Multi-purpose zesting

NaBloPoMo, Day 5.

I know you've been waiting with bated breath for the answer to yesterday's trivia question. And here it is:

That doohickey on the blade of your citrus zester enables you to cut off a long, thin peel of zest - apparently so you can do this:

and impress your guests when you fancy up their sangria with a garnish. Or you can cheer up your own humdrum-working-day glass of green tea fizz. These are the kinds of things you find out when you read other people's blog archives in bed late at night - in this case a post on use real butter from December 2010. (Thanks Jen!)

Of course, if it does other things too, please weigh in - enquiring minds want to know.

Trivia Tuesday

Here's something I just learned about a kitchen tool I've had for ages. See this picture? This, as you probably know, is a zester - for getting the flavorful top layer off citrus fruits (and leaving the bitter white pith behind). The five small holes at the top do that job. But see the part that I've circled in red? Do you know what that does?

Answer - with illustration - to follow tomorrow!

Improvisational baking

As soon as I saw the picture of slab scones on Dinner with Julie’s blog, I was overwhelmed by the desire to make them. Do you ever get this way? That you want to cook something so badly that the adrenaline surge gives you a head rush? Maybe it’s just me? Some kind of little-known baking addiction/withdrawal? I’m not sure why I had that response to this particular recipe, which is, after all, for scones – something I’ve made about a thousand times before.

Not like this, though. There is just something so appealing about the idea of making something this way, with a layer of delicious filling in the middle. Why is this more alluring than mixing the same stuff all through the dough? I don’t know; maybe it’s the concentrated taste, contrasting with the scone texture, as opposed to having it scattered all through in bits? I haven’t analyzed it sufficiently; I just knew that it was a brilliant idea and that I was going to take the first excuse I could to make some.

An afterschool play date provided me with opportunity; then I just had to figure out how to work around my lack of equipment. These days I normally make scone dough in the food processor, because it takes me about 30 seconds and I don’t have to hassle with massaging butter into flour. Under the current circumstances, that option was obviously out, so I went to my next-best option: freezing the butter and then shredding it on a box grater. That way it’s already so small when it goes into the flour that it requires minimal additional work.

The other equipment issue, particular to this recipe, was rolling out the scone dough. I don’t have a rolling pin either, and I’m resisting the urge to buy one, since I already own at least four for this very reason. So I improvised: I filled an empty 1-litre bottle with water and put it in the freezer. Once frozen, it made a perfectly good makeshift rolling pin (if you don’t mind a little bit of a – shall we say rustic? – texture).

Julie’s recipe makes enough scone dough for two pieces of dough; I omitted the sugar so that I could make one savory (filled with about ½ cup of grated cheddar cheese and a couple of rashers of bacon, sliced thin and cooked until crisp) as well as one sweet (filled with about 6 tablespoons of raspberry jam). I got at least 6 big, triangular scones out of each slab, and they were a smash hit at the playdate. As my friend PJ pointed out, they are perfect for transporting, because you don’t need to bring anything extra for accompaniment; all the good stuff is already inside. Still warm, with a cup of tea alongside, they were just thing for a chilly Canberra winter afternoon. And would probably still make a nice snack (or breakfast) even if you’re among those sweltering somewhere in the northern hemisphere.

Temporary kitchen

We are fully immersed in re-orientation - setting up mobile phones and bank accounts, completing school paperwork and buying uniforms....Internet access continues to be a bit tricky from an actual computer; I'm posting this from the local library, where wifi is now available (a change from 3 years ago), so it might be possible to include a photo with my next update! Our hotel apartment is basic but functional; I was overjoyed to find that it has a gas stove, which almost makes up for the fact that the cooking equipment consists of 3 saucepans and a very small skillet. So I'll be getting creative about what I'm cooking, as well as investing in a few pieces of additional equipment that will supplement my tiny batterie de cuisine without duplicating something I already have and don't need two of. Should make for some interesting challenges in the near future....Recipe and equipment suggestions welcome!

Superlative snacking

I can hardly begin to quantify the number of things I learned about cultural diversity and human nature during my years of living overseas, but I must also confess that many of the most memorable lessons are less than profound. Prominent among these is my recollection of the first time I went to the movies (or should I say the cinema) in England. Having bought my ticket, I went to the concession stand and requested popcorn.

“Salt or sweet?” inquired the helpful person standing behind the counter.

Low tech

I’ve been lamenting my current lack of kitchen equipment a lot lately, so I won’t bore you with that again. It may surprise you if I say that I actually don’t have an overwhelming amount, because I know how much damage I could do in a kitchen store given half a chance, and so I keep myself on a tight rein. One of the rules I have for myself is to think very carefully about buying anything that only does one job. I made it waaaay back when I was registering for wedding gifts, and I remember exactly why: because I really, really wanted a waffle iron.

When I got married, I didn’t have much experience with cooking, beyond a few basics. I loved eating waffles, but I had never made one. (I’m not sure I had even made pancakes at that point.) I argued myself out of registering for a waffle iron on the grounds that it would be a frivolous waste of money and cabinet space for someone to buy me a tool that only did one thing, and that one something I knew nothing about.

Scavenger hunt

Ever since I read a post on Under the High Chair that mentioned using a brick to make panini, I’ve been longing for a kitchen brick of my very own. When you live in an apartment, however, bricks aren’t so easy to come by. And when you don’t have a car, it’s hard to get to the nearest big-box DIY store. That’s if they even sell bricks. And assuming they would let you buy just one.

In any case, I decided I would have to scrounge for one, and started keeping my eyes open for any unemployed bricks that might be lying around. I don’t know if it was coincidence, or just that I hadn’t been paying attention, but it wasn’t long before I started seeing them everywhere: a pile outside a house; stacked crookedly inside a fenced-off section of pavement being repaired; even one that had fallen out of someone's front wall.

Each of these presented its own ethical dilemma. After all, there is a difference between salvaging an otherwise unwanted piece of masonry, and plain old stealing. And there never seemed to be anyone around who was connected to the bricks that I could ask.

Today I got lucky. Miss B and I were walking home from preschool when I noticed some large, white bricks scattered on the grass verge outside one of the classic old Canberra houses that we regularly admire. As I was examining the bricks, trying to decide if they had been abandoned or what, I heard the sounds of someone doing stonework nearby. I peered over the high hedge and saw a man kneeling in the garden, obviously engaged in laying a brick path. I decided to rebel against my Bostonian training, and engage a stranger in conversation.

“Excuse me,” I said timidly. The man looked up from his work, realized that I was addressing him, and raised his eyebrows inquiringly. “Are these bricks out here available for the taking…?”

He got up hurriedly and came towards the gate. “No, no, they’re not. They were out there to weigh something down, I hadn’t realized they were still out there.” Noticing my crestfallen expression, he said, “I’m sorry, but they’re special fire bricks….”

“Oh, no, that’s okay,” I said. “I wasn’t interested in any particular bricks. I’m just on the hunt for a brick….I only need one.”

Tactfully refraining from asking what anyone needs only one brick for, he said, “Well, if you just need a brick, you can have one of these,” and, leading the way back through the gate, picked up a brick that was sitting near the wall of the house. “It’s a real old Canberra brick…from 1927.”

So it turns out he was the owner of this beautiful old house (not a contractor, as I had originally thought), and he cheerfully gave me an antique brick. Miss B, having none of my reticence about conversations with strangers, told him why I wanted the brick, admired the brick path that led out back (which I’m sure he had also built), and generally charmed him into giving us a tour of his garden, which was as wonderful as the house. She particularly admired the collection of pottery, ceramic, and metal ducks scattered around; I was more interested in his plantings, particularly the line of flourishing citrus trees (tangelo, lime, grapefruit and more) growing along the sunny north wall of the house.

Eventually we let him get back to his work, with many thanks, and continued on our way. We’d had an adventure, met a neighbor, and acquired a brick. Thus proving that virtue is in fact its own reward.

Things to do in the kitchen with a brick
- Weight down your cabbage for Croatian cole slaw
- Make a very flat tuna melt
- Cook chicken under a brick (I haven’t done this yet, but I’ve been wanting to for ages and now I can!)