The days, years, weekends and Miette gingerbread

This rainy, Joaquin-the-hurricane-no-show weekend ran its course about six hours ago.

My nails are crusted with an aromatic blend of garden dirt and gingerbread batter, the house looks like a war-zone despite regular efforts (both willing and forced) by all of us to clean it, I have a zit on my forehead, and although I had grand plans for an epic beef stew dinner tonight, I managed to make the best-quality, most-average beef stew possible. 

It's a good thing I also made five precious little loaves of stellar gingerbread from the Miette cookbook I bought yesterday while on a date with Ol. Jack was at French and then heading to a sleepover, so Ol and I walked Percy in the slightly spitting rain and then decided to drop him off and walk to Starbucks and Crate & Barrel for hot chocolate and a look-see. 

I found this beautiful cookbook, from the eponymous San Francisco bakery, on the clearance rack and couldn't resist the scalloped-edge pages and photographs of perfect layer cakes. Even though it will likely join its neglected kin on my crammed and dusty étagère that charmingly holds all its spontaneously-bought and rarely used relatives, I don't regret buying it.

The gingerbread is superb. Why did the middle of each loaf sink?

People, do you know that pithy parental saying, "The days are long, but the years are short"? Yes, that often feels so fucking true, and I understand why the expression stuck. However, we need to acknowledge that sometimes, the weekend days are long and the weekends are long. 

As a phrase, it doesn't sound nearly as rosy, but I feel certain that 98% of parents would agree with it completely. 

Even when nice experiences are peppered throughout, weekends can compromise the most psychologically-stable of us. And when one of your kids freaks out and cries boulder tears because you refused to allow all the new modeling clay to be used for a "city" which in no way looks like anything more than mountainous boogers and mashed ones, then stomps up the stairs throwing a shit storm of shit behind him and then gifts you with these visuals of your lovelessness and badness, well, you get my drift. 

Tom and I nearly wet our pants.

Mom and Dad are no longer loved.

I think it was at that point that we turned on Jaws as a thrilling distraction. Because we are excellent parents. The children were utterly nonplussed.

When one of my chatterboxes asked if we could play a family game tonight AFTER having cleaned the yard, ridden bikes, made gingerbread, watched TV together, acknowledged that neither child had nearly enough sleep last night, kissed 800 different injuries largely stemming from said sleeplessness, and eaten average beef stew together, Tom and I could not bring ourselves to say yes.

I swear I saw sparks come out of Tom's ears, and I felt an irregular pulse through my largest aortas. 

We said no.

I read some of The Mysterious Benedict Society to us all, and then we ushered the children to bed with a fair amount of enthusiasm. 

Monday, you are coming, and I fucking love you.

On a positive note, Ol and I ate our way through the farmers market this morning and had such a blast. I think we bought all the food. 

the freshest Brussels sprouts

Tomatoes fresh, tomatoes canned, and some pumpkins too

Before waxing rhapsodic about tomatoes and pumpkins, I first want to say thank you to all who wrote here, on Facebook, via email and via text in response to yesterday's post, Time's Determined March. Any writer who feels her words resonate with and impact others is fulfilled, and my heart is full and appreciative today.

Now, food. I was en fuego yesterday, y'all. Pumpkin puree, roasted pumpkin seeds, tomato and white bean soup, roasted tomato jam, chocolate chip banana bread...and scene.

Pumpkins

Let's begin with the pumpkin puree and seeds as those are both shockingly simple, and pumpkins are just showing their happy autumnal selves at area markets.

I like to make pumpkin puree -for cheesecakes, breads, pies, ice cream, muffins; anything you'd otherwise use canned pumpkin for- from sugar pie pumpkins. These are exceedingly round, bright orange squash that are much smaller than those you'd use to carve jack-o-lanterns from. 

Simply wash each pumpkin, cut it in half and remove the seeds. Rinse the seeds and remove any chunks of pumpkin flesh. Set them aside if you want to roast them, or discard/compost. Place the pumpkin halves cut-side down on a rimmed baking sheet and roasted in a 385° or 400° Fahrenheit oven until the flesh is soft and easily pierced with a knife; there should be NO resistance. 

Once cooked, let the pumpkin cool before scooping out the flesh and putting it through a food mill. This will remove any seeds you didn't remove before as well as any overly fibrous flesh. I then portion out and freeze the puree in one-cup increments. 

Later, I roasted the seeds I'd cleaned and reserved but learned something new as I prepped. Boil the seeds in salted water before roasting them in the oven. This ensures that the salt seasons both the interior seed as well as the exterior shell. Thank you, Elise Bauer, for sharing your  mother's wisdom.

Tomatoes fresh, tomatoes canned

Before tomato season calls it quits, I wanted to make one last batch of roasted tomato jam, so I bought three pounds of beefsteaks and got busy. This recipe, from Amanda Hesser, is really spectacular. I love the slight pepper kick and the cinnamon and fennel seed undertones, all of which deliciously buttress the sweet tomato base.

roasted tomato jam

Meanwhile, I was in the mood for tomato soup and so used some wonderful canned tomatoes that I put up over the summer to make the tomato-white bean soup that my whole family loves. It's a recipe I've developed over time, and I think it's now pretty perfect. Saffron, basil, peperoncino, shallots, garlic, lemon zest and an all-important Pecorino (or Parmesan) rind stew together magically with tomatoes and white beans. The recipe is now posted in Soups.

a pumpkin pot for tomato soup

It's a one-pot vegetarian meal that won't take more than forty-five minutes. Make some grilled cheese sandwiches or toast some bread for the side, and you'll be in heaven. 

tomato and white bean soup

Plum jamming

At some point, even I believe that plums deserve more in life than simply sating my plum tart fancy. 

Plums are a gorgeous fruit with many tasty applications, and so, before their season leaves me in its wake, I best appreciate them widely.

Plain? A wonderful treat. In salad with cheese and a balsamic glaze? Oh yes. Dried into prunes and then eaten plain or stewed? Marvelous. 

But I think my second favorite way to enjoy plums is in jam. They have an assertive amount of natural pectin which means you'll achieve a great set without adding the synthetic stuff. They also swing liberally, capably buttressing straight up plum jam and also all manner of savory and herbal emphases. 

I adore and tend to prefer my plum basil jam which is just so simple and bursts with flavor. In fact, a dear friend, whom I've not yet met in person but who lives in Florence and I feel I know and adore because of our relationship via Em-i-lis, concurs. I brought a jar to London, sent it to Florence with my sister, Elia, and she couriered it to Eli during a meeting and tea date at her apartment. 

I love this picture for so many reasons! 

While I was a little jealous that Elia met Eli before I got to, I was thrilled to see them together and to receive Eli's note that the jam "is sublime." I've also shared this jam with my plum-loving friend, Suzanne, over at A Pug in the Kitchen, and she loves it too! Eli is Italian and Suzanne is an excellent cook, so I take their praise seriously and appreciatively.

When I don't make plum basil, I tend to make my Lightly Spiced Plum, my Pepper Punch Plum or, as I did today, another foodie friend's recipe for Spiced Plum & Port Jam. Thank you, Abbie, for this delicious concoction.

It is a cozy fall breakfast at home in a jar. Your kitchen will smell to the nines when you cook or simply warm it, should a loving friend gift you some. Spiced with nutmeg, cinnamon and Chinese 5 spice and a generous cup of Ruby port, this thick beauty makes a masterpiece of the treasure that is good bread. 

Ol and I canned a few pints of this today while Jack was at French and Tom exercised. He spooned some into his mouth and said, "I love it, Mama." 

Me too!