• perfect pita

    Finally, I’ve conquered pita. I am so proud, as in, puffed-like-a-pita proud.

    I happened upon the recipe by chance: one blogger mentioned a foodie youtuber and I clicked over and promptly fell down a rabbit hole, watching a whole bunch of his videos in one sitting (his unbridled enthusiasm kind of reminds me of Samin), one of which was all about his search for the perfect, creamy-smooth hummus. I made the hummus, and, while it was good — and some of the methods were downright brilliant (blend the unpeeled garlic with the lemon juice and then strain, toast the chickpeas with baking soda and then cook to remove the skins) — I still think the recipe needs more work (my main beefs: too much garlic, and the complicated skimming of the skins). His pita recipe, however, was amazing.

    There’s nothing fancy about the dough — yeast, olive oil, a little whole wheat — but there are several different rising stages: the dough rises, the dough balls rise, and then the rolled-out pita rises.

    And then there’s the cooking, at which point (most of) the pitas swell right up into a glorious round ball, creating that ever-illusive and highly-coveted pocket effect.

    squeeeeee!

    All that rising sounds complicated, but it’s not. Really, pita is the perfect background project while completing other kitchen tasks. In between kneading the dough and rolling it out and cooking it on the griddle, there’s plenty of time to grind coffee, chop veggies, boil some eggs, wash up the dishes, set the table, whatever.

    There’s nothing quite like a towel-lined basket filled with steaming hot, tender, gently-puffed pitas. You gotta try it.

    Seriously.

    Perfect Pita 
    Adapted from My Name Is Andong.

    ½ cup whole wheat flour
    1 tablespoon olive oil
    1 tablespoon sugar
    2½ teaspoons yeast
    1 cup warm water
    2 cups all-purpose flour
    1 teaspoon salt

    In a small bowl, stir together the whole wheat, oil, sugar, yeast, and water. Let rest for 10-15 minutes.

    Measure the flour and salt into a second, larger bowl. Add the bubbly yeast mixture and stir. Turn the dough out onto a floured counter and knead briefly. The dough will be sticky — knead quickly and try to refrain from adding too much flour. The wetter the dough, the more tender the pita. Place the dough into a lightly oiled bowl (the unwashed mixing bowl is fine) and cover with plastic. Let rise for one hour.

    Turn the dough out onto a floured surface, divide it into eight pieces, and shape into balls. Flour the tops again and cover with a cloth. Let rest for 20 minutes.

    Roll out the pitas into thin circles, about ¼-inch thick. After you’ve rolled the first one, set the timer for 15 minutes and continue rolling out the pitas, keeping them in order according to when you rolled them out.

    When the timer dings, place a comal, or cast iron skillet, over medium heat. Once the pan is hot, begin to cook the pitas, starting with the first one that you shaped and moving through the pitas chronologically. Gently lay a pita on the pan. After about three minutes, it should be nice and bubbly — if it worked well, you’ll have one big bubble — and the underside will be a speckled golden brown. Flip and cook for another couple minutes before transferring the pita to a towel-lined basket. Fold the edges of the towel over the hot pita to keep it warm, adding more pitas as they finish.

    Serve hot, with hummus or curry, or with butter.

    Store leftover pitas in a plastic bag. To reheat, spritz both sides of the pita with water and reheat on the comal until steamy hot and pliable.

    This same time, years previous: the quotidian (2.27.17), Oreo, my new superpower, rise and fall, buttery brown sugar syrup and cinnamon molasses syrup, what would you say?, what I said, creamy garlic soup.

  • lunch

    Yesterday I photographed our lunches, and then when I found myself wide awake at three this morning — because the chicks that my daughter bought yesterday and then put in the downstairs guestroom that’s directly below our room were cheep-eep-eeping so loudly that they woke me up and I had to get out of bed to fetch the noise machine from where it purrs in the hallway and plug it in next to my bed, right by my head, so I could drown out the shrill peeps, but then, of couse, all that activity only served to wake me up even more — I tried to write a post to go with those lunch photos. Because if I wasn’t going to sleep, I might as well do something useful.

    But what, I thought to myself as I flopped about, tugging the covers up and then flinging them off, is there to say about lunch? Nothing really, except, I realized, I really like it. I like the eating, naturally, but I also like the word itself: lunch.

    Say it: lunch. It’s a friendly word, don’t you think? Cozy and humble, and cheery. Satisfying, too, the way it ends with such firm unch-ness. And it rhymes with other agreeable words, like munch, bunch, and crunch, all which are related to lunch: I munch and crunch my way through a bunch of lunch. See?

    But oh yes. The photos. Right.

    My husband’s lunch….

    two deviled eggs, chips and salsa, an apple and peanut butter, coffee 

    He has never been one for packing a lunch. He does it, but he hates it. Lucky for him, the older he gets, the less he eats, so there’s less to pack.

    Still, I don’t understand how he can pull off eight hours of hard physical labor on a couple eggs and an apple with peanut butter. I’d be flat on my face — doing his job, I’d be flat on my face even with a big lunch — but he says it’s enough, so whatever.

    My younger son’s lunch….

    my mom’s homemade yogurt, leftover steak, cheesy chips and salsa

    I was going to heat up leftover brown rice and curry for our lunch, but then I just didn’t feel like dealing with the inevitable fussing (the kids aren’t curry fans), and we had plenty of other leftovers. Cobbled lunches are one of my favorite things about eating at home — I feel so virtuous, emptying container after container of leftovers.

    My younger daughter’s lunch…

    ramen, with a boiled egg and some leftover corn, and crackers

    She couldn’t finish it, so my younger son ate the rest of it.

    (My older daughter was at school, so I didn’t photograph what she ate. I think she took some chips, though, and a couple granola bars. And when I went to Costco yesterday, she sent along money so I’d buy her a large pepperoni pizza that she then divided up and stuck in the freezer for her future lunches.)

    In my Sunday school class on the climate crisis, there’s a lot of talk about how reducing food waste is one of the biggest ways that we can fight climate change. (Of the dozens and dozens of ways that we can cut back on carbon emissions, guess what’s the number one way. Transportation? Netzero building? Recycling? Walkable cities? Nope — refrigerants!)

    But I’m a little unclear about what “reducing food waste” means. Is it the waste from growing the food (fertilizers and fossil fuels)? Waste from shipping it? Waste from grocery stores buying too much and throwing it out? Waste from all our driving to and from the stores, restaurants, pick-your-own patches? Waste from driving to the gym to burn off the excess calories? Waste from processed food? The obesity epidemic and the ensuing medical costs? Excessive food packaging? Our crazy-high meat consumption?

    How is the homecook supposed to respond? Does it boil down to The Pollan Mantra — Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants — or is there something more?

    My lunch…

    cheese and crackers, and then coffee and Reeses’ cups, and then an apple with peanut butter 
    and probably Twizzlers, too — can’t remember

    Like I said: Lunches are for munching and crunching. I have a hunch you agree.

    This same time, years previous: the quotidian (2.26.18), homecoming, roasted cauliflower soup, the quotidian (2.25.13), for my daughter, Molly’s marmalade cake.

  • the quotidian (2.24.20)

    Quotidian: daily, usual or customary; 
    everyday; ordinary; commonplace

    We ran out of food and so I made some. Dishwasher girl was not pleased. 

    The curry pot.
    Lunch salad, with a side of reading
    I thought we got rid of him.

    Renaissance dog.

    She’s like a giant puppy. 
    Yard art.
    We have to lock the doors to keep her out. 

    Grumpy much?

    My older daughter: Mom, you look so athletic but then I see you play and it’s so disappointing. 

    Movie night.

    This same time, years previous: the quotidian (2.25.19), jelly toast, a love story, steer sitting, old-fashioned molasses cream sandwich cookies, the quotidian (2.23.15), peanut butter and jelly bars, the quotidian (2.24.14), birds and bugs, bandwagons.