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Handmade Pasta

Can you draw a straight line freehand?  Or cut a straight line without marking it on the paper first?  If so, I am suspicious of you.  I feel like giving you one of those alerts that you see with captchas after you've screwed up your password a few times: "Please prove that you're not a robot."

But that's why we love homemade, right? Almost everything we buy now is made on a machine with calibrated precision; everything is edited, airbrushed, and photographed at just the right angle so it's all maddeningly, freakishly perfect. We have robots checking us out at the grocery store, automating our phone calls, giving us driving directions--heck, we even have robots controlling whose posts we read on social media. Everything is sleeker and faster, but in the midst of all this perfection most of us long for a more human touch.  

We want to see fades and tears in our jeans and scuffs and distressing on our furniture.  We want to feel the indents of an artist's fingerprints on the little pinch marks of our plates and mugs.  The wonky edges and uneven lines are little "I was here" signs from someone, and though we may never know them we still feel their beating heart through the craftsmanship of their hands.  It's a connection more powerful than a facebook 'like.' 

I find that when I make something by hand, even something that's cheaper to just buy at the store, I make a connection with myself.  This pasta recipe isn't particularly special, but when Justin and I made the dough, rolled it out and sliced our very own noodles, a meal as simple as spaghetti and red sauce became artistic and personal.     

Ok, maybe we got too excited over our rudimentary pasta making abilities, but it feels empowering to say, "No thanks, robots.  I don't need you today, I'm making this 100% by myself, by hand, from scratch."  Making things is an extension of ourselves, and we find in the awkward lines and uneven slices that we are human, imperfect and in need of grace.

Make Your Own Pasta

2 c Bob's Red Mill Semolina Flour 1/2 tsp salt 2 tbs water 2 eggs 2 tbs good olive oil (the flavor will influence the pasta, so don't use the crappy stuff)

Mix together all of the ingredients and knead until your dough is smooth has good elasticity, about 10 minutes or so.  Let it rest for 30 minutes.  Now dust your table with more flour, roll out your dough as flat as you dare and slice however you like. Boil in water with 2 tsp salt until your pasta sticks to the wall when you throw it.

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Raw Milk Ice Cream + Bourbon Carmel

I found raw milk to be shocking when I first tried it. It's nothing like the civilized flavors we've become used to in our pasteurized, homogeneous lives.  Drinking raw milk definitely exposes you to it's unique terroir... which is my polite way of saying that you'll always be acutely aware that it comes from a cow. But hey, that's not a bad thing.  It's thick and creamy from the sweet-eyed Jerseys, and smooth and mild from the towering Holsteins.  Tasting milk like this makes me annoyed that they put those cute farm pictures on industrial milk labels, I mean, the industrial food complex has essentially censored out all of the cultural flavors that our grandparents knew and loved. Now, we have to go to mom and pop farms or little indie food co-ops to get the stuff that cows freely offer us in the first place.

Fortunately for those of us who aren't used raw milk, it comes out tasting less abrasive in ice cream form.  Add a generous drizzle of bourbon caramel and you might find that introducing yourself into the wild flavors of raw milk can be really quite sweet.

Raw Milk Ice Cream

1 quart raw Jersey cream 2 c raw Jersey milk 1 c evaporated cane juice crystals 1 tsp vanilla

Mix ingredients well and place in an ice cream maker for 25 minutes or until thick (the texture of soft serve.)  Place in a freezer-friendly container and freeze for at least an hour.  

Bourbon Caramel

2 c sugar 1/2 c butter 1 c heavy cream (raw works fine, but its up to you) 3 tbs good bourbon

I have adapted this recipe from Beth Kirby's instructions for lapsang souchong caramel sauce, which you should definitely try.  My adaptation has you skip the tea and cream infusion and start by melting the sugar over medium heat, add the butter 1 tbs at a time, being careful not to splash the buttery magma on yourself.  When all the butter is incorporated, remove the pot from the heat and slowly stir in the cream.  Then return to heat and allow it to bubble until you reach 230 degrees F. Then strain your caramel sauce into a heat-safe container. Wait for the caramel to cool some, and then stir in your bourbon. For goodness sake, DO NOT touch the caramel until it is cool.  The first time I made this, I burnt the living crap out of my finger because I couldn't control myself.

Enjoy on ice cream, in coffee, or however you like.

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You need a night in: Pear Bacon Brie Pastries

  I dislike day planners so much, sometimes I intentionally abandon mine on the floor and choose not to rescue it from the baby's clutches.  I watch while she drags my plans by their pages around the room; a younger, less mature reflection of myself wreaking out my angst against appointments and timeliness. 

  For most of our marriage, Justin and I have swung between the extremes of choking our weeks full of endless activities and then quitting everything to hide out in marital hermitage (read: Netflix.) This month we are trying something new.  We're trying to plan our weeks based on balancing our evening activities between three different areas: our shared relationship with God, others and the community. We call it up, in and out. 

  On this in night in particular, Justin and I needed 'in' time.  Not just mindless internet surfing or watching Downton Abbey.  We needed to look each other in the eye and sync up again.  We needed pear, bacon and brie pastries.

Pear Bacon Brie Pastries

Pastry Dough: 1 1/4 c flour 1/2 c butter 1/4 tsp salt 4+ tbs ice water (as needed)

Filling: 1/2 lb brie wheel  3 slices of thick cut bacon 1 pear 1/4 c sugar 2/3 c water

Preheat oven 350 degrees F.  In a food processor, cut butter into the flour and salt.  Add ice water tbs by tbs until the dough forms a ball.  Roll out the dough 1/2 in thick and cut into 4" by 4" squares.

Slice up the pear into nibble-sized pieces and cook over medium heat with the sugar and water.  Allow the pear syrup to reduce down until the pears are soft. Cook the bacon until crisp and then crumble. slice the brie into 1 in thick squares.  

Place brie in the center of your dough squares, top with pears, bacon, and a few tbs of pear syrup. Then using a dab of water, pinch the dough corners together to form little purses.

Bake for 15 minutes, then remove and paint egg whites over the surface of your pastries.  Then place them back into the oven and cook until the pastry is slightly brown and the egg white coat is visible (about 7-10 more minutes.)   

You may resent planning and appointments as much as I do.  OK.  Just don't let that keep you from creating rhythms of intentionality with the people in your world.  Add a bit of bacon to your relationships and, with time, you can draw out all kinds of amazing flavors.

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Fruition: Hot Buttered Rosemary + Fig Cider

The cider: fantastic. My only complaint is that it was a bit rosemary-heavy, but now I'm remembering that I gave into the temptation to stuff extra rosemary sprigs into the bottle (they just looked so pretty, I couldn't help it.)

But still, wow. I've been reading about how cold-process infusions are way more flavorful than heat-based infusion methods, and this particular recipe certainly underlines that point.  The rosemary, fig and nutmeg flavors are distinctly layered in this tasty beverage.

The letter is from my lovely friend and former housemate, Lauren, who is trying this infusion too.  Maybe she will send pictures!

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Annapolis + Homemade Fondue

On a day Rudyard Kipling would call an Indian summer, my friend Kathryn and I drove up to Port Orchard to Whiskey Gulch Coffee (with Selah in tow.)  Whiskey Gulch is pulling Seattle's Victrola Coffee, which tasted lovely.  When I saw the Monin syrups behind the bar I was extra happy, since I'm not hipster enough to always get straight lattes but I'm not a huge fan of DaVinci or Toriani.

Annapolis was a small community that launched fishing and transport vessels out into the sound; so many in fact, that the swarm of boats hovering the coastline was affectionately known as the "Mosquito Fleet."  The once isolated town has now been absorbed by Port Orchard, but as we walked into the coffee shop, we spotted the historic foot ferry taking off across the water towards Bremerton.

Credit for the beautiful photos above goes to Kathryn McIvor.

When we returned home we were feeling ready for a food adventure, so I pulled out a recipe off of Mischke Business, the travel memoirs of my long lost friend, Anna.  Well, the distance is long, anyway, since Anna is a lifestyle/fashion editor in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, but she is not so lost thanks to the internets.  

At any rate, we made some fantastic fondue with some heinously priced cheese from Harbor Greens and heinously cheap Brut.

The only thing I would add to Anna's devastatingly delicious recipe is a warning to non-nonstick pot users: rinse that sucker out BEFORE YOU FIND A SEDIMENTARY LAYER OF CHEESE FOREVER SEALED TO YOUR POT.

Fondue is special.  It's like church with cheese: a holy experience that you dip into, surrounded by others. Food that naturally draws people into a closer radius can make your friends feel more intimate and at home, if they aren't weird about that sort of thing. Maybe we are wired with a tribal familiarity that gets re-awakened with such ancient eating postures.  Who knows.

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Lavender + Cardamom Shortbread

The first time I had something flavored with lavender was at Mora Iced Creamery on Bainbridge Island when I was 14 years old. I brought the little plastic sample spoon towards my face with no small amount of incredulity.  The ice cream was white and translucent, like gelato.  It didn't really smell like anything (probably too cold.)  I tasted it.  "It tastes like how lavender smells!"  I shreiked, and walked away inhaling a giant waffle cone of it.  

I later wanted to check and see if maybe actual lavender blossoms tasted like my ice cream.  Nope.  They taste like soap.

I've since had lavender shortbread several times at Madeline's Cafe and Patisserie in Spokane, and I've been dying to try and make some.

I based this recipe on an Ina Garten shortbread, only Ina's doesn't go WHAPOW! LAVENDER!  Cardamom is an aromatic, floral spice from Guatemala. After dumping almost a tablespoon of it on my tongue, trying to come up with a description, I think it has an bright, old-world medicinal flavor. If you add your flavors a little at a time, you can adjust the amounts of lavender, vanilla and cardamom to suit your tastes.

Lavender + Cardamom Shortbread

3 1/2 c flour 1 1/2 c unsalted butter 1 c sugar 1/4 tsp salt 1/4 tsp cardamom  1 tsp lavender extract 1/2 tsp vanilla extract  1 palm sea salt sprinkled on top

Mix your butter and sugar until just incorporated. In a separate bowl, sift flour and salt together and add to the butter and sugar mixture until just incorporated.  Finally, add the vanilla, lavender and cardamom to taste. Chill for 30 minutes.  Roll out your dough 1/2 in thick and place in the bottom of a greased baking dish.  Bake at 350 degrees F for 20 minutes or until the edges are brown.  When the shortbread is almost cool (just barely warm to the touch) spread the sea salt over the top.  Slice when completely cool.

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Raw Lemon Cocoroons

    My freshman year at Whitworth, I dated a guy with a wheat allergy.  He was not only my first gluten-intolerant friend (and my first boyfriend) but it was also my first experience with someone who always had to think about what he was eating.  

  Like many freshman first dates, we walked across the street for fast food one afternoon. Me: elated and oblivious, him: struggling with the list of gluten-crusted and gluten-dense options spelled out above the cash register.  I was completely unaware that my new boyfriend's life was different from mine until our orders came up and I saw on his plate one blackened beef patty sitting all by itself in a pool of greasy loneliness.

  It still took me a while to figure out that there is a huge difference between knowing about someone's struggle and seeing into their world.  Challenging circumstances are a burden in and of themselves, but it feels so isolating to be overlooked by others who don't understand your struggle, or worse, to receive their well-intended, but toxic words. Oh how healing it is when someone enters in to another's tough situation, just to be with them and know them.

  Whether you are gluten intolerant or not, your experience is different from the people around you. We can be totally oblivious to one another's experiences if we aren't tuned in, thinking ahead and intentionally making space for them.

  These lemony bites, adapted from the Tasty Alternative, are a perfect snack for mixed-diet gatherings, being Paleo, GAPS, SCD, gluten free, dairy free and hipster free.  You can even make them vegan if you substitute the honey for agave or molasses.  They strike a perfect harmony between inclusive and delicious, with a satisfying crunch on the outside and a flaky, soft inside (reminiscent of sugar cookie dough.) 

  Raw Lemon Cocoroons

2 c shredded coconut  1 1/2 c almond flour  2 tsp lemon zest 1/4 c honey  2 tbs melted coconut oil 1/2 tsp vanilla extract  1/4 tsp lemon oil  1/4 tsp salt

Mix all ingredients in a food processor, dry ingredients first and then wet.  Next form the oily, crumbly dough into small, 1 in sized balls.  Place on a cookie sheet and dehydrate for 1 and a half hours.  

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Rosemary + Fig Bourbon Infusion

When I went to college I forgot an important skill: being thorough with the things that only I see.  My dorm room floor and desk were tidy, but the drawers were bursting with crumpled homework, various pens and loose staples. I never sat down to eat breakfast or lunch.  Partway into first semester, I started doing this thing with my bed where I just covered my tangled, unwashed sheets with a blanket and neatly arranged the pillows on top.  I have constantly struggled to find meaning in the activities that aren't rewarded with others' attention.

This afternoon I made the bourbon infusion for this Hot Buttered Rosemary + Fig Cider by Beth Kirby for West Elm.  Had I seen this recipe a year ago, I would have felt crushed by the detailed work that goes into each step. I would have passed over it in search of something more immediately gratifying. Now, however, I'm growing to appreciate slowing down.  I still feel a bit of manic panic when I'm disciplining myself to do little things, like crushing up whole nutmeg when I have the stuff already powdered, but it's getting better.

An infusion isn't instant gratification.  It's the product of careful measuring and time. My reward this afternoon wasn't a finished beverage - I'll have to wait two weeks for that- but it was lovely to fill the kitchen with the sharp, earthy smell of fresh, whole nutmeg.  

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The Mission House

Last August Justin, Selah and I moved away from our friends' two bedroom house in Spokane where we piloted a communal living experience with three other friends, Makayla, Kyle and Lauren.  

  The Mission House, as we called it, was a fantastic training ground for Justin and I.  We learned so much from the naked contrasts between our community-centered ideals and our often selfish responses to the realities of co-housing. One time Makayla's dog, Ryla, killed one of the chickens, so we yelled at her and tied her up, making Makayla furious. One time I was so snotty to Kyle that he marched upstairs and slammed his door. Our baby's messes and screams made me feel like the most incompetent housemate ever!  But all of us grew to be more patient, considerate, and truthful through the death and rebirth of painful conversations, repentance, and healing.

  The sanctifying friction of living in community, like the Mission House, has caused me to believe that the discipline of being together is central to growth in Christ.  My friend, Nick, said that people in community should be close enough so that their sin is not only obvious to one another, but also necessary to heal for the sake of everyone.  I want Jesus to heal me, but the people living with me need Jesus to heal me (or they might throw me off the bridge.)  

I have come to see conflict as a mirror.  An invitation to Jesus' healing power from the honest perspective of somebody who loves me enough to tell me that I have a piece of something stuck between my teeth (which is just gross.)