Locally Grown Girl

Waffling

When I make breakfast, I am of the get-it-done-the-night-before persuasion. I also tend to prefer a large cup of warm beverage and a pastry of some sort...really, any sort, from croissant to scone to pie to a homemade cookie. All this means that when I am in charge of breakfast, it's cinnamon rolls or a coffee cake, a vat of strong coffee, and some fruit.

Cap'n prefers a more classic American breakfast--some combination of eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes, waffles, potatoes--you know the drill. Happily, he's not one to whine about "how come you don't ever make real breakfast"; instead, he's taken matters into his own hands. Living with 400 cookbooks, it's not like he lacks options.

This go-get-em-tiger attitude has two particular results that we both love. The important one today is waffles; I will save Genius Pancakes for another day. We had friends over for waffles yesterday morning, and with the crashing of our secondary waffler, we were all a bit like Oliver Twist, still hungry, shooting little glances at each other to see who would reach their hand out for the next square, debating the wisdom of being the first to stand up and say, "please sir, may I have some more?"

These waffles are simple, and perfect according to the four adults eating them--and apparently the two kids, too, because they certainly hoovered 'em down right along with us. Mostly, they're like air, held together through crisp and buttery willpower. They hold up to either syrup or fruit, or both--or, for the weirdos (like me), peanut butter. We all agreed they don't need more butter...but we all added a bit, because hell, you only live once. And if you want to go all nuts and top 'em with ice cream, I say good for you. I will regret linking to this, because Cap'n will see it, be inspired, and lose several years off his lifespan but I'm sure this waffle would also make the perfect waffle sandwich (potato salad optional). 

Best of all, the recipe is the kind that's made up the night before, and takes minimal morning effort; mainly heating up the waffle iron which probably only counts as effort to me. Cap'n uses an ugly old Rubbermaid pitcher to mix the batter, so he can pour the batter easily; it's a nice innovation. The recipe is from Marion Cunningham; I have it printed in both the Cake Bible and in Fannie Farmer; it's also all over the internet. I call them Overnight Waffles. As a little bonus tip, I suggest them as a possibly ideal impress-the-new-love breakfast after a sleepover, but these waffles are fully family friendly, too. We doubled it, for four adults and two kids, and if the stupid crashed waffler hadn't ruined a few, it would've been the perfect amount.

Personally, I wouldn't sub in whole-wheat flour here; the flavor is so delicate and perfect, I'm not sure I want the oomph of whole grain. Rumor has it that this recipe doesn't do too well with a Belgian waffler. We have a small-grid one, and I don't like the Belgian variety in general, for all sorts of fussy reasons.

Marion Cunningham's Platonically Ideal Overnight Waffles
1/2 cup warm water
1 package active dry yeast (2 1/4 teaspoons)
2 cups milk, slightly warmed (ours is nonfat; I don't think it much matters)
1/2 cup butter, melted
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon sugar
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 eggs
1/4 teaspoon baking soda

If you don't have a half-gallon pitcher with a lid, use a large mixing bowl--the batter poofs up like nobody's business. Put the water in the mixing bowl and sprinkle in the yeast. Let stand for 5 minutes, until the yeast dissolves. Add the warm milk, butter, salt, sugar and flour to the yeast and whisk together until smooth and blended. Put the lid on the pitcher (or wrap the bowl in plastic wrap) and let stand overnight at room temperature.We leave the eggs out overnight too; don't know whether this makes a difference or if you're of the belief that whole eggs need to be chilled. Do as you prefer.

In the morning, plug in your waffle iron and get the coffee started. When the waffle iron is hot, whisk in the eggs, add the baking soda and stir until well mixed. The batter will be very thin. Cook on a very hot waffle iron. Bake until the waffles are golden and crisp to the touch.

In my experience, waffle irons vary in size quite a bit; this recipe officially makes 8 waffles, or 32 individual waffle squares. If you have a round or two-square waffle iron (or Hello Kitty version, or PowerPuff girl version, or what-have-you), this amount will obviously be different. 

My bet is you will never use another waffle recipe ever again.

Birthday Surprise

Saturday was my birthday (thanks everyone, it was lovely) and one of my presents brought a grand ol' ego booster my way.

The first bit of real food editorial I ever had published was a story in the Seattle Weekly, about doughnuts. (Seven years ago this week. Happy tra-la to me!) If you don't want to bother clicking the link, know that it was timed to coincide with the arrival of Washington's first Krispy Kreme. I had mixed feelings about it ("fresh, hot adequacy") but in general I am pro-doughnut (and apparently pro-anthropomorphization of food) and possibly a little insane, or at least that's what comes through in the article.

Cap'n gave me a stack of books, including the newest from a favorite food writer, John T. Edge. He's written a series of wee books about specific American food--fried chicken, burgers and fries (all hail the pimento cheeseburger), apple pie, and now, donuts.

And you know who's quoted on the cover page? And who he kicks the book off with references to? Me! The whole donut book starts with my opening sentence, and a few additional quotes about Krispy Kreme.

Because I already admired his writing so much--and it turns out he's a friend of Edible Seattle's designer (who lives in Memphis and runs Edible Memphis)--it feels like some kind of preposterously high honor to be mentioned in his book. And it feels weird and swoony to know that a local friend of his faxed the story to him when it first came out. For all I know, he spends the whole rest of the book disagreeing with everything he quoted from me (I haven't read it yet) and honestly, it doesn't matter, because the important thing is that he loves doughnuts, too. I am, as Amy B would say, chuffed about it.

My favorite doughnut shop continues to be Family Doughnut. The maple bars, apple fritters and plain old-fashioned are the top three, although the chocolate-topped long john subs in for the maple bar about 50% of the time.

As a not-yet-verified-but-still-interesting Doughnut Fact, my friend Ellen told me last year that her mom invented the buttermilk bar, which is a huge slab of tangy, old-fashioned crunchy cake doughnut. Ellen and her family immigrated from Cambodia...somewhere around 28 or 30 years ago, I guess?..and Ellen's mom ultimately owned many doughnut shops around Seattle (I forget the total count). Ellen's folks were able to retire back to Cambodia (many of their friends have been able to return as well, so hurrah), and someday I hope to meet her (ideally when Ellen and her family are visiting, I have been promised an Ellen-hosted street food tour) and get the scoop. The buttermilk bar at Family Doughnut is one of Cap'n's favorite things to eat, so inventing it seems deserving of a Lifetime Achievement Award at the Doughnut Oscars.

Buttermilk Biscuity Biscuits

This morning, the brother came to join us for one of the world's great (and very unhealthy) breakfasts: biscuits and gravy. We have something of a sausage surplus, so I used up a pack from Wooly Pigs and made a couple dozen buttermilk biscuits. The sausage and gravy were great (hard to go wrong with that sausage), and I was even happier with the biscuits than normal (and normally, my biscuits make me pretty damn happy).

I'll post the recipe in a moment, but first I want to rave about a product. First, the packaging is all cutie pie; I do love a cartoon chef. More importantly, it does exactly what buttermilk is supposed to do: Provide richer flavor and color, a finer crumb and create a more tender overall biscuit. Check the label of a carton in the dairy section labeled "buttermilk" and it's gross--mostly skim milk and seaweed, and it's never added anything worth noting to any recipe of mine. I noticed years ago that powdered buttermilk was actually an improvement (John Thorne mentions actually buying buttermilk culture online in one of his books; he also says that the powder beats the liquid, which made me feel all proud), but the powder I had was pretty clumpy/cakey and hard to dissolve properly. The flavor was there, but it was subtle, and it didn't do much to texture or color. I finally used the last bit, and Cap'n grabbed the new brand at QFC (it was the only kind he saw). It's got noticeable tanginess, and it also dissolves quickly.

So now to the biscuits. I like a biscuit with edges that are crisp and a little crumbly, and then some nice flaky layers in the middle section. I want 'em so tall they tip over a bit, and I want 'em easy to make--these take me about 10 minutes, and they bake just long enough to throw together some gravy. If all you have is salted butter, scale back the salt amount to just a dash, or they're too salty to work with jam.

4 cups flour
2 Tbsp brown sugar
2 Tbsp white sugar
2 Tbsp baking powder
4 Tbsp buttermilk powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
3/4 tsp salt
1/2 cup cold unsalted butter, chopped into 1" cubes
1 1/3 cups water
First, preheat the oven to 450 degrees.
Combine all the dry ingredients in a large mixing bowl. Using either your fingers, a pastry cutter, or two knives, mix the cold butter chunks into the dry ingredients, until there aren't any chunks left and the dry mix is more like fresh breadcrumbs or damp sand. Make a well in the middle, and pour all the water in at once. Mix together with either a large fork or a silicone spatula (it'll stick if you use a wooden spoon); beat it all together for about 30 seconds. Turn the dough out onto a large board or counter top, fold it and knead it about a half-dozen times, and pat it into a rectangle (thickness is the important dimension: you want it about 2" thick and fairly even all the way across). With a large, sharp knife, cut the rectangle of dough into squares about 2.5" across. Transfer to a baking sheet, leaving about an inch between each biscuit. I bake these for 11 minutes, but with such a hot oven, you'll probably want to set a timer for about 9 minutes and peek until they look brown enough on top. Serve lava-hot, with just about anything. More importantly, feed them to me. This makes about 16 biscuits, sized so two per person is about right for a breakfast.
A minor note on the baking sheet: I prefer baking these on an non-insulated sheet. The bottom seems to crisp up a bit more, but it's subtle. If insulated sheets are all you've got, those will work almost as well. And--I learned this from my mom--I always line my baking sheets with tinfoil, not parchment. It's not really necessary, but it does save me some washing, and I do reuse the foil if at all possible so it doesn't feel like some kind of eco-nightmare.

Thank You, BJC

The approach of May has come to mean an odd thing to me in recent years: It means I'm going to get asked, repeatedly, for places to eat brunch. Thanks to effective holiday pushing (which, yes, is meant to equate "Dads and Grads" marketing with crack), May and June are now Overpriced Family Fun Months. Except brunch is rarely fun. Food is often not all that great, featuring whatever's leftover from the busy weekend nights wedged into an omelet. The staff is fighting hangovers with too much coffee. Half of the family is crabby, and the other half is determined to have fun, which of course means at least one family member turns into a sulky teen. Brunch probably goes better in families of jolly drinkers: Bloody Marys and mimosas are the sort of cocktail that both grandmas and sulky teens can agree on (which yes, is meant to suggest that the sulkiness of a teen can be greatly reduced by letting them sip your mimosa).

Anyway, I have a few places I suggest, and a few places I suggest avoiding at all costs, and then everyone just goes to Salty's anyway. Nice views, and the one at Redondo has a little wooden rowboat they fill with muffins. Getting to say, "muffin boat!" is also effective for reducing sulkiness.

This year, though, thanks to the lovely Bethany, I don't have to run down my list again. She did it for me, and checked out several places I have wondered about in relation to brunchifying. She also loves my top suggestion: Monsoon. (Except if it ever gets warmer, they will also seat people outside, or they used to.) One of the things I like about brunch at Monsoon is that people who like food can eat the things they normally eat, like pho, except they're better than they are anyplace else--and at the same time, the picky-eater kid/grandma/brother can get French toast. There are also excellent mimosas. There won't be sulky people.

Go read her review, and write down notes wherever it is you normally file family-related notes. With your living will? With your estate tax lawyer's phone number? In the shredder? At the bar?

El Greco

El Greco is my favorite place for weekend breakfast, for a long list of reasons--some of which are food-related and some of which fall under the category of "other". While Cap'n and I try to show up in between the early-dining families and the late-dining hungover hipsters, we've never waited more than about 10 minutes for a table even when they're slammed. It's pleasant inside, with a few semi-outdoor tables when it's warm, and a bar at the back which is just right for a solor diner who wants a breakfast of Bloody Marys and toast. I've never encountered a staff member who wasn't a total sweetie pie; they clearly work their asses off and you should tip accordingly. The larger order of steamed-milk drinks--including hot cocoa--comes in a bowl. It's all highly comforting, even before you crack open a menu.

Concerning that menu: It's the best French toast in town, airy and eggy and flavored with cinnamon and served with good, genuine maple syrup. I tell them to leave off the topping, which is a mix of toasted pecans and warmed-up seasonal fruit, though if I wasn't allergic to nuts, I'd eat it this way. Cap'n's standard order is the Broadway, with bacon and crispy-sided rosemary potatoes and eggs that are scrambled well without being all dried out. There's a different streusel-topped coffee cake each week, again featuring the seasonal fruit--the versions I've tried with berries or stone fruit have been very good. The bacon has always been cooked to that perfect midpoint between crispy and chewy; the sausage links are those arm-sized chicken-based things that are made locally.

Like all Capitol Hill parking, it'll either be a total pain in the ass or you'll get lucky on the first pass and feel like a rock star. This makes it tough to wholeheartedly recommend if you're looking for a place to meet folks coming in from several neighborhoods--it's meant to be a neighborhood place, and it's mid-Broadway placement makes it feel like an easy walk from all the various sections of the hill. Details and a nearly-complete menu can be found right here.

Bring on the Bacon

I am a girl who likes her bacon, brought home, fried up in a pan and every other possible way other than microwaved. (In fact, I grew up on microwaved bacon, and thus thought I didn't like it--didn't understand why anyone liked it--until I was about 22. This may have prolonged my life, but at such a waste.)

I am also usually a girl who prefers a sweet, rather than savory, breakfast. And normally, when eating breakfast out, I can manage to put away about one-third of the portion. I was lucky enough to be the guest of Herself at Boat Street Kitchen/Cafe/Patio a few weeks ago, the morning after I had drunk more wine than is typical, and was thus hankering after as much fat and salt as was available. I was wafted like a cartoon dog across the street on that delicious smell of bacon. I ate so much that I didn't need to eat again for about 18 hours, even though Sweetie barbecued ribs that evening.

So, all ye people who ask for a place to eat brunch--you know who you are--I cannot urge you enough to go to Boat Street Kitchen. Inside is spacious enough for large families; the patio is grand for couples or a few parties of three or maybe four (the tables are small) and the food and coffee are seriously great. If you don't happen to want a giant bacon sandwich (more fool you), there are a lot of baked egg dishes and simple bread/jam/juice/coffee Frenchie-style breakfasts. From the full menu, I have a feeling the restaurant doesn't have the standard breakfast griddle; there are no pancakes or French toast, and no scrambled or fried eggs. Although it might take a moment to figure out what you want since none of the standards are available, the choices aren't actually intimidating, even the morning after you've had too much wine.

I don't know if Herself and I happened to get lucky with parking or if it's ease is one of those odd little neighborhood miracles. The website's directions lists several options--they vary depending on whether it's before or after 6pm. Your mother will like it. You bratty younger sibling will feel all hip and urban. Your dad will appreciate the giant mug of coffee. You will feel proud that you suggested it.