• the day before

    The day before Thanksgiving and there’s snow. Not just a little dusting, but great fluffy mounds of the stuff. My husband and I lay in bed this morning, listening to the kids thud-running through the downstairs in search of snow clothes. They played outside for a couple hours before coming in for hot chocolate and bagels.

    There’s a cheesecake in the oven and cranberry sauce is simmering on the stove. Pastry is chilling in the fridge, and, once the food processor is washed, I’ll make another batch. Tomorrow is all about the pies, and I’ve got time to play.

    I’m starting to think of Christmas cookies—what kinds will it be this year?—and am laying the ground work for my first fruitcake ever, making the grocery list and calling the wine shops in search of a Concord grape wine.

    It’s not even lunch time yet and the kids are already outside for the second time today. It’s a sweet gift, this quiet house and extra time to write.

    But the lights keeps flickering. I’m trying not to panic. A half-baked cheesecake might put a dent in my mood.

    I just checked the cranberry sauce. It’s done.

    And now I hear the kids’ voices. They’re on the porch, kicking the snow off their boots. I should probably turn my attention to rustling up a lunch. Sandwiches with leftover meatloaf and sweet pickles, I think.

    This same time, years previous: a treat, Thanksgiving of 2012, Thanksgiving of 2011, Thanksgiving of 2010, and pumpkin pie.

  • in my kitchen: 7:35 a.m.

    *daughter struggling to slice mostly-frozen bread for her lunch sandwiches (that’ll teach her to think ahead)
    *also, naughty girl is wearing her forbidden S.K.s (shit kickers) in the house
    *husband reading, always reading, while eating his standard bowl of granola—this time around it’s Fahrenheit 451 that he happened to pick up
    *frosted mini-wheats from Costco—all bought cereal is only ever allowed to be eaten a-top a generous portion of the homemade granola
    *two jars of granola on the counter to choose from: regular and French chocolate
    *freaking impossible-to-pour jug of milk, also from Costco
    *hand towels tossed about: on the table, in the drainer, etc
    *at least the drainer is empty
    *coupon flyer to Tractor Supply waiting on the table because my daughter has yet to decide if she’ll take advantage of their store discount for her lunge rope and sheep feed
    *random apple on counter
    *sheet ice (and bowl ice) because it’s fun to make ice in random shapes, I guess
    *thermos that is never used but still somehow gets dirty
    *by the hutch, husband’s satchel and daughter’s backpack all ready to go
    *dirty wineglass from my evening snack (I think I also had Dubliner cheese)

    This same time, years previous: how to use up Thanksgiving leftovers in 10 easy steps, the quotidian (11.25.13), a big day at church, a Thanksgiving walk, right now, cranberry pie with cornmeal streusel topping, pasta with creamy pumpkin sauce, apple rum cake, chocolate pots de crème, steel-cut oatmeal, potato leek soup, and feminism part two.       

  • apple raisin bran muffins

    I already have two, no three, bran muffin recipes on this site, but it’s time to add another. I don’t know what it is about bran—maybe the dry, toasty flavor?—but I love the stuff. Eating food with bran makes the whole eating experience more worthy, like my life has greater intensity and purpose.

    It’s a lie, of course. My life is worth the same if I’d be eating a blueberry muffin with cinnamon streusel. But some days I’ll take any validation I can get. If it happens to come in the form of a muffin, then so be it. Go, bran.

    I actually had to go buy a box of bran to makes these muffins. I used to have something like eight pounds of bran in my freezer (that’s like eight pounds of feathers—it’s way more than it sounds), but then I started dumping it into my granola and it quickly got gone. So then when I wanted to make these muffins, I had to go to the store to get more bran.

    The last time around making these, I doubled the batch (and now I have no more bran). I made a bunch of mini muffins which were absolutely perfect for snacking: I could space out my validation boosters all day long and never feel full!

    I have a few more regular-sized muffins in the freezer. Most days, I eat a small bowl of granola for breakfast and later I thaw a muffin and fix a mug of tea for a mid-morning snack. If I’m feeling feisty, I split the muffin and spread it with way too much butter (in other words, just the right amount).

    Apple Raisin Bran Muffins
    Adapted from Luisa of The Wednesday Chef

    Luisa uses blueberries in place of the apples and raisins. Since I didn’t have any on hand, I used red raspberries once (very good) and grated apples the next time (also very good). Pick whatever fruit you like and/or have on hand and run with it.

    Also, Luisa says that the original recipe calls for ½ cups of sugar and honey, but she cut back to 1/4 cups of each. I took the middle road—1/3 cup each—and was happy.

    2½ cups bran
    1 cup flour
    1/3 cup sugar
    1 teaspoon salt
    ½ teaspoon each baking soda, baking powder, and cinnamon
    2 eggs, beaten
    ½ cup oil
    1/3 cup honey
    1 cup plain yogurt
    1 teaspoon vanilla
    1½ cups grated apple (peeled first)
    ½ cups raisins

    In one bowl, combine the bran, flour, sugar, salt, baking soda and powder, and cinnamon. In another bowl, combine the eggs, honey, oil, yogurt, and vanilla. Pour the wet ingredients into the dry and mix well. Add the apple and raisins.

    Divide the batter into greased muffin tins. Fill the tins all the way to the top and even a little higher—the muffins don’t rise much. One batch makes about a dozen regular-sized muffins.

    Bake the muffins at 350 degrees for about 25-30 minutes.

    This same time, years previous: sock curls, candid crazy, new clothes, orange cranberry bread, smashing for pretty, Swiss chard and sweet potato gratin, and feminism: part one.