Not much to say here other than enjoy this vid on mixing up a bean loaf. There’s even an afterthought on one of my favorites, spaghetti squash.

One secret of this take on tabbouleh is making it the way they do in the Levant–where as my friend Rula Awaad-Rafferty observes, “it’s about the green, not the grain.”

The other secret is to go with what’s seasonal. No fresh tomatoes in spring, so a grand riot of greens held the day. Just ask Angela and Lenore who live next door. This salad is a hit for mommas and young’uns alike.

On Herbal Trips to the Spring Garden—

Even in the spring trips to the garden net different offerings from day to day. On this venture, who called out along with the parsley, mint, and thyme but some young onions, a couple small spinaches that wintered over, a few tarragon fronds, and a totally luscious hyacinth that went into a vase to keep the cook happy.

On Former Husbands—

McKee, my ex, loves his pizza. He and I consumed our share through the years, snugged into a booth over a pitcher of beer at Alpine Pizza, a joint that’s become institution on Leroux Street in Flagstaff. Yet, MacSpee—as I have taken to calling him most recently—has been so co-opted by the white dough clan that it would take a leap across the Grand Canyon for him to first run some whole wheat rapids never mind scaling the heights of pink hummus and millet. Too bad the turkey always had such little faith in my hippie cooking. Then again, I guess I wasn’t the best either. Here’s how I got a clue on that score.

It was a few years ago when I was in Northern Arizona and stopped out to see him. Some of the old gang happened by, and we were shooting the breeze when McKee tosses out this remark about how in 1969 a year after we were married, I announced we were becoming vegetarians.

“What?” I thought, stunned at his implication that I issued some sort of edict. “He wasn’t into that? He never said a word.”

I guess at some level I thought that since he mainly controlled our lives outside the kitchen—and yes dear, in your unassuming way, your hiking boots were planted firmly in the patriarchy—our food decisions were pretty much mine. Also I think I might have concluded that turning vegetarian was such a cool move, that he was as into it as I was.
Besides, as I noted, this then-husband of mine didn’t give me an inkling that he wasn’t a happy hippie veggie. Sigh. Sometimes I don’t know why I’ve stayed friends with him all these years. Maybe it’s because just when I think I’ve had it, he sends me a letter like the one I got this past May.

It starts with him saying how he was just sitting around spacing out, reading a little nineteenth century history, and listening to
Bob Dylan. Turns out that “Tangled Up in Blue” was on—the piece Dylan wrote in 1974 that came out on Blood on the Tracks.

“A line from Dylan’s song reminds me of you,” McKee penned in his old familiar backhand. “‘We always did feel the same. We just saw it from a different point of view. ’”

On Pink Hummus—

Hummus made of smashed garbanzo beans and tahini (sesame seed butter) is traditional from the Middle East. But what happened in my hippie kitchen is that I only had pinto beans cooked up and also wanted a lean version of hummus.

What to do but toss the pintos the blender with enough water to rock & roll. Salt, vinegar, and I was there. Pink hummus for crackers, to thicken soups and sauces, as a dip for carrots and apples—and to add to brownie batter.

On Yeast Dough—

Take this section seriously and you could save some real dough. That’s because yeast dough, whether you turn it into loaves, flat focaccia, or pizza pie, is just an affordable mix of flour, water, salt, and yeast—way cheaper than bakery bread. Besides, it’s serious play-play.

Play-play on how long you knead it, if in fact you do at all. Play-play on whether you add sugar to the yeast or pink hummus or little crunchy bits of millet or use oil in the dough and for painting the tops. Play-play on how long to let it rise, including overnight if you decide to stir some up on a winter evening before going to bed. Even playing around on whether or not to oil the bowl in which you let the dough rise.

The only critical thing with yeast dough is that the water needs to be baby bottle warm so it can dissolve the yeast but not kill it like hot water will. So test your water with a drop on the inside of your wrist. That way you can make sure your yeasty microorganisms will be able to feed on the natural sugars in the flour and release lots of carbon dioxide to make the dough rise.

What Really Happened—

Someone polished off the last of the pink hummus so I whizzed up some garbanzo beans thawed from a tub I’d frozen the week before (page 74). No tahini around either, so I called it good and named the beanpaste blonde hummus.

Also, I painted the pizza with oil but left the focaccia plain. The former was soft; the latter was crusty.

On the millet it was a different story, since there was a bag from the bulk bins up in the cupboard. But when I poured a handful into the bowl, I realized I’d nabbed the quinoa, not the millet.

The quinoa wasn’t quite as crunchy as the millet after the bread was baked, but its seedy nature (technically quinoa is seed not a grain) was uptown and had a pleasing visual
presence. Cool when serendipitous mistakes take you in directions you might otherwise not have gone.

Also cool when you make focaccia in the spring, split a wedge for the toaster, layer on ultra thin slices of caramelized goat cheese from Norway (gjetost) and a few local berries, grate on fresh nutmeg, and pour a cup of very dark espresso from just-ground beans.

Hot Chile Cookies

The chile absolutely makes these cookies. Red chile flakes are such an affordable, easy boon to cooking. I use them so much that they sit out on my cutting board by the cinnamon and salt pots. Not surprising that they found their way into these sweets.

Spice plus sweet. An equation the Thais understand, and one the rest of us are cluing into as well. Neighbor Patrick Earnest is in the savvy camp. “Who’d a thunk? Red pepper flakes on cookies???” He dashed off in an email “Wow…Delish!”

On Whole Wheat Flour in Goodies—

Whole wheat flour, flax meal, and wheat germ in cookies? Hey, there’s nothing like a little nutrition with your sweets. It will help you—as the Rolling Stones belted out in Ruby Tuesday—“catch your dreams before they slip away.”

Wheat, of course, is only one of the grains we can draw on. If you can’t deal with gluten try whizzing up any number of grains like barley, rye, buckwheat, millet, quinoa, or even the much maligned brown rice in your grinder—whether it be a first rate grain grinder or simply the little one you grind your coffee beans in. All’s fair game for creative cooks.

Plus you’ll discover how amazingly flavorful freshly ground grains are. Simply no contest between those and the stuff that sits around in bags and bins for months. Really and truly.

Afterthought on Sour Power—

I served these cookies with Bosc pears and lime wedges which got me to thinking that the next time I’ll try some fresh lime juice in the dough—like instead of the buttermilk, use half lime juice and half sweet milk. Or even experiment with a vegan approach, letting oil stand in for butter, and using half lime juice and half water—or all lime juice.

Once we tasted her pumpkin pie and declared it a home run clear up, over and out of the park–every bit as good as the ones mama used to make–she divulged her secret.

“Acorn squash from the garden.” To her husband’s lifted brows, she explained that she was darned if she’d buy official pumpkin when she had perfectly good winter squash in the house.

Laura with some of her Liberty apple harvest a couple years ago

Yes! This is the kind of talk thrifty, innovative cooks understand. Cooks who are primarily concerned with where their ingredients are sourced. Cooks who realize that threads running through flavor and sustainability and health will make whole cloth if we just let them.

Speaking of health. Laura didn’t stop with the filling for her pumpkin pie. She made her butter crust from 100 percent whole wheat pastry flour–flour that I’d bet half a hundred, came from the organic bulk bins.

Yah. My kind of eating. My kind of cook. Laura gets it.

(Camera was nowhere in sight to capture Laura’s acorn squashes or her 2009 pie, but here’s one of my own winter squash harvests. Those spaghetti squashes are such charmers piled up in their basket.)

For those who really think crepes are beyond them, read on or better yet cruise over to the Hillsdale Farmers Market this Sunday at noon. I’ll be in action, and you can have a taste. If you can’t make the market and want a rolled ups class, I’m doing one in June at Whole Foods Market in The Pearl as part of their “You Don’t Have to be Gourmet to Eat Well” series. (Date TBA on the Where’s Jean page.)

In the meantime here you go, straight from Beyond Measure:

On Learning Curves

If rolled-ups sound daunting to you, all you have to remember is to make them the next time grandpa’s around. Then just whisper to him that no matter how they turn out, he’s supposed to ooh and ahhh. That’s what they do in Hopiland. Cooks learning to make piki bread, something much more difficult than rolled-ups, always present their first efforts to grandpa. That’s the patriarch’s cue to tell the fledgling cook how delicious her creation is and eat the offering with great delight, even if it’s thick and the ladies are teasing her about how it looks a map.

On the Griddle

There’s nothing like a cast iron griddle. Not only does it carry heat that cooks evenly and browns beautifully, all there is to cleaning is a quick wipe with a cloth. Between my griddle and cast iron wok, each of which have staked out rather permanent claims on the stove top, there is little washing of pots and pans going on in my kitchen.

Who says tabbouleh must always be made with Bulgar wheat and the requisite parsley and mint. Surely not a creative cook who understands grain salads. Ditto for Spring Salad on a Theme of Radishes and  Jicama from Cooking Beyond Measure. No need to start with spaghetti squash if there’s a pot of quinoa all cooked up and just waiting to be chosen in the fridge.

That’s what I did at two cooking demonstrations hosted by the Multnomah County Library recently. Paired quinoa with all manner of fresh spring vegetables plus a few surprises. The dish earned rave reviews at each event, and everyday cooks in attendance said they were inspired to try Spring Salad at home. I hope you are as well. It’s easy. It’s delicious. It’s very polite to our bodies and the planet.

Our street is fortunate to have some old-school, retired neighbors that are always there for you. During our big snow when my car was blocked by a hip-deep drift, I was headed out to catch a bus to the post office when Glenn Bell said, “Heck, I’ve got chains on. I’ll take you down.” And when my car’s battery succumbed to the cold and died the other day, who other but Glenn had time not only to drive me to the store for a new battery buy also hook it up once we got back home.

To return the courtesies, down I went with a copy of Cooking Beyond Measure (and a can of Almond Rocca for good measure since I wasn’t sure if Glenn’s wife, Barbara, would like the book). I needn’t have worried. She made the salad below from it that night, and the next time we bumped into each other she wanted to know where to get wheat berries for sprouting. Not realizing that they’re usually in the bulk bins alongside millet, rice, and other whole grains, she’d called garden stores.

After pointing her in the right direction,  I came home and dusted off my long-neglected sprout jar. Truly, I don’t think I’ve done any sprouts since last spring. The timing’s good, though. What better way to ease on through February and March. What better way to get some seriously fresh food in the dead of winter.

If you’ve a mind to try some sprouts, you’ll find wheat berries (kernels) in the bulk bins most anywhere. Soak a handful in a wide-mouth quart jar with a circle of screen banded into place. Then rinse a couple times a day and watch them grow. I like wheat sprouts on the younger side, after three or four days depending on how warm it is.

Americans! We Can Eat Well & Tighten Our Belts! There was a time when only the rich could afford expensive spices. Ah, yes. We all remember the famed Spice Route to Asia. Just Google it, and you’ll find maps, mystery, and intrigue. You’ll find references to cardamom, turmeric, ginger, and cinnamon. Those wonderfully exotic sticks and pods and blossoms and powders.

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So, what better way to eat well while tightening our belts than to make full use of the riches in our cupboards. Of the full range of spices that are there just waiting for us to pop the lids–or even better, do them up fresh in our coffee grinders.

Spices really do make Plain Jane food sing–plain food as humble as beans & rice.

Here’s to dipping pears in butter and allspice, lacing quinoa with cardamom, and putting pinches of coriander, cumin, and cayenne in a pot of pintos. Totally amazing how a little spice can make food rock.

Longtime family friend Matt Loggins was here over the weekend so we grilled. It was such a snap.

I brined the shrimp for a half hour in salty water, made a salad out of leftover quinoa, garden lettuces, onion, and cashew cilantro pesto (Cooking Beyond Measure, page 75).

Other than that it was just making the rounds in the garden for squash and peppers–all of which went directly onto the grill without even venturing into the kitchen first. (They were washed well enough from the mornings watering, needed nary a speck of oil, and I had a pocket knife handy.)

Yes. From the garden to the grill. My kind of cooking.