Adventures in Elderberries (and Pontack Sauce)

The past week seems to have stood still and flown by at the same time. I feel like I was gone for about a month, which is often the case when I go out of town. A storm rolled through the day before I left, rendering my cell phone completely unusable for the duration of my stay at the farm. That only added to the sense of complete relaxation, one that made it harder than ever to return to the city.

After our long weekend, my Kiddo seems to be adjusting much better than I am to full day kindergarten. I feel a sense of emptiness, and I feel busier than ever. I contemplate finding a job or a way to make some on-the-side-money, but ever increasingly, I feel happy that I can call myself a HomeMaker.

I did bring back plenty to keep me busy, too. I had watermelons and paper bags crammed full of elderberries. Elderberry bushes grow wild on my Parents' property in many places and though I missed the blossoms this year for cordials, my Mom kept an eye on their sporadic ripening so that I could play with them. She only made syrup once with them just after we first moved to the farm. She wasn't overly excited with the flavor, so she hasn't bothered to make anything with them since. I was more than excited at the prospects of old-fashioned-y elixirs and syrups, and of course the chance for wild, free kitchen experiments. That plummy blue black color kind of got me too...

The bushes were draped with heavy berries, some overripe and some just perfect. My Mom and Dad had picked some for the week or so prior to my visit and had them waiting in bags in the fridge, figuring that if I were to make juice from them, they would rehydrate in the steam bath. My Mom and I picked 3 pounds fresh and stemmed them carefully. A pound went directly into a pound of honey to make a raw syrup. This is the way Linda Ziedrich prefers and I could immediately see why. The flavor of the earthy berries is brought to life under the cloak of clover honey. I'm planning to strain out the spent berries in another few days and try making Julia's Fruit Pulp Cake with the discard.

I dumped a couple of pounds into a quart of cider vinegar to flavor. Using another Pam Corbin recipe, I did this first using the sour cherries, and I am completely smitten. I don't heat the vinegar more than to gently warm the sugar into a melted state, this way I preserve the raw vinegar and trick myself into thinking it is better for me. I can see using the same method for just about any berry or fruit and I can see my love for drinking vinegars increase with every attempt. I didn't stem the berries too carefully for this, I dropped the clusters (cut away from the biggest part of the plant) into my VitaMix and pulsed a few times. Miraculously, the stems floated to the center of the mix where I could easily fish them out. Since I am going to strain this anyway, I feel like I saved myself quite a lot of work coaxing the tiny berries off the stems.

The other recipe that I was looking forward to trying was Pontack Sauce, written by Pam Corbin in The River Cottage Preserves Handbook. I didn't mean not to follow the instructions, but didn't on accident - and the complex umami flavor of this sauce was reward enough for me. Pontack is a English sauce used on meat and game, or to enliven sauces or gravies. Being a base of cider vinegar (I've now gone through nearly a gallon of Bragg's in just over a week and a half...), it has a sour salty nuance, a peppery hot finish, and a round elderberry near-sweetness that is hard to describe. If you have access to 18 oz. or so of elderberries, I'd suggest you make it right away and then let your imagination run away with ideas for future masterpieces.

I should have roasted the elderberries in a slow oven together with the cider vinegar, but roasted them by themselves instead. I kept the oven at 200, and the berries got fat and round with their juices nearly bursting from their thin skins. I did only roast for about 2 hours, not the 6-8 required if I would have followed instruction. I'd like to think this is a quick version of the original recipe, though I have no base to compare it to. I'll probably make another bottle using her more proper procedure since Corbin suggests that it tastes better after aging several months. I'm imagining the finished sauces will taste about the same.

Pontack Sauce (adapted from Pam Corbin)

• 1 lb. 2 oz. elderberries, stripped from stems
• 2 c. cider vinegar
• 4 oz. sliced onion
  
• 1 small clove garlic, sliced
• tiny pinch of mace
• tiny pinch of cloves
• 1 T. tellecherry peppercorns
• 1 inch piece of fresh ginger, bruised

Place berries in a glass baking dish, and roast at 200 degrees for about 2 hours until they are soft and starting to "bleed" their juices. Strain through a sieve (I used a china cap), and transfer juice to a wide non-reactive saucepan.

Add the rest of the ingredients and bring to a boil. Reduce heat, and simmer over low heat for about a half hour. Strain the sauce through a sieve.

Transfer the sauce back to a small saucepan, and bring to a rapid boil. Boil hard for 5 minutes. Pour sauce into a sterilized jar or bottle, and store in a dark, cool place.

The finished sauce was the color of ink. It seems to be one of those things that is deeply mysterious, "kitchen alchemy at its most exciting and rewarding", as Pam Corbin puts it. It's a strange balance of flavor, and it makes me feel empowered to make meat. The River Cottage Preserves Handbook has quickly become one of my favorite books, and I look forward to making many more of her smart recipes.

I should have used shallots, but I couldn't find any.

Do you ever feel like you don't know what you should be doing? That's kind of how I feel right now. Outside of immediate canning and preserving projects, I feel like I should have all sorts of time on my hands. I feel like everyone is asking me what I am doing since I have all this extra time, but the truth is, I am busy and haven't seen any of that extra time yet.

I try to remember how lucky I am to admire things like the color of these elderberries, how it quietly changed to a denim blue when it met the dishwater. All day I wonder what kindergarten must be like, and I'm shocked that I can remember most of what I did when I first attended so many years ago. I hope that I can let go a little, and that the hours I'm spending alone never go misused. I still have a couple bags of elderberries to put to use, so I have a good start.

Birthdays and Photography,

Today is my birthday, and I officially hit my mid-thirties. When thinking about such things as age, I ponder that the reason the blogging world on all topics is so huge is because my generation is struggling to hold the rapidly increasing technology at arm's length. We want to embrace just enough of it to fully bear hug our pasts, which when you hit your mid-thirties seems like it's rushing away from you in a hurry.

I will remember always that my Gram's favorite age was 35. Her kids (4 of them at the time, my last uncle didn't come along until she was in her 40's) were older and she could do more of what she loved: gardening, raising sheep and goats, experimenting with cheeses, wild yeasts and vinegars, and knitting with such productivity that I sometimes feel slovenly by comparison. She was able bodied and strong. I remember her carrying 2 water filled 5-gallon buckets at a time down to her animals when she was well into her 60's, and with nary a grey hair on her head.

I feel so much like her sometimes that it makes me teary. That the woman I knew when I was a kid and the woman I know her to be now is essentially the same, but I am not. I can appreciate my elders now like I couldn't then, and more than once my Mom has told me that she wishes my Gram was in good health now that I've hit my stride. When thinking of aging, I can only hope that I do so with as much dignity and grace as my Gram. She is now unable to speak, not really able to see, and spends most of the day with her eyes closed, reclining in a chair - but she has a memory that is long and sharp and no one has ever once heard her complain.

A few weeks ago I got an email from Easy Canvas Prints asking if I'd like to review a photo canvas using one of my photographs. I was really surprised actually, since I feel like I really love photography, but that my particular style isn't really mainstream, and maybe doesn't appeal to so many people. I have very limited equipment (my standard gear is an old version iPhone with lots of photo apps and my Canon PowerShot S5IS, which in digital years is ancient at more than 4 years old), and I have to exploit what they do best, like micro-photos. Fortunately for me, micro pics have always been some of my favorites. I feel like the world is a huge place and now that the Internet has invaded it is even larger, and sometimes strangely impersonal. Looking at something small and up close so that you have to stop and examine it appeals to me. You may not know what a micro pic subject is right away, but that's part of the point the photographer makes. That extra time required makes me nostalgic for simpler times.

I figured I'd consider 5 candidates of recent photos I've taken for translation to canvas, five that I picked for their appeal and their story to me personally, and 5 that just happened to be micros. I'll let you in on my process, and early apologies if I get long-winded...

Samco Radishes. I was hit hard by the radish bug this early Spring. I couldn't eat enough of the them, I couldn't wait for them to grow in my garden. I couldn't get enough of their shocking pinkness or of eating them plain or pickled. I took this iPhone pic using the Instagram app. My Instagram stream is private, but I upload some of the photos to flickr from time to time. If you are looking for watery pinks, I like the filters on Instagram a great deal. I am also a total geek for old canning jars like this Samco. I have a few that are very special to me, and likely this one came from my Gram.

Orange Liqueur. I think every year I will tackle some kind of liqueur using the proportion of the Rhubarb Liqueur by Deena Princhep. I read a lot of recipes for infused vodkas and brandies, but I am fully convinced that Deena's method of extraction by nearly lethal grain alcohol (a.k.a. Everclear) is superior. The flavors are pulled more fully, and develop better I think, and when you age them they morph into something completely mellow and amazing. This liqueur is coming along nicely. It bears a strange resemblance (albeit stronger) to Aperol when the bitter sting of orange peel is left on your tongue. I have a feeling it will continue to change as it sits. I took this photo with the Camera+ app which is probably one of my favorites for editing. I usually shoot all iPhone pics in it, then transfer them to other apps for filtering.

My Gram was a collector of old jars and bottles, but not really just for looking at. She loved usable things, and most everything in her home was not only nice to look at but was also functional. Except this old milk jar. The front of this bottle says in red script letters "Dee's Dairy", and my Gram's name is Dolores (she goes by the nickname Dee). Her last name is Mendez, and when she found this bottle with this milk tab stopping it up she never removed it. You can read a little more about it here, by rolling over the image to read the note. This was a Hipstamatic pic, and I liked the fairytale, float colors for this story of the bottle.

Kombucha(s). This was the second bottled batch of kombucha that I made. I was pretty excited, and bottled 4 or so different flavors out of first batches just to see how they differed. Now, I've gotten pretty lazy and like to just bottle a single flavor, usually whatever fruit I have around that needs using or jam which also works too in a pinch. I'm always envious of photographs that are back lit to showcase the color in transparent foods or drinks. This photo isn't really perfect, but it came close enough for me, and reminded me of the obsessions that happen to me in the kitchen.

Atlas Strong Shoulder. This was the image I chose to have reproduced, and it was because it embodied everything about photography: memories, family, technology and the aesthetics that I love. Strong shoulder jars are my favorite. They differ a bit from plain wide mouths, since they do indeed have shoulders that are a bit more pronounced. I love Atlas jars in particular, too - and this one is very old and blue and I don't preserve in it. I likely had taken it filled with crackers or something to my Parents' house and then we ate what was in it and the empty jar caught my eye in their kitchen. That is the green of last Summer out the kitchen window that overlooks the rolling hills and farmland where they live. It looks like a painting to me, the way the greens move within the blue jar. I think of the strength in the preserving, in the strong shoulders of my Mother and Grandmother who instilled in my the abilities to be independent and productive, to be strong and useful with myself, the hard workings of my Dad who led us all to the country, to his dream home, our old farmhouse. This was the image I wanted in my kitchen, and thanks to Easy Canvas Prints, it now is.

before: Sergio Mendes and Brazil 66


after: Atlas Strong Shoulder

This baker's hutch that stands in the corner of my dining room came from my Mom's kitchen prior to it's remodel with ample cabinets. It has an enameled worktop that pulls out which in addition to being an extension of my counters serves as the place where most of my photos are taken. A defunct flour bin on the upper left conceals my cords enabling my near-vintage stereo to work with my iPod. It houses my kombucha and currently my Bachelor's Jam behind sliding wooden doors, and teas and miscellaneous clutter hide cleverly on shelves behind closed doors. Though not in my kitchen proper, it is close enough and I consider it an essential part of my kitchen kit.

My canvas arrived the day before my birthday, a surprise that the Easy Canvas people probably didn't calculate but one that I appreciated very much. I was very happy with the color translation, and the quality of the print, especially since I chose a photo I took with my iPhone. The website is simple to use and the print shipped quickly. It even had hanging hardware attached so I could hang it immediately on the wall.

It causes me to think about art and what qualifies, how I personally am drawn to images and colors like the one I chose to have hanging in my home. It will stand as a marker for my 35th birthday and those things I felt when I picked it, should my memory start to fail me. Not that I'm counting on that anytime soon...

Daring Baker Challenge August 2011 (kind of...): Peanut Butter Fudge

The August 2011 Daring Bakers’ Challenge was hosted by Lisa of Parsley, Sage, Desserts and Line Drive and Mandy of What the Fruitcake?!. These two sugar mavens challenged us to make sinfully delicious candies! This was a special challenge for the Daring Bakers because the good folks at Chocoley offered an amazing prize for the winner of the most creative and delicious candy!

but I won't win any prizes with this winning recipe...

Our challenge this month was to make candies: one non-chocolate, and one enrobed in tempered chocolate. We were given many nice looking recipes to choose from, or allowed to use our own, but we were supposed to make at least two kinds. I didn't follow the directions. I actually had some chocolate that was previously tempered and now solidified from a long ago occasion - it was waiting in a glass dish to be used on something not requiring much chocolate. I even took the preliminary steps of cutting some of the marshmallows I made earlier in the month into petite cubes, thinking I would dunk them into the chocolate and a very quick homemade 'candy' would be done. (Maybe I would have even toasted the marshmallows and cooled them, and then dunked them into chocolate... maybe I will have to try that one day...) But then I recognized the heat of August and the business of preservation was not really conducive to chocolate coating anything. That, and I really need to cut down on my personal sugar consumption.

Enter the peanut butter:

VitaMix'ed. I still love this thing.

When I woke up this morning, I actually thought it was Daring Baker posting day, the 27th. This is what often happens to me since I rarely need to know the date for anything. Making one of the requirements for the challenge was actually the furthest thing from my mind, and then over breakfast I thought about commitments and how I hate to break them. I figured I could have an excuse to give out little packages of peanut butter fudge at a get-together I'm having over the weekend and then before I knew it, the peanut butter fudge was all but made. Using baking pantry staples, this delicious fudge can be ready for consumption about 1 hour and 20 minutes from when you decide to make it, and that includes 60 minutes of chilling time.

Being from Wisconsin, I like to think that I have a "one-up" on fudge. I was born in a highly touristic part of my state: The Northwoods, specifically Minocqua. We had fudge shops. (Plural.) Tourists would line up out the door, waiting for slabs of flavored specialty fudge, passing the time efficiently by watching the pretty girls through the window working some type of taffy winding machine, or spreading vats of sticky candy onto marble slabs to cool. We rarely bought any little white boxes of precious fudge, but were no strangers to this sweet confection. My Gram had an antique oval platter, cobalt blue, that was and still is known as the Fudge Plate. "That fudge plate is getting lonely..." is a phrase I grew up with, and nearly as fast as it was uttered, our whole family (except my Dad usually, and sometimes including my uncles) began scooping out spoonfuls as soon as it was rested to cool in the salt-buttered plate. We could never wait until it firmed up and it didn't matter. Gobs of sugary chocolate were well on their way through our digestive systems, and usually only a half platter remained long enough to cool completely into solid form.

So much of our family food memory revolves around fudge: straightening the rows or evening out the lines - because you just can leave a crooked line drawn in chocolate. (That is still true for me, by the way. I can't ever leave a cake or pie or fudge slab uneven...) That lucky one who's turn it was with the worn wooden spoon (that may or may not have tasted faintly of onions or garlic) to scrape the pot of the fudgey morsels still clinging to the sides. A good and intent scraper could very well end up on the long end of the stick with that scraping task.

All glorious fudge memories aside, I can not remember a single instance that we made or purchased peanut butter fudge. We always made chocolate fudge, my Gram would opt for maple if we spent the rare extra dollar or two to buy some, maple and walnuts being some of her favorite things. Peanut butter fudge always seemed too sweet, as if the argument for fudge could be made that it really isn't comprised of 80% sugar regardless of flavor. (My Dad never enjoyed fudge simply because of it's extreme sweetness until I made this recipe using dark bittersweet chocolate, it does seem considerably less sweet, and is probably my favorite fudge recipe currently. Since as you may have surmised, I'm all about not eating things too sweet.)

All things negative about peanut butter fudge said, I can now officially take them with a grain of salt. The Über-Sweetness of this particular peanut butter fudge is undeniable, but (if you can stop yourself from eating half the baking dish), it really is a delicious accomplishment. I feel a bit like Charlie Bucket, nibbling the tiniest corner of one of these cubes to let the sweetness permeate my mouth and transport me, and if mindful I can truly appreciate it's texture and peanutty nuance. If my real self takes control of my fleeting juvenile-literature-moment, I have to go and brush my teeth to make myself stop eating it.

Really, it is that delicious.

gifts.

The only things I did to alter the recipe as written was to add a pinch of salt when I stirred in the peanut butter to the bubbling butter and sugar mixture, and when I melted the butter initially, I used a pastry brush to brush a touch of it in the 8x8 glass baking dish. Don't be tempted to omit the vanilla. I felt like the 1 t. really made it.

Peanut Butter Fudge (via Daring Kitchen site)

• 1/2 cup (115g / 4oz.) Unsalted Butter
• 2 1/4 cups (450g / 16oz.) firmly packed Brown Sugar
• 1/2 cup (120ml) Milk
• 3/4 cup (200g / 7oz.) smooth Peanut Butter (I made my own, and added a pinch of salt)
  
• 1 teaspoon (5ml) Vanilla Extract
• 3 1/2 cups (425g / 15oz.) Confectioners' (Icing) Sugar

1. Place butter into a medium saucepan and melt it over medium heat.
2. Add brown sugar and milk, stirring.
3. Boil for 2 minutes, stirring frequently.
4. Remove from heat.
5. Mix in peanut butter and vanilla.
6. Place confectioners' sugar into a large mixing bowl.
7. Pour hot peanut butter mixture over confectioners’ sugar and beat until smooth.
8. Pour fudge into an 8 by 8 inch (20cm by 20cm) pan.
9. Chill until firm, about 1 hour.
10. Cut into 1-inch (25 mm) squares.

I packaged up the pretty, square pieces, and kept all of the unsightly and uneven ones for myself. It's a hard life, I tell you.

Do please go and look at all of the lovely recipes on the the Daring Kitchen site for this month... had it not been so oppressively hot for most of the month, the passionfruit ones really caught my eye and would have been one I'd have made. While you're there, remember to check the Daring blogroll and peruse some of the no doubt lovely creations from those bloggers that can follow directions. I hope I'll be back on track next month.

Preservation by Any Means Possible (and... a Lahey Bread, if you are still keeping track)

I like to think of words in the English language, and how they look or "feel" like their spellings... my favorite examples: laugh, quiet, grumpy. When I see the word 'August' in type it evokes this feeling of exhaustion, of exhaling with a sigh, of brevity. In the Midwest, our most prolific season is August and the aforementioned descriptions sum it up well. Pretty much any vegetable that grows in our zone is on and ripe for the preservation, and while I don't preserve as much as some, I still feel that pang of tiredness. I wonder if I am doing as much as I can do, wondering if I am doing too much for the food-eating conundrum I find myself in (a.k.a. my picky boys).

Last weekend, the Kiddo and I spent time at my Parents' farm. My only food goal was finding a peck of jalapeno peppers. Last year's peppers were excruciatingly hot, so hot that I actually still have a number of jars leftover despite the near 3 pints of candied jalapenos I ingested myself. When considering my preserving tactics this Summer, I thought of an uncle - since I could justify doing more if I had someone with the fortitude to eat the last of the super hot peppers. And he must have a stomach of steel. Last Summer, I traded some canning for some upholstery work, and when my Mom gave him the peppers he ate almost half a jar immediately.

Finding jalapenos this year was more difficult, and after some hunting, we found a farm with them. I helped an Amish man pick a gallon pail full of mixed peppers. This was after a misunderstanding at a different farm that landed me a peck of crisp green bell peppers. Monday morning before leaving, 4 dozen corn appeared tidily bundled in a green mesh sack, the result of tasting some bi-color corn we got from another Amish neighbor on Saturday during our quest. It was the sweetest corn I've had this year, and now 10 1/2 lbs. are resting in the deep freeze.

As if I didn't have enough on my plate, I decided before I left that I needed to make proper lacto-ferment crock pickles this year. This beautiful photo from Chiot's Run was what did it; after reading the post, I went down to the basement and brought up the crock my Mom gave me a year ago that belonged to my Gram. I re-washed it and sterilized it for fear of mold spores (my poisoned vinegar was in the basement) and then left it on my kitchen counter open to the air for the weekend. Tuesday, I picked up some pickling cucumbers from the farmer's market, exactly 5 lbs. when I weighed them.

I decided not to can vinegar pickles this year, but couldn't bear the thought that I wouldn't have any until next year so these traditional pickles are a welcome addition. So is the handsome crock on the floor of my kitchen.

hitchhiking caterpillar on the dill.

The recipe that Suzy at Chiot's Run used was from Linda Ziedrich's pickle book, which I do not have but intend to pick up soon. I followed the recipe, but I had no allspice. I may pick some up and add it after a trip to the co-op tomorrow... if I remember, that is. I also added just a few more hot chiles de arbol. I felt proud that my coriander seed was saved from my garden last year, I measured it out of an origami packet I made to conceal it.

my salad plate was exactly the right size to keep everything submerged.

Pickles done, I turned my attention to this gem of a recipe: lacto-fermented peppers from the Woodwife's Journal. At the farmer's market I also picked up some other green peppers of varying heats, poblanos, serranos, Aneheims, a few extra jalapenos since I was feeling a bit on the shy side with them. These are so delicious straight away, and I can only imagine they will get better with time. I had a few more alterations with this recipe since I was almost out of live cider vinegar (Bragg's, and I ordered another gallon today).

I eyeballed a half peck each of hot (green) mixed peppers and sweet bell peppers, but used only 1 1/3 c. of the cider vinegar and topped it off with plain white vinegar. I also used part olive oil and part grapeseed oil, and a few grinds of black pepper. Try to find Mexican oregano if you can, because that really makes these I think. They are the perfect kind of mild heat, slightly oily and herby, and just plain addicting. I had a half gallon jar and two quart jars, and already I'm wondering if I shouldn't do a second batch because I want everyone I know to try these. And unlike last year, the jalapenos are approachable.

The two larger projects out of the way, I turned my attention to these crazy, bright peppers. When I stood along this long row of mixed hot peppers of various types with an Amish man and picked these, he told me he planted them for the produce auction since their family doesn't much care for the super hot peppers. The auction draws both retailers and individual buyers, and many of the local Amish have gotten rather diverse in the things they grow to sell there. The most fascinating variety I thought were the tiny purple "ornamental" ones, which he assured me were edible, though he didn't remember the name. I bit into one and let my tongue discover the Scoville Heat Units. It was hot.

Last year, I remembered seeing this lacto-fermented hot sauce recipe and cataloged it. I grew a single plant of cayenne peppers and another of habanero, planning to make a smaller batch after they ripen. I may still do that, but meanwhile I used the whole lot that we picked for my bucket, 11 oz., to make a trial batch. It's fairly thick, bordering more on a salsa consistency and I'm actually not sure that I'll strain it. I have a week to think about it.

This isn't just hot. It's mind-numbingly hot. But it's fruity, and the heat doesn't last long which is kind of strange for something with all the visual warning of a traffic cone.

I saved all of the jalapenos, which worked out to exactly 3 lbs. (enough for one batch of candied jalapenos) for tomorrow and moved on to the corn. According to an old preserving book my Mom has, when blanching corn for freezing, you should boil for just as long as you soak in an ice bath - 4 minutes in the case of sweet corn. I filled up my sink with icy water and boiled 6 ears at a time. My rhythm was so efficient that before the next batch was done in the boiling pot, I had 6 of the drained ears sheared clean of kernels - in part to the bundt pan corn removal method I've been seeing around the Internet.

I crafted a "knife protector" out of a plastic lid, however. and it worked really well!

With all of the aroma of sweet corn in the air, no bread in the house, and a starter that had just recently emerged from refrigerated weekend slumber, I decided to tackle the long-lost and maybe somewhat forgotten task of making all of Jim Lahey's bread for what I affectionately coined The Lahey Project. I saved out 4 ears of corn, stripped them, and blended them smooth. Then I used my new favorite purchase, a nut milk bag, to drain out corn juice that was used for the liquid in the bread.

It rose, sweet and earthy and super sticky and I formed it, messily, into a ball. It rose for a couple more hours surrounded by large amounts of cornmeal to ward off some of the inevitable stickiness and when the time came to drop it into my pot, I of course slipped and mostly deflated it. It's been so long since I have done a no-knead bread, and forgot about the somewhat delicate nature of the risen dough. I baked it anyway. It was delicious. It may not be the most picturesque loaf, but I certainly got the gist of what flavors bread can take on when the liquid is replaced with juice.

So, August. It was midnight before I slipped into bed, finally finished my book, and then had trouble winding down into sleep mode. I love working this way, until I'm so tired I'm not really tired any more. It's all self-imposed now, which makes it feel so much more rewarding than when I made an hourly amount which never seemed to measure enough for the precious time I gave to others. (I'm not talking about you though, GOP...) The hot water bath will bubble with more hot peppers tomorrow and I'll continue to take stock and see what else I should be doing to ready myself for the days when things aren't growing and thriving. When August leaves us as quickly as the sigh that it feels like, and Fall stands proud and cold and begs you to turn on the oven.

The Olfactory Pleasures of Marshmallow.

I have been reading Molly Birnbaum's Season to Taste. It caught my eye on the new shelf at the library, and although it has taken me a shamefully long time to read it, it has caused me to really examine and be thankful for my sense of smell. She talks about the loss and gradual regaining of her sense of smell after an accident. At first it seemed that the scents that came back were related to her emotional state, either to happiness or anxiety. After a few years when it seemed she had regained almost all of what was lost, she discovered that she had trouble "labeling" scents when she smelled them. This in particular I have thought about a lot. When walking through the neighborhood after dinner tonight, I swear I smelled ketchup right behind the smell of a charcoal grill, a blistery hot dog blackened in spots. If I lost my sense of smell for a few years and then smelled this same scene again, would I recognize it the same? Could I put my finger on it?

The neighborhood stroll after dinner tonight was much needed since I made and torched kitchen s'mores for our dessert. This was the first time I have used my culinary torch since my Baked Alaska escapades one year ago, and as the marshmallow toasted, charred in places, the wonderful scent of sugar caramelization reminded me yet again of Molly's book. Charred marshmallow is singular, no other sweet when toasted smells the same, and I was shocked that this small act instantly transported me to a much younger self - the way that smells often do.

Instead of being fashionably late in food trends, I end up being so tardy that I feel that I am indeed starting it again. Wasn't everybody and their uncle making marshmallows a few years ago, before the French Macaroon and the Cupcake? I'm so late I'm afraid that I'm wishing I were the person that made marshmallow so popular to begin with.

In my mind, this may have been another Mollie: Mollie Weizenberg. I remember reading her article in Bon Appetit, which she used to do monthly at the time. (It was probably the main reason I kept my subscription as long as I did.) She knew she would marry a man who had made her marshmallows from scratch. After her eloquent account, it seemed like she had convinced everyone to make marshmallow, sticky variations appearing everywhere I looked. I can't say that I ever made marshmallows for the sake of making them. Since reading her story, I have made variations for cookies and for frostings, but never cut them into fat homemade squares with the sole intention of torching them in a bonfire.

homemade grahams.

The beauty of my kitchen life is that I never know what is going to happen from day to day. I have really stopped planning meals. This is so much better for my creativity, since I make what is available and turn it into what I have a taste for. I have a few staple things that usually appear weekly: some kind of taco, some kind of fermented condiment, sourdough concoction, but as for everything else it's up in the air. When the Kiddo and I decided to go out to the Farm this weekend, my Dad texted me to see if my urban boy would like to camp out with him. When I asked, he said enthusiastically "Yes! And we can eat marshmallows!" So with that statement, my personal marshmallow trend emerged. A day later, a batch of bouncy, white mallows in hand cut squares grace my counter. And, I see what all the fuss over homemade marshmallow was all about.

I used the recipe from Gourmet, via Smitten Kitchen, which was written about 10 years prior to Molly Weizenberg's "Fluff Piece". It's curious, that maybe trends are reinvented every decade - and maybe I'm just rutted in the half-life. The recipe uses more gelatin than I've ever used in a single recipe before: 2 T. plus 2 1/2 t. It softens in a half cup of water when the sugar mixture is coming up to temperature. I have to say that my heightened awareness of my olfactories made me wonder if I would enjoy these marshmallows, the gelatin swelled in the water and smelled animalistic, and not really in a good way. I actually tried to keep myself from noticing the gaminess as the 140 degree syrup was poured over the softened mass, I stirred with a wooden spoon to combine it before letting the KitchenAid have at it.

I had faith in the sugar content, and in the remainder of the vanilla bean stolen from the bottle of vanilla extract. I had used nearly all of the waning bottle in the graham crackers, and fortunately could pillage the precious seeds. I also added a teaspoon of almond extract, just to up the flavorant a bit in case the gelatin didn't tame itself in the fridge...

The marshmallows work at promised. I poured out a mass of sticky goo, and quickly spread it into a prepared pan with a silicone spatula. I did not touch it with my fingers. It hardened quickly as it cooled, leaving my whisk coated in spongy, sticky white but strangely melted off without effort when soaked for 5 minutes in soapy warm water. The whole process seemed easier than buying a bag of marshmallows to tell the truth, and even though I used corn syrup which was probably genetically modified, I comfort myself with the knowledge of a one week shelf life.

The flavor and texture of these marshmallows is perfect. They resist chewing and are sticky, but then give in and dissolve without coating your teeth. When eaten without smelling (which you can approximate by pinching your nose shut - I do this with almost everything after reading Molly's book), their sponginess is more pronounced, a foamy mouthful that registers as sweet. When eaten with a sense of smell, they are sweet but not too sweet, and the whole experience would remind you of eating a bag of Jet Puffed if they were consumed directly after being factory made. If you can call pure sugar "fresh", these are.

Though my jars of homemade components will be heading west on Friday, I couldn't wait that long to make a s'more. I had a small jar of ganache still in the fridge from a few weeks ago, and it is still good. I spread it over the grahams and then speared the mallows with bamboo skewers. I heated them gently with my torch, letting them catch fire so I could blow them out, noting the aroma of singed mallow sugar. Our open faced s'mores were more than plenty for dessert, so rich and elegant that it was a shame I didn't have more people over to share them with.

Will they taste even better outside in front of a fire? I'm pretty sure they will. When the nuance of fresh cut grass and nighttime dew, the smell of the dark and the country influence the sugar and cut it in two. What a privilege to have 5 senses, and what reminders to appreciate them!