Elegance on an Electric Burner

I have a tendency of forgetting the usuals-- things like names, birthdays and anniversaries. Things everybody forgets from time to time. But it's become a real issue since I've been pregnant and my poor husband gets the worst of it. It's now as bad as forgetting my next sentence, what I did last weekend or having the gas turned on in our new apartment.

We managed to endure an entire month in this place without cooking gas, which, at least for my chef-in-training husband, was no easy feat. Personally, I was delighted with the challenge of preparing all my meals without the convenience of heat. But you can only eat so many raw vegetables before you get the urge to kill someone with a carrot. So after about a week, I resorted to a tiny electric burner.

Now we were living luxuriously on pastas, boiled potatoes and soups. Chad still wasn't pleased. He had just started his baking class and reminded me every day just how helpful it would be if he could use the oven. After a few more weeks of blatant reminders and bland foods, I made amends. First, I hassled the folks at the gas company until they finally approved me for gas (I still don't understand why this is such a grueling process-- seriously people, it's cooking gas!) and then I whipped up a batch of no-bake cookies on that itty bitty electric burner for my patient hubby.

Now I realize that we're still technically newlyweds, but not once have I impressed my husband in the kitchen. Like I've said before, I'm barely even allowed in that room when he's home. And when I mentioned the term "no-bake" cookies, he looked utterly confused and severely skeptical. But after one bite (OK, maybe it was more like three), he was a believer-- not in my cooking abilities, mind you, but in this seemingly ridiculous dessert recipe. Oh, and he never brought up the gas issue again.

No-bake cookie recipe
Courtesy of allrecipes.com

INGREDIENTS

* 2 cups white sugar
* 3 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder
* 1/2 cup margarine
* 1/2 cup milk
* 1 pinch salt
* 3 cups quick cooking oats
* 1/2 cup peanut butter
* 1 teaspoon vanilla extract

DIRECTIONS

1. In a saucepan bring sugar, cocoa, margarine, milk, and salt to a rapid boil for 1 minute.
2. Add quick cooking oats, peanut butter, and vanilla; mix well.
3. Working quickly, drop by teaspoonfuls onto waxed paper, and let cool.

***Note: I recommend using a candy thermometer until it reaches 210/120, as the boil time on these cookies means everything. Too long and you've got dry crumbles, not long enough and you end up with a big pile of chocolate goop.


This article was first published on Examiner.com.
Photo: flickr / fatalysis

Cakes to crackers

I’ve been too busy lately to hit up the grocery store, which usually isn’t a problem since I eat out so much. But on the rare occasion that I actually attempt to work in my tiny studio, I quickly fall into bored eating. And this is when I realize that my kitchen easily (and embarrassingly) matches up to that of a frat boy's; an empty fridge with a door full of beer and condiments, a shelf stocked with liquor and a sink piled with dirty glassware. To my credit, there was one lonely apple left in the fruit basket, a single canister of oats and a cupboard stuffed with exotic spices.

I grabbed the oats and studied the Quaker man's face for a while, dreaming up some scandalous history for him involving a string of mistresses and a murderous streak. And then I wondered what to do with him. Oatmeal? No, I was out of milk and the stuff is a tasteless pile of mush when made with water. Granola? Nix that, the feat would be useless without honey or maple syrup. Scottish oatcakes? Of course! I remembered an article I read by Cynthia Clampitt on Hungry Magazine about this UK staple and how it's ungodly easy to make. All you need are the oats, baking soda, butter, a dash of salt and some hot water. So what the hell, I gave it a whirl.

After kneading the dough and 35 minutes of baking and another 30 minutes of cooling, my oatcakes were ready. I tore off a small piece of the flatbread in a hurried excitement, plunked it into my mouth and cringed. It was just a solid, chewy hunk of oatmeal. But really, what was I expecting given the bland ingredients? Perhaps the Scots need more sugar in their diet, or maybe I need to cut back on mine (probably the latter). It's not that I was anticipating a ton of flavor (the cakes are typically eaten with honey, preserves or some other sweet confection). I just wasn't thinking they'd be so dense and chewy, nor did I have the slightest clue if this was even the proper consistency. So of course, I had to give it another go.

What would happen, I thought, if I rolled out the dough until it was nearly paper thin? My first instinct was that it would burn and ruin yet another baking sheet (and my oven was still recovering from the horrific smell of last month's unattended granola incident). My second thought was that it would turn into some delicious crispy, healthy treat. Fingers crossed and no oats left to spare, I followed Clampitt's recipe just as before with a few minor tweaks. This time I rolled the ball of dough out until it took on the appearance of a thin-crust pizza and nearly doubled the baking time: 25 minutes on one side and 25 on the other.

The end result was a crunchy wholesome cracker that motivated me to make a cheese run to Whole Foods. I picked up some brie and honey, forgetting completely that I probably should've grabbed some real food for the week.