling hard the mixture is foamy, like bubble bath.

After a while the bubbles start to get shinier and slightly darker

It takes a long time to go from 216 degrees to 220 degrees. But once it hits 220 degrees, look out! It will rise quickly and you want to get it off the heat and in to hot, sterilized jars quickly. As you can see, in just the time it took to focus my camera, the bubbling mass went up almost 2 degrees!

At the end, the mixture it is dark and shiny and sort of ANGRY looking.

10 minutes in a water bath will complete the process and leave you with with jars of joy that should definitely be left out on your countertop (preferably in a window where you can enjoy the beautiful color) and pat yourself on the back every time you glance their way.

It’s been a long few weeks of harvesting, canning and freezing tomatoes, picking sorting and cooking apples. Picking carrots and beets. Making beet chips — the ONLY way I can tolerate a beet, I might add. Picking and hauling pumpkins and squash. Next up is kale, kale and more kale, along with washing my dreaded windows. All of that will have to wait though, as I am planning to zoom off to Madison for the weekend for some retail therapy with Morgan. Yes, I do hate to shop, but Morgan does not!