September 03, 2012

Caramelized Leek, Basil, & Black Pepper Biscuits

September 03, 2012/ Kristin Rosenau

Food has been a struggle for me the last couple months. After discovering that my body cannot process dairy during the completion of my month long vegan challenge back in June, it has not been easy for me to go dairy-free. Perhaps it seems a little counter-intuitive, but going vegan for a month was much easier than trying to be dairy-free for the last two months. In part, I think this may be because my month long vegan challenge was a personal choice and becoming dairy-free was a decision my body made for me.

Food and I have been at odds since, fighting the dance of siblings as we bicker over what I should put on my plate.

I do fairly well when I eat alone in the confines of my apartment, cooking up meals for one in a place where I can control the amount of dairy in the refrigerator and cupboards. The real struggle begins the moment I step out of my safe haven. Restaurants have become the enemy; an unwanted challenge as I sift my way through what I can eat and what I can't eat on the menu, feeling little more than an irritation as I ask the waitress pointed questions and make half a dozen omissions and substitutions from the list of entrees.

I struggle with food because it puts my family in an awkward position as they try to make meals around my new disorder. My mother creates the most wonderful food—the vast majority of it made with dairy in one form or another—and I'm conflicted over asking her to leave it off the menu or keeping it on, since I don't want to deny anyone else the pleasures of her cooking. I struggle with food when my boyfriend casually suggests making macaroni and cheese for dinner, forgetting for a moment that I can't eat it, and making us both feel bad about the comment for different reasons—him, for making me remember my love for macaroni, and me, for refusing him a beloved food.

I struggle with food because so many of my favorite foods are now forbidden. Just because I cannot eat milk, cream, or cheese, doesn't mean I stopped enjoying them. I have cravings for fettuccine Alfredo and rich chocolate ice cream that refuse to disappear, no matter how much I will them away.

I struggle with food because I still want to share new and exciting desserts that are infused with cream and butter because, let's face it, cream and butter never stopped being delicious. In my own kitchen, I'll sometimes substitute margarine or alternative milks for recipes, but there are still occasions when I'll refuse to make pie without a buttery, flaky crust. I'm continuing to juggle this new world of food, trying my best to create recipes that work for me and you.

This journey has a long, long way to go, but I'm trying. Perhaps a little more time is all I really need.

Caramelized Leek, Basil, & Black Pepper Biscuits are packed with flavor. A basic biscuit dough is infused with freshly chopped basil leaves, caramelized leeks, and coarsely ground black pepper. While baking, the biscuits rise, becoming buttery and flaky. These biscuits make a wonderful side for a bowl of soup or casserole, but can stand alone for moments when a biscuit spread with a little butter is all you really need. For tips on creating mile-high biscuits, check this out!

August 31, 2012

Vanilla Bean Cardamom Peach Pie

August 31, 2012/ Kristin Rosenau

Long, languid summer afternoons are quickly becoming fond memories as I find myself surrounded by textbooks and a mountain of responsibilities. For many reasons, I wish I could go back to those summer days, despite the heat swells that kept my apartment at a blistering degree. The transition between seasons always feels unexpected to me; no matter how much my brain anticipates its arrival, my body falls into a state of confusion. The hot air from summer days still plagues me as I walk around sweating in a pair of blue jeans and a sweater, questioning why I expected cooler temperatures just because the routines of fall had arrived.

Between the transitions, I get caught between the seasons, wearing skirts in chilled temperatures and turning on the oven when the warmth of summer hasn't gone.

Part of me is still drawn to summer, as I buy fresh berries for my breakfast, purposefully overlooking the rising price of the fruit. I bought my last bag of cherries for the season at the market last week, the moment hitting me unusually hard as I realized summer was truly coming to an end.

My sister, on the other hand, has been ready for fall for the last month. Ahead of the game, her new fall wardrobe has already been purchased, hanging in the closet as she anxiously awaits the temperatures to drop. Perhaps most of all, she has been looking forward to the flavors of autumn. Filling my inbox with pumpkin recipes I must make for her, she can't stop talking about eating her weight in pumpkin cheesecake.

In a way, the two of us complement one another—as I grasp onto the remains of summer, she is fully embracing the spice of fall. Together we are helping each other through the transition of the seasons.

Last weekend, I was trying to find a recipe that reflected this passage of weather and life. The morning was unusually cool and overcast, as I snuggled into the couch with a blanket around my shoulders and warm socks covering my toes. For the first time in months, the temperature had dropped in my apartment and the thought of turning on the oven finally seemed like a perfect idea. After months of looking for no-bake recipes or recipes with limited baking, I missed my oven and the warmth it could bring into bodies and homes.

I turned it on, rolled out pie dough on the counter top, and somewhere along the way this pie took form. The fresh fruit of summer and the spices of fall combine to create a pie for transitions. As if to live up to its purpose, the weather began to clear while the pie cooled on top of the oven. Just as I cut into the first piece, I heard a splash from someone jumping into a nearby pool.

While the weather (or your heart) may be between seasons, this pie will help to bridge the gap, creating a space where you can enjoy a slice of both at precisely the same time.

Vanilla Bean Cardamom Peach Pie is bright and fragrant, with a sugar sprinkled crust to hold in the flavor. Fresh, ripe peaches combine with aromatic cardamom and a hint of vanilla, baking in the oven until the fruit softens and bubbles in its own juices. You may choose to use whichever pie crust recipe you prefer (I've provided a link to my favorite below), but as long as it bakes up golden and flaky, you can do no wrong. Whether you are still longing for summer or waiting to embrace the flavors of fall, this pie will be suited just for you.

August 29, 2012

Banana Rum Bread

August 29, 2012/ Kristin Rosenau

Like the ebb and flow of the ocean tides, inspiration seems to come and go with a steady rhythm. Some days it rides in on a large wave, electric and exciting as it washes over me. Eventually the inspiration is called back into the sea and I desperately grasp at the departing water, trying futilely to hold onto the last remains as it slides easily between my fingertips.

With the last burst of warmth before fall surrounding me, I've been feeling inspired by everything from the color of ripe peaches to the golden light before the sun sets.

This time the inspiration for this recipe unexpectedly stood out between a set of paragraphs—"Today I learned how to bake mean banana bread. The secret apparently is half a cup of dark rum." The baker in me, interest piqued, wondered if it could be true. Was this the secret to baking up a remarkable banana bread? With such a bold claim written in front of me, a secret ingredient exposed, the impulse to discover the truth propelled me forward.

The bananas were purchased. They rested on the counter until speckled and brown. The batter was mixed, the rum was added, and when the loaf emerged from the oven, hot and steamy, I didn't wait until it cooled to take a bite.

Puzzled, I took another taste. The rum, it seemed, was nowhere to be found.

In my sheer desire to taste the barest hint of rum, a third of the loaf disappeared in front of my searching eyes. Defeated, I divided up the rest to share with friends, hoping they could taste something I couldn't. Even so, the consensus was clear—though it was a good loaf of bread, it just didn't live up to my rum-infused expectations. I allowed myself to drift into other projects, forgetting about the loaf of bread. The banana bread, however, wasn't finished with me.

Out of the blue, my friend informed me that a couple of days later the banana bread had mysteriously changed in the night. It seemed the rum flavor missing on that crucial first day had finally come out to play. In disbelief, I rushed to the store to buy another set of bananas and the cycle repeated once more. With my patience tested, I waited the right amount of time for the rum to emerge before I took a bite. As promised, it was there, subtle and sneaky.

Inspiration, ever mysterious, likes to keep me on my toes, reminding me I can't always find it when I'm looking for it. Unpredictable, it can be found equally in a few words in a novel full of sentences or in the virtues of a friend who can hold out on a loaf of banana bread longer than myself.

Banana Rum Bread is a boozy twist on the traditional loaf of banana bread. Like a fine wine, the longer the banana bread rests on the counter top (or sits in the refrigerator), the stronger the rum flavor will develop. The first day the rum flavor is completely absent, but the subtle flavor slowly creeps in the following days, resulting in tingling tongues and happy taste buds. The banana bread batter is a very basic recipe so you could certainly throw in a pinch of cinnamon or a handful of chocolate chips if you desire, but the real star is the half a cup of dark rum.

Note: All of the rum does not bake out of the bread, so this is not an appropriate recipe to share with children.