A Simple Autumn Lunch

When Sean's mom gave us an entire set of Staub cookware a couple of years ago, I remember wondering what on earth I would do with the tiniest of the lot, a little casserole that would only hold about a cup of anything. 

I almost gave it to Goodwill but didn't, thinking it might come in handy someday -- maybe for meals or tea parties for someone small and energetic? But now, almost exactly two years later, it's become one of my favorite kitchen items. 

Here's what changed: First, autumn happened. September and October are notoriously warm in the Bay Area but there's still been a shift. And all of a sudden I'm craving fewer salads and more warm and cozy foods. 

Second, we added an egg delivery to our weekly CSA and a healthy dozen arrives every Thursday afternoon. There's just one problem -- Sean doesn't like eggs. Or, to be more specific, he doesn't like "separate eggs." In a pinch, a frittata or strata will be tolerated, and there's no aversion at all to rich baked goods packed with yolks. He'll even gobble carbonara (weird, I know). But dinners that involve just "throwing an egg on it" don't fly. So, I've been eating a lot of eggs lately, and mostly for lunch.

A couple of weeks ago I came up with the totally-obvious-yet-still-brilliant idea of warming leftovers (farro, coconut rice, couscous, rice and beans, roasted pepper and tomato salad) in the tiny Staub and then cracking an egg over the top and setting the toaster oven to broil. 

The resulting egg is perfect. One crack with the tines of a fork and whatever is underneath is drowned in rich, runny, marigold colored yolk. Add a sprinkle of salt and a few minutes for the lot to cool -- warning, it does emerge dangerously hot -- and you've got lunch. It's simple, elegant, and oh so satisfying. 

My hunch is that these tiny Staubs (or Le Cruset) might be pretty easy to find thrifted or on sale, simply because people aren't sure quite what to do with them. So if you see one, add it to your collection. I think almost any leftover tastes better with a good egg cracked on top, and the presentation can't be beat. Needless to say, this makes a great dinner for one or two (how adorable would it be to have a matching set of these?!) and the cleanup is a dream. This is truly a one dish meal. 

One final note: My broil setting is auto timed for about 10 minutes but I find pulling it at 8 minutes is great if you like your eggs nice and runny, which I do.  


Bon Appetit!

Weekend Warrior Smoothie

Usually we're obsessed with granola (the perennial favorite is here) but we go through other breakfast phases too. And this week we've been all about smoothies. 

Many of my most adored smoothie recipes come from one of my favorite blogs, LA in Bloom. I'm so inspired by Heather's stylish LA life, complete with flowers, fabulous dinner parties, and drop-dead gorgeous fashion. But I'm secretly even more envious of her morning routine. There's just something about a super-healthy smoothie followed by yoga, a spinning class, or a long hike that seems so quintessentially Southern California. 

Now that the days in San Francisco are getting a little warmer (August, September, & October are typically our warmest months, just in case you didn't know), the Vitamix has been revving almost every morning. 

Our new favorite is from True Food: Seasonal, Sustainable, Simple Pure, a yet-to-be released cookbook by Andrew Weil, MD, Sam Fox, and Michael Stebner.

I know what you're thinking: Who needs a recipe for a smoothie? 

It turns out we do. Without it I would have never thought to add ground flax or homemade apple sauce* to a smoothie, and I would have never put agave on our grocery list. But what I like best about this smoothie is the name: The Weekend Warrior.  

Go forth and conquer the holiday, my friends. 

Weekend Warrior Smoothie

True Food: Seasonal, Sustainable, Simple Pure; Andrew Weil, MD, Sam Fox, and Michael Stebner

"An all-natural alternative to protein shakes, the Weekend Warrior... provides steady energy. It is the perfect fuel for home renovation projects, Ultimate Frisbee, or other day-off excursions."

1 banana

1 Tablespoon almond butter

1 Tablespoon flax meal

1/2 Greek style vanilla yogurt

2 teaspoons agave nectar

1/2 cup unsweetened apple juice

Put all of the ingredients plus 1/2 cup ice cubes into a blender. Blend until smooth. Pour into a glass and serve. Makes one serving.

* Who needs a smoothie recipe, indeed. I used plain Straus yogurt and 1/2 cup of homemade apple sauce in place of the juice. Because I knew the sauce was made with some sugar, I left out the agave. In the future, I'd make this again with unsweetened organic apple sauce. It adds some thickness to the smoothie that I like, and makes it seem extra healthy. An apple a day, right?

The Summer Do List

The moment the calendar flipped over to August I was struck with a level of panic that's normally reserved for small school children. I know summer isn't technically over yet, but there's no more vacations on our horizon and there's a half-dozen zucchini in every CSA box we get. Not to be dramatic, but the end is near.

The finish of summer is particularly painful because we don't really get what I consider a "real" summer in San Francisco. We can usually sleep with the windows open, but there are no chirping crickets, no hot mornings that require tank tops and iced coffee, and very, very few sunburns. 

Thus, the End Of Summer Do List. It's -- you guessed it--  my attempt to make sure we do some of those things that all of you living in sweltering temperatures do without even thinking about it. Things like eating popsicles and grilling peaches. Things that should be obvious summer goals to hit, but are occasionally hard to accomplish when the fog begins to roll in at 4PM and the August daytime high is a balmy 64 degrees. 

Here are a few of the things on The List:

Eat an It's-It in the back yard on a sunny afternoon. 

Can tomatoes. 

Make another batch of jam. (I made strawberry-vanilla in July, but I'm dreaming about stone fruit. Apricot? Plum?)

Grill anything that can be grilled instead of cooking inside. 

Dine alfresco. 

Drink more rose. 

Do yard work.

Play hooky and go to the Coppola Pool. 

Bake with blackberries. 

Make ice cream. Maybe this recipe? Or this one? 

Ultimately this is a very quotidian to-do list, one that should be easily accomplishable in summer's remaining weeks. Meanwhile, I'll keep on living the everyday, and that means finding things to do with all that August zucchini. This zucchini-orange marmalade tea cake is a start. The recipe is from Tartine Bakery, which is  only a couple of miles from our house. Even though the cases at the bakery are filled with all kinds of pastry and creme and confection, this humble loaf is usually what catches my eye. It's a super moist cake (and yes, I know people hate that word but saying damp just won't do). Those of you who like not-too-sweet cake will find it really hits the spot. 

But, I digress -- and my numerous digressions are part of what leads to the necessity of the End of Summer Do List. So -- get out there and conquer summer. Make a list. Eat ice cream. Because this pang in my heart tells me it's all going to be over before we know it. 

Zucchini and Orange Marmalade Tea Cake
From Tartine Bakery, San Francisco

1 3/4 cup + 2 tablespoons all purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
2 large eggs
1/2 cup + 2 tablespoons vegetable oil
3/4 cup sugar
1/2 cup orange marmalade
2 1/2 cups grated zucchini
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup walnuts, lightly toasted and coarsely chopped

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Grease a 9 x 5 inch (23 x 12 cm) loaf tin.  Set aside.  Sift the flour, baking soda, baking powder and cinnamon in a mixing bowl and set aside.  In a separate bowl, mix the eggs, oil, sugar and marmalade until just combined.  Scrape down the sides of the bowl and add the flour until just combined.  Add the nuts until incorporated.  Pour into the prepared loaf pan and smooth the top.  Bake for 60-70 minutes until a tester comes out clean.  Let cool on a wire rack for 20 minute, then turn out to let cool completely. Keeps well, up to five days. 

Busy Day Banana Cake with Rum Icing

This cake began as something far more humble. With a pile of bananas turning slowly black in a bowl, it was about economy not indulgence. Banana bread, I thought, was a way to use up the soft fruit while still having something sweet (and maybe just the tiniest bit healthful) to snack on during the week.

Sure, I could of popped the bananas in the freezer and saved them for morning smoothies or another week. A week, perhaps, where I hadn't eaten restaurant meals almost every day, had far too many glasses of wine, pints of beer, and strawberry pie for breakfast. That would have been the prudent thing to do.

Instead I set out to make something that embodied my life at exactly this moment. The soft, black bananas? They are a symbol of economy, yes. But also of a ballooning list of things to do and things left undone. The wheat flour and the olive oil and the Greek yogurt are a nod to health. To balance, to clinging to the notion that no matter how stressful life gets there's no need to completely let yourself go.

The rum? The rum came in when I discovered I forgot to buy lemons, had no lemons in the house, and wasn't going out again. The chocolate chips were supposed to be dark chocolate slivers and were supposed to be left out (remember that nod to personal health?) but were tossed back in at the last minute when a half bag of semi-sweet chippies were discovered hiding in the bundt pan. Of course.

Because there was no lemon in the house there could be no lemon in the frosting to top the cake. (The frosting I was going to leave off because I'm healthy, remember?) And since thanks to the rum and chocolate chips it was indeed a cake not a bread, I decided to really go for it and put rum and a few teaspoons of half-and-half in the icing.

And there you have it. It's my my busy day cake. It's my life (it may be kind of crazy right now but perhaps I can try and have some fun) made real in a piece of banana bundt cake.

I am happy, however, to report that when I cut into this cake I was pleased to discover something. It wasn't over-the-top with boozy, sweet, richness. Instead it was a dense and moist, and not too sweet. It's far more like a bread that's been amplified with chocolate chips and sweetened just a bit by the slightly kicky frosting.

Perhaps it's a symbol of the idea that even when life runs a bit off course, it still more or less turns out ok?

Busy Day Banana Cake with Rum Icing
Adapted from 101 Cookbooks, who adapted it from a Melissa Clark recipe in Cook This Now

1 cup all-purpose flour
1 cup whole wheat flour
3/4 cup dark brown sugar
3/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1 cup / 4 oz chopped bittersweet chocolate (or substitute a generous amount of semi-sweet chocolate chips)
1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil
2 large eggs, lightly beaten
1 1/2 cups mashed, VERY ripe bananas (~3 bananas)
1/4 cup plain, 2% Greek yogurt
1 teaspoon rum
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

For the icing:
1/2 cup dark brown sugar
1/2 cup confectioners' sugar
1 teaspoon rum
3+ teaspoons half and half (add half and half as needed to create the icing consistency you prefer. I wanted mine a little runny)

Preheat the oven to 350° F, and place a rack in the center. Grease a 9- by 5- inch (23 x 13 cm) loaf pan, or equivalent -- I used a bundt.
In a large bowl, whisk together the flours, sugar, baking soda, and salt. Add the chocolate pieces and combine well.
In a separate bowl, mix together the olive oil, eggs, mashed banana, yogurt, rum, and vanilla. Pour the banana mixture into the flour mixture and fold with a spatula until just combined. The batter will be thick. Scrape the batter into the prepared pan and bake until golden brown, about 40-50 minutes. You want to get that beautiful color on the cake, but at the same time you don't want to bake all the moisture out of it. Watch carefully towards the end. The recommended baking time was 50 minutes, mine was done about 10 minutes sooner.
Transfer the pan to a wire rack to cool in the pan for 10 minutes, then turn the loaf out of the pan to cool completely.
While the cake is cooling, prepare the glaze. In a bowl, whisk together the sugars, the rum, and the half and half until smooth. When the cake is completely cool, drizzle the glaze on top of the cake, spreading with a spatula to cover.

Serves 10.

Coconut Granola with Cashews and Cranberries

Let's talk granola, shall we?

It's no secret I love the stuff: loose or in bar form, it's a staple of my diet. Most of the time I make huge batches of the granola recipe my mother perfected. It's pretty simple -- I actually don't want my granola too fluffed up with multiple dried fruits and nuts. I'd rather add my favorites: sliced bananas, blueberries, or a dollop of almond butter after I've sprinkled granola on yogurt or poured it into a cupful of warm milk.

But the granola recipe I'm sharing now is a little bit fancier. Think of it as granola that got gussied up. This is the stuff to bag and send to a friend with a new baby or serve with rich whole milk yogurt in a decadent (but still healthful) weekend parfait.

This recipe -- based on one written by Melissa Clark -- uses creamy coconut oil as a base that is layered with cinnamon, nutmeg, maple syrup, brown sugar, cashews, coconut chips and cranberries. The result is entirely addictive, so much so that there were afternoons I really could convince myself I wanted yogurt as a snack only to discover after a few bites in that my healthy urge was really just a vehicle for consuming large amounts cereal. When I realized this, I'd pile on another hefty scoop. You can say a lot of things about me, but at least I'm not in denial.

This granola is so good that at times it has seemed downright necessary, just like our weekly loaf (or two) of Acme walnut bread, the perfect glossy avocado, or the container of whipping cream I claim is for a recipe but secretly sneak into my dark coffee each morning.

This granola has fueled our tired, achy household through a number of tough weeks. But it's also been carried North where it was placed in a pretty bowl and served as a part of a ladies brunch after a dear friend's baby shower.

It's been dependable, just like our friends and family have been this month, and just like you have been, too. I wasn't at all nervous to write about the particular misery of a sick parent (it was something I just had to do, you know?) but I wouldn't have been surprised, if after pushing post on what was undoubtedly one of the most dismal Valentine's Day missives ever, nothing happened. Bad things occur all the time, I thought. Why would anyone care about my rough patch?

But you did, and you do. There were lovely public comments and many personal ones. Sarah wrote me an e-mail so full of fierce and incredulous emotion, that even though we've never met (I couldn't even pick her pretty face out of a crowd) I feel like we've shared a big bottle of wine and some stray tears.

So. My belief in the persistent good in the world, though never really waning, has been re-inspired. Thank you. And if I could, I'd send you all a bag of this granola, or better yet -- invite you over for a bowlful. For now, this recipe will have to do.

Coconut Granola with Cashews and Cranberries
(Based on a recipe by Melissa Clark, I switched pecans for cashews and cranberries for cherries. I also upped the amount of oats to produce a less sweet -- but still plenty toothsome-- granola. 

5 cups old-fashioned rolled oats
1 1/2 cups cashew halves
1 cup coconut chips
1/2 cup pure maple syrup
1/2 cup virgin coconut oil, melted
1/3 cup packed light brown sugar
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
3/4 cup dried cranberries

1. Preheat the oven to 300° F.
2. In a large bowl, combine the oats, cashews coconut chips, maple syrup, coconut oil, brown sugar, salt, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Spread the mixture on a rimmed baking sheet in an even layer and bake until golden all over, about 45 minutes, stirring every 10 minutes.
3. Transfer the granola to a large bowl and add the cranberries, tossing to combine. Store in a glass jar with tight-fitting lid or other airtight container. 

Valentine's Day Breakfast

The other day, Sean looked at me and said: "I married you because I wanted someone to share the good times. And now we have to share the bad." This, I think, is love.

A year ago today, Sean proposed. It was impetuous. No rose petal aisles, rooms full of candles, or panoramic views. Just Sean in his brown furry bathrobe, a yet-to-be-cleaned-or-sized antique ring, and a sudden but deep desire to say those four little words.

In the 365 days that passed between then and now, we got married. Books were published. We traveled. We fought. In January, we found out Sean's mom has terminal brain cancer. Just yesterday, I looked down at my hand and noticed that one of the tiny sparkling diamonds in my engagement ring was gone.

None of this has been what I expected. I used to think I understood what love meant and what marriage required. But my notion of this is being expanded to include larger highs and lows every single day.

Thank goodness there are some things that are reliable. Like breakfast. This morning we had soda water waffles, sliced pink grapefruit, and coffee.

And I'm happy to report that Sean wore his fuzzy brown bathrobe.

Candied Orange & Anise Scones

Have you ever spent Christmas away from home? M.F.K. Fisher did in 1929. This was long before she was the famed food writer who composed evocative prose about the exquisite pleasures of the table. Then, she was a young bride who had just moved to Dijon, France with her new husband, Al.

The two traveled South for Christmas, to a little town on the Mediterranean Coast called Cassis. On Christmas Eve, the couple drank rum punch and waited sleepily to go to Midnight Mass at a little church on the top of a high hill.

Fisher would describe it as an evening that rang like crystal in her memory: “Midnight mass, with fishermen playing wild sad songs on oddly shaped hautbois and windy flutes, over the bleating of two sheep by the alter glittering with candles; a new human baby wailing in its modern cradle trimmed with blue satin bows, and filled with Christmas straw; all the short square women dressed in black, with shawls over their heads.”

When Mass ended, instead of going to sleep, Mary Frances and Al joined a crowd of village revelers for a traditional French holiday celebration. She was handed a plate piled with an anise flavored bread, a piece of sweet nougat, and a glass of pale pink wine.

The seemingly random selection was, in fact, thoughtful. It was a few of the Thirteen Desserts, an array of sweets -- fresh and dried fruits, nuts, bread, nougat, and candies -- that are traditionally served after Midnight Mass and signify the 13 participants in the Last Supper.

An essential part of the 13 Desserts is a sweet bread made from olive oil and flavored with anise, orange water, and candied citrus. Similar to an Italian panettone, the bread -- called gibassier (or pompe à l’huile) -- must be torn with the hands when served to insure good luck in the new year.

That night, she and Al were strangers at the holiday feast. She was far from home and family, but the gift of food and wine soothed her soul.

I prefer my 13 desserts to be of the chocolate variety and like to have gibassier for breakfast. When I wrote this piece for The Kitchn, I made "real" gibassier (you can find the original essay that recipe here). But I also wanted to share an easier version of gibassier, something that could be easily made up on a busy pre-holiday morning, but that still shared the same lovely flavors of anise and candied oranges. These scones are very easy but, like the original gibassier, are best warm, smothered with butter and honey, beside a mug of bitter black coffee.

Happy Holidays, one and all!

Gibassier-Inspired Scones
2 cups flour
1 Tbsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 cup sugar
1 1/4 cup heavy cream
1/3 cup chopped candied orange peel
1 tsp anise seeds
1/2 - 1 tsp orange flower water

1 Tbsp melted butter for brushing the tops
sugar for sprinkling the tops

Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Line a baking pan with parchment paper.

Sift or whisk together the flour, baking powder, salt, sugar, lemon peel and anise seeds in a mixing bowl. Add the cream and orange flower water and stir gently with a fork. Stop mixing when it starts to come together and the cream seems fairly absorbed. Be careful not to overmix. The dough will look loose and lumpy and not like a finished dough.

Pour the mixture onto a lightly floured work surface. Using a very light touch, begin to gather and gently pat into a 9” circle, taking care to press the edges into a solid border. It will come together just enough to look like it might work. Do not handle very much to achieve maximum tenderness!

Using a lightly dusted bench scraper or sharp knife, cut into 8 scones. Use the bench scraper or a metal spatula to lift the scones gently onto the baking sheet. Be careful as they are very soft and delicate to handle. Brush the tops with a bit of melted butter and a sprinkle of sugar.

Bake on the middle rack for 15 minutes or until they are golden. Serve immediately. These scones are best warm.



This recipe was adapted from one found on the blog Bread Baby.

Secret Breakfast: Everyday Oatmeal

A few weeks ago at a party a woman pulled me into a corner.

"What I really want to know," she said, "is what you eat for breakfast."

She said it like I had to have some secret menu up my sleeve. I don't. My breakfast is usually healthy and often ordinary. Occasionally I eat eggs, but mostly I prefer something lighter and a little on the sweet side. I'd eat toast and jam every morning if I could, but usually find that my energy sputters out mid-morning. So toast and jam, just like scones and muffins, are a weekend thing.

So what do I eat? Lately its been oatmeal, lots and lots of oatmeal. But even oatmeal can be kind of a pain. Instant oatmeal is unacceptable, microwaved oats are too. But who has time to cook stove top oats every morning? Not even this work-from-home writer can commit to that.

Some people swear by baked oatmeal or slow-cooker oatmeal. I have a different trick. At the beginning of the week I make a batch of Ina Garten's Sunday Oats. Then, I reconstitute it every morning on the stove-top with extra milk. I know -- reheated oatmeal sounds a little bit like a bad morning at the cafeteria. But I swear this trick works. Adding extra milk and using stove-top heat makes the oatmeal milky and soft, not gummy or rubbery.

My favorite way to eat it is with dried cherries, but this week I added raisins and dried apricots. Bananas are a must, as is a big spoonful of almond butter.

Secret breakfast? Not anymore.

Everyday Oatmeal (aka Ina Garten's Sunday Morning Oatmeal)
Adapted very slightly from The Barefoot Contessa at Home

1.5 cups milk -- for every day eating I use skim or 1%. Ina likes whole.
1.5 cups quick-cooking oatmeal
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 banana, sliced*
1/2-1 cup dried fruit: cherries, raisins, apricots, apples...
Pure maple syrup and almond butter for serving

Heat the milk plus two cups water in a medium saucepan until it starts to simmer. Add the oatmeal, salt, and cinnamon and stir vigorously. Bring mix to a boil, then lower the heat and simmer for 4 to 5 minutes, stirring occasionally, until thickened. Off the heat, stir in the banana (if using) and dried fruit. Place the lid on the pot and allow it to sit for 2 minutes. Serve hot, drizzled with maple syrup and almond butter.

*The banana is option. Truth be told, if the oatmeal sits in the fridge for a few days the bananas turn brown and a bit unsightly. I don't mind this. I actually kind of liked the cooked banana bread flavor it brings to breakfast. You might prefer to top your oatmeal with fresh sliced banana or omit it completely. You choose.
** To reconstitute the oatmeal: Place cold cooked oatmeal in small sauce pan with 1/4-1/2 cup milk. Heat over low heat till cooked through, stirring occasionally to encourage cooked oats to warm and soak extra milk.

Cinnamon-Sugar Scone Recipe & Small Sweet Treats Giveaway!

[I'm giving away a copy of Small, Sweet Treats by Marguerite Marceau Henderson. To enter to win, leave a comment on this post or follow @poeticappetite on twitter and then re-tweet information about this give-away. A winner will be chosen at noon on September 23rd.]

Memory is a funny thing. Last weekend I went to the wedding of an old friend. We didn't meet in childhood, but I can't remember exactly when we did meet. Was it college? The fateful summer between high school and college? I can't recall. All I remember is that we were working at Cucina.

In those days, Cucina, an upscale Italian delicatessen in the Avenues District of Salt Lake City, was run by my friend Sarah's mother, Marguerite Marceau Henderson. For a couple of summers I worked at Cucina taking orders, serving salads, wiping down tables and clearing dishes. On rare days I ran the cash register or made a sandwich or two.

At Cucina I tried leeks and pesto for the first time (imagine!) and learned that on a bad day a big meatloaf sandwich can be immensely satisfying. Eventually I moved on and Marguerite did too. But she's continued to instruct me in the hows and whys of cooking and entertaining through her books. There are several of them now: Savor the Memories, Small Plates: Appetizers as Meals, Small Parties, and the newest, Small Sweet Treats.

Marguerite is amazing (think Ina meets Martha) and her recipes are my go-to. She's constantly coaching me through weeknight meal making and dinner parties. In her newest book she's become my guide to all things sweet with dozens of recipes for cookies, pastries, cakes, pies and other desserts that are ideal for the holidays, entertaining, or just because. As I write this, there's a chocolate-orange bundt cake with chocolate ganache (page 146 in the book) staring me down. I'm not sure how much longer I'll be able to resist cutting into it. 

The summers that I worked for Marguerite, I often took the morning shift. I arrived while it was cool and quiet, and though there was coffee brewing, I never needed it. Occasionally someone would take a broken or day-old sweet and cut it into chunks for us to eat while we did our side work. I never got more than a bite or two of Marguerite's epic cinnamon-sugar scones, just enough to make me hope that at the end of the shift there'd be one leftover for me to take home. This hardly ever happened.

For years my mother has tried to replicate the cinnamon sugar scones, best eaten warm with a bitter cup of coffee, but they've never come out quite right. The morning after the wedding I padded into the kitchen to find my mother baking from her new copy of Small Sweet Treats. Finally, she told me, Marguerite had shared the recipe for cinnamon-sugar scones. Hurrah!

The scones, packed with cinnamon-sugar ribbons and plump golden raisins, tasted exactly as they should. Just as my mom said, a dark cup of coffee helped to cut the sweetness and kept us happily munching. Best of all, they brought back vivid adolescent memories of giggling, gossiping, and trying not to sever my hand with the meat slicer.

This, my friends, is what good food should do: create and revive memories while feeding you physically and spiritually.

I'm excited to share this recipe (and Marguerite's newest book!) with you. 

[I'm giving away a copy of Small, Sweet Treats by Marguerite Marceau Henderson. To enter to win, leave a comment on this post or follow @poeticappetite on twitter and then re-tweet information about this give-away. A winner will be chosen at noon on September 23rd.]


Cinnamon-Sugar & Golden Raisin Scones
From Small Sweet Treats by Marguerite Marceau Henderson
Scones:
2 cups all purpose flour
2 cups cake flour
1/2 cup sugar
1 heaping tablespoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1 cup cold unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
About 1 cup of half and half or buttermilk
Cinnamon, brown sugar, golden raisin ribbons (recipe follows)
Glaze (recipe follows)


In a medium bowl combine flours, suga, baking powder, baking soda, and salt; mix. Add the butter and with a pastry cutter, cut into the size of peas. With a wooden spoon or heavy duty spatula mix in enough half and half or buttermilk to make the batter just moist, not too wet. The dough should hold together when formed into a small ball. Add cinnamon, brown sugar, and raisin mixture (recipe follows); mix until just combined.

Use a small ice-cream scoop or spoon to shape the scones and place them on silpat or parchment lined baking sheets.

Bake on the middle rack of a 375 degree oven for 20 minutes. Remove and let cool slightly before glazing.

Cinnamon, Brown Sugar, and Golden Raisin ribbons:
In a small skilled, heat 2 tablespoons unsalted butter. Add 1/2 cup brown sugar, 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon, and 1 cup golden raisins. Mix over low heat until sugar has softened, about 1 minute. Cool for 10 minutes. Set aside while you make scone batter. Fold the ribbon mixture into the batter after the half and half or buttermilk has been added. Do not over-mix.

Glaze: 2 and 1/2 cups powdered sugar thinned with half and half or milk.

My Habits, My Banana Bread

I am a creature of habit. I wake up at the same time almost every day and regularly eat the same breakfast for mornings in a row. My lack of variation becomes even worse at lunchtime. Nearly every day at noon I eat this: toasted Acme walnut bread spread thick with avocado. Sometimes there is hummus, occasionally soft egg on top or green salad on the side. But I never manage to get too far from the original. It's simple and satisfying. It works.


It's this habit to be habitual that led me last week to banana bread. Banana bread, you say? But it's August. Shouldn't you be making something with berries or peaches?

The simple answer is yes. The more complicated answer involves the late hour and the understocked pantry. We were out of bread and the only things I had on hand that would help make something satisfying and toastable for the morning were baking basics and a lone banana. So I did what I always did in a similar predicament. I made banana bread.

As I was working, melting and sifting, I heard a strange noise and looked up to see a dog in the kitchen. Bowie, the upstairs pet, had poked his grey and white head through our apartment's unused pet door and decided to climb on through. We stared at each other tentatively.

Bowie spends much of the day barking at the mailman, the fedex guy, and me. I wasn't sure quite what would happen when he realized he wasn't in the right kitchen. In my surprise, I dumped the melted butter into the dry ingredients and began stirring madly, forgetting the egg and the greek yogurt and everything else that was wet. I laughed while Bowie watched and sniffed at my feet.

The resulting banana bread (put into bake after luring Bowie outside) was just fine, even though I'd entirely messed with the method. The bread itself is not very sweet, which we liked, and is ok because it has a crumb topping.

Normally, I'd stray away from a crumb top. I like my bread simple and nutty not crunchy and sweet. But since I've been thinking a lot about my habits, and trying to shake them up a bit, I tried something new. I know, I know... since when is a different banana bread trying something new? But it's a process, right?

The point is, I think, that you can have old habits and new habits at the same time. Your go-to banana bread becomes something new thanks to the crumb topping and the greek yogurt in the batter. Your regular world gets shaken up a bit by the presence of a shaggy dog with bright blue eyes.

Be they little movements or big ones, it's all motion.

Banana Bread with Crumb Topping
1/2 cup white flour
1/2 cup whole wheat flour
1/2 cup sugar
3/4 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt
4 tbsp. (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, melted
1/3 plain greek yogurt (non-fat ok!)
1 large egg, lightly beaten
1 ripe banana, mashed
1 tsp. vanilla extract

Crumb Topping
1 tbsp. flour
1 tbsp. butter at room temperature
1 tbsp. brown sugar
1/4 tsp. cinnamon
Pinch of nutmeg
Pinch of salt
1. Preheat oven to 300°.
2. In a large bowl, whisk together flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.
3. Stir in the melted butter and the greek yogurt Add egg and stir until well combined. Add banana. Stir until well combined. Spread the batter into pan.
4. Make the crumb topping by mashing together butter, flour, brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt. Distribute topping evenly over batter. Bake for 40-45 minutes, or until a cake tester comes out clean. Cool in pan for 10 min, then allow to finish cooling on rack.

Recipe adapted from Mag Hungry

Soft Cooked Eggs

I'm about to admit something rather shocking: each morning I make breakfast for Sean. This isn't because he demands it, or is incapable of feeding himself. It's because I wake up earlier than he does and work and write for a quiet hour or two. I brew the coffee and cook myself something to eat. And instead of making breakfast for one, I make it for two.

But Sean doesn't really like eggs. And he especially doesn't like "separate eggs." This means there's no no fried eggs, no soft eggs on toast slathered with butter and a strip of jam. I get my egg fix at lunchtime, regularly cooking up scrambled or fried eggs to eat with toast and greens, or for a mid-afternoon snack in the form of hard-boiled, protein packed perfection.

But a few weeks ago in Portland, I ate eggs almost every morning. I have one friend with a herd of chickens, another that demands a savory meal almost as soon as her head rises from the pillow. This friend is the hyper-efficient type, too. So while I lolled in bed watching the sunrise, she puttered around the apartment, showering, putting water on to boil, setting the table, toasting the bread.

Selfishly, I liked the role reversal. Though I felt a little bit guilty that I wasn't up making breakfast before her big commute, I loved rolling from the bed to the table to find coffee freshly brewed, piping hot toast, and a perfect soft boiled egg.

Who needs expensive bed and breakfasts when you have friends like this?

It's a good reminder that it is the little things that show love: the hand-ground coffee beans that smell like caramel and butter, the last of the loaf sliced perfectly so we both have equal bites, the jar of jam opened just for me since I like my savory breakfast balanced with a little sweet. 

Since returning to San Francisco, I've been craving soft cooked eggs. Not too soft, mind you -- but enough that there's a bright runny yolk that splits and drips and demands being sopped up with good bread.

But my attempts at making them have failed -- I've yet to end up with a runny white, but usually my yolks are well on their way to being hard, defined rounds. I've given up for the moment. Maybe soft cooked eggs will be what I eat in the Pacific NW on lazy mornings with good friends.

This is how it should be -- and this is how it is. A phone call doesn't make up for a face to face chat. A really great email, or -- dare I say it, letter? -- can't replace a long dinner with too much wine. And a sub-par egg can't make up for a perfect one.

But if I decide to try again -- all in the name of a simple meal bringing your heart closer to home -- this is the recipe I'll use:

Place eggs in a saucepan large enough to accommodate them in a single layer. Fill the pan with cold water, covering eggs by an inch. Set over medium-high heat, and bring to a boil. Turn off heat, cover, and let stand 1 1/2 to 2 minutes. Remove eggs from water. Serve immediately in egg cups -- perfect for cracking and scooping the egg right from the shell. Season with salt and pepper.

Zucchini Pear Tea Cake

There are times I think I should blog more or not at all. Other days I think I should have a baking blog. Then I remember everything I own related to baking (muffin pans, loaf pans, cookie sheets, spatulas) is still stuck in storage. And then I get really riled up.

At least I wrote a book.

And I have friends, good friends, who loan me their apartments with sweeping views of the city, pear trees, and all the baking supplies a girl could ever need.

All this was important a few weeks ago for reasons I'm having trouble articulating. It was Friday. It was raining. My lunch date was postponed. I wanted to stay at home and make something so badly (you know the feeling, yes?) but there were things I had to do.

Still, I decided to make some quick bread, knowing I'd never have time to bake the bread, hoping I'd get around to it fairly soon.

I grated some zucchini. I tossed it with eggs, oil, sugar and some of the pear sauce lurking in the fridge. I dumped in the dry ingredients. I covered it, put it in the fridge, and walked away.

Here's what happened next: I was in a dark bar with my boyfriend, and ran right into someone I used to be very, very in love with. It made my heart hurt a little, and my stomach and my head hurt even more. New love was introduced to old love and we awkwardly bantered. It seemed particularly cold, and rainy, when we finally exited the bar.

Not even record shopping helped. We drove home, quietly, in the rain. When we walked in the door, the first think I did was turn on the oven. I haphazardly cut parchment and hurtled the batter into the pan. I drank another glass of wine, and I drank it quickly.

An hour later, after checking the oven way too many times, it emerged. Brown, sweet, redolent with cinnamon.

We ate it hot, big hunks of cake topped with butter pecan ice cream. It really did make everything better. But more than that, the meal reminded me that home is where you make it.

And I am making it here. And now.

Zucchini Pear Tea Cake
Adapted from Tartine Bakery's recipe for Zucchini orange marmalade tea cake, which is amazing. 

Line a 9x5 inch loaf pan with parchment and set aside. Preheat the oven to 350.

1-3/4 cups + 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon salt

2 and 1/2 cups grated zucchini (about 3 small ones)

1/2 cup chunky pear sauce 

3/4 cup sugar

1/2 cup + 2 tablespoons vegetable oil

2 large eggs

1 cup walnuts, lightly toasted and coarsely chopped (optional)

Combine dry ingredients in a small bowl and set aside. Next mix wet ingredients in a separate bowl, mixing gently.

Sift the dry ingredients into the wet and stir until just combined.  Add the walnuts, if using. Pour into the prepared loaf pan. Sprinkle the top with demera sugar, if desired.

Bake for 60-70 minutes or until a toothpick in the center comes out clean.

Chunky Pear Sauce

I've been feeling a bit frantic lately. There's a lot of little things to do, a few big things to do (book proofs, anyone?) and a few things that I want to do, but don't know if I can do. The combination keeps me scurrying from desk to couch to coffee shop, and the coffee keeps me up at night. It's a dreadful combination, really.

Thank goodness, again, and again, for the forced slowness of cooking. Because much like the summer plums, this last week of October, I've had pears staring me in the face.

These pears were from a friend, a friend who had to go dashing off to Paris (the nerve!) and leave bushels -- and I don't think bushels are an exaggeration here -- of pears behind. She suggested making compote, which seemed like a fine idea, except for I never got around to finding the perfect compote recipe.

This is ironic, because not only is a good pear compote recipe not that hard to find, I was also house sitting for the pear giving friend, who has an amazing, covetable cookbook collection. But as I mentioned before, I was lost in manuscript proofs.

So instead this is what I did: Washed the pears, some green, some ripe to the point of rotting, and cored them and cut them into chunks, nearly slicing off my finger as my brain pondered sentences to rework, and book ideas, and love.

Next I put all the pear chunks into a huge pot. I added a little water, a little cinnamon, a little nutmeg, and some vanilla. Then I turned up the heat and walked away, back to desk and computer and to-do list. Soon the spicy smells started to penetrate the house. I tasted, added a bit more nutmeg, and a small amount of sugar.

Under heat, the pears were starting to soften and turn a lovely golden brown. Their flavor intensified, and they became buttery and caramel like. I cooked them some more, and then even a little longer, till I had a chunky sauce.

This chunky sauce was stirred into oatmeal, put on top of milk and cold cereal, served alongside after dinner cheeses, and warm gingerbread cake. This morning I fried a couple of sliced of seed bread, spread them with peanut butter, and topped them with pears.  An unbeatable start to the day.

I've never been a fan of applesauce, but man, this stuff was good, inspiring twice a day servings, and the occasional swiped spoonfuls from the jar. I pureed one batch, but I wouldn't do that again.

There's something about the imperfection of the chunks I love. It's rustic, fallish, perfect in its imperfection. Kind of like life right now. 

Daily Cake: Berry Buttermilk

There are two kinds of people in the world: those who could happily eat cake every single day, and those who save it for special occasions. I am of the eat cake today! variety, though I aspire to be a bit more measured in my approach to slabs of the soft, dense, sweet stuff.

(Of course I also hope to have enough family, children, friends, and hangers-on around that I could make magnificent cakes with piles of frosting weekly, and they would all disappear with me only having eaten the perfect bite or two. But that's a big fantasy....) 

Perhaps it is the seasons starting to change, but my hunger for cake has been pronounced. It has taken all forms: birthday cake, chocolate cake, muffins, tea cakes, pillowy scones. And most days, I've given in. It's been a bit of a carbohydrate fueled dream around here, though I've tried to slice a peach on top and call it shortcake, or douse a slice with ice cream just for good, summery measure.

Here is the cake that started it all: a Berry Buttermilk Cake borrowed from 101 Cookbooks. I made it for a friend's birthday picnic, and was purposefully restrained in my approach to this celebratory number. We were moving from picnic and wine tasting to dinner, and I knew there'd be a gussied up, candle flecked chocolate number to steal the show at the end of the night.

I wanted something vaguely sweet, that could sit alongside bread and cheese, and not mar the final sips of wine. Oh, and it had to travel well, because no one likes a cake that shows up slumped and tired looking.

This cake fit the bill -- and almost fit it too well. It is a decidedly every day cake. It begs for a dressing of some sort: I dreamed of whole milk yogurt, ice cream, or whipped cream would do too. Far from showy, it is a stable cake, more like a large, stoic scone than a dense, moist buttermilk shortcake.

I carried home half the cake at the end of the night, and the next day is where I discovered the glory of it all: crumbled on top of my morning yogurt, a slender slice mid afternoon, even a bite or two before dinner.

An every day cake! Eat cake every day? Yes!

Berry Buttermilk Cake, Adapted slightly from 101 Cookbooks. 

2 1/2 cups whole wheat pastry flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
1/2 cup fine-grain natural cane sugar (or brown sugar)
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 eggs
1 cup buttermilk
1/4 cup butter, melted and cooled a bit
zest of 2 lemons
1 cup + berries (mixed or strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, alone. The berries add some needed moisture, so don't go too over the top, but be liberal. You'll be glad.)
3 tablespoons large grain raw sugar

Preheat oven to 400F degrees, racks in the middle. Grease and flour (or line bottom with parchment paper) one 11-inch tart/quiche/pie pan.
Combine the flour, baking powder, and sugar and salt in a large bowl. In a separate smaller bowl whisk together the eggs and the buttermilk, whisk in the melted butter, and the lemon zest. Pour the buttermilk mixture over the flour mixture and stir until just combined - try not to over mix.
Spoon the batter into the prepared pan, pushing out toward the edges. Now drop the berries across top. Sprinkle with the large grain sugar. Bake for about 20-25 minutes or until cake is set (or a toothpick in the center comes out clean), and a touch golden on top.
Heidi estimates it serves 12, in my opinion that was ambitious, unless your heaping on ice cream or dealing with light sweet eaters.

I Leave You With Lemon Curd

Lemons. My roommate brought home a fresh bag full of them the other day. This was good, since we were down to our final two or three. I wasn't rationing them, more wondering what I'd do when they weren't around to grab.

In addition to lemon juice in fresh vinaigrette and lemon juice squeezed into mint tea and topped with lots of honey to ease an aching throat, I've been making (and eating) a lot of lemon curd.

Lemon curd wasn't something I made or thought much about. A few summers ago I made a batch to slide across round yellow cakes that were topped with blueberries and served at a friend's bridal shower. It was easy, and good, and I always thought I'd make it again.

But I didn't. Maybe because unlike the Brits, I don't love lemon curd on toast or scones. I think its pretty perfect eaten alone, spoonful by guilty spoonful, or in a pie, or tart, or cake, or something equally decadent. Perhaps spooned over a pile of berries, if I was feeling more pious? But I am hardly ever feeling that pious, so I hardly ever made lemon curd.

Until this spring. The availability of lemons and the ease of making it lead to an intoxicating combination. I could easily sneak into the kitchen, and a few minutes later have a jar of bright yellow curd cooling in the fridge. It never lasted more than a day or two, maybe three if I was distracted by something different.

I found David Lebovitz's recipe amazingly easy. There are all sorts of lemon curd recipes that call for double boilers and the like. David's doesn't. I love it for this simplicity, and because it works, producing tart-sweet, curstardy curd perfect for eating on sunny San Francisco afternoons, when getting outdoors just isn't an option.

Lemon curd, my perfect book writing escape.

Lemon Tea Cake Makes Me Happy

The weekend is over. It was a mess of dinners, drinks, and late nights that morphed into sunny days, trips to the market, and spring cleaning. Now I am back to the drudgery of fussing over every sentence, every thought, every comma in my book manuscript. It isn't always fun work. Most of the time my eyes feel blurry, my heart feels fluttery, and my body feels like all its energy has been sucked away.

I am so glad I have these lemony muffins in my arsenal to remind me that the world is full of delicious things best enjoyed far from a computer screen. 

They look a little plain, don't they? And maybe for some they are. You see they aren't packed with something juicy or topped with swirls of cream or lemon spiked frosting. They are a demure tea cake made with half-wheat flour which gave them a crumbly, almost polenta like texture. The glaze consists of a vanilla bean mingling with some sugar and lemon juice in a pot on the stove while I checked my email frantically. Is anyone else out there a multi-tasker?

My tasks were finished just in time to pull the small cakes out of the oven and sit with one in the dining room for a few quiet minutes that included nothing but the stripe of sunshine across the table.

Lemon Yogurt Tea Cakes (based on a Ina recipe, via Smitten Kitchen, with a few modifications of my own)
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour (I used 1/2 whole wheat pastry flour and loved the crumb it created)
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1 cup plain whole-milk yogurt
1 cup plus 1 tablespoon sugar
3 extra-large eggs
2 teaspoons grated lemon zest (approximately 2 lemons)
1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1/3 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice
1 vanilla bean, split
Preheat the oven to 350°F. Grease and paper a 12 cup muffin tin. 
Sift together 1 1/2 cups flour, baking powder, and salt into 1 bowl. In another bowl, whisk together the yogurt, 1 cup sugar, the eggs, lemon zest, vanilla and oil. Slowly whisk the dry ingredients into the wet ingredients. Pour the batter into the prepared pan and bake for about 30 (+) minutes -- Smitten Kitchen's recipe was for a loaf, but I wanted tea cakes and used a muffin tin. Thus, while baking I had to watch carefully. My baked in about 35 minutes.
Meanwhile, cook the 1/3 cup lemon juice, vanilla bean, and remaining 1 tablespoon sugar in a small pan until the sugar dissolves and the mixture is clear. Remove vanilla bean. Set aside.
When the tea cakes are done, allow them to cool in the pan for 10 minutes before flipping out onto a cooling rack. Carefully place on a baking rack over a sheet pan. While still warm, pour the lemon-sugar mixture over the cake and allow it to soak in (a pastry brush works great for this, as does using a toothpick to make tiny holes that draw the syrup in better). Cool.

Weekend, Again

I was off in the woods for most of the week, revising my book manuscript. It's due in six-and-a-half weeks if you're counting (and I am). I ventured into the woods with a bag of groceries, but managed not to cook at all. At times this could be treacherous, but when I'm deep in the creative process I actually enjoy an edited diet centered mostly on toasted Acme walnut bread: toast with jam, hot coffee, and milk in the morning. Toast with cheese, sliced avocado, or egg at noon time. Wilted greens or salads with roasted chicken and a plank of toast for dinner, yum.

But a girl has to come back and eat! We have been spending Saturday mornings at a new neighborhood spot called Local: Mission Eatery. A couple of Saturdays we have even been the first people there, waiting expectantly for the doors to open.

First we crawl to the very back, where the Knead Patisserie girls pour strong cups of coffee and offers petite lemon loafs, airy brioche, scones with whipped cream, and several bite sized Frenchie pastries: one stuffed with rum spiked custard, another dusted with cinnamon and sugar.

After coffee, the paper, and sweets we move (slowly) into brunch. For the past two weeks it has been bowls full of grits topped with sausage, ricotta, and smoked greens.

Can you tell I'd be just as happy to forgo Friday and head straight into tomorrow morning? If only I could.

P.S. This photo was taken last Saturday at Local: Mission Eatery. I love how it is slightly messy. We were already well into our breakfast routine, the paper and numerous cookbooks spread out around us, pastries nearly finished. I love routines.

Road Trip Granola

This morning I had the most lovely breakfast. I was up early, watching the morning sunlight stream into the kitchen and thinking about the day ahead: breakfast, coffee, revisions, revisions; coffee, lunch, revisions, revisions; yoga, dinner, revisions, revisions. Yes, crunch time has begun.

The granola in my bowl this morning was another batch made from a recipe I first tried a couple of months ago. I christened it Road Trip Granola after packaging up a bag to send along with friends Ursula and Chris as they drove slowly but surely from San Francisco to New York.

I am pretty sure the granola kept them alive while they maneuvered snow and ice, RV villages, truck stops, and Wal-Marts all across America. Now it sustains me through sunny San Francisco days; maybe it will sustain you too?

P.S. This granola is so good (spicy, sweet, even a tad salty) that it is perfect not only for breakfast but as a mid-afternoon snack, or, even dessert while reading or movie viewing. Just watch out for little oaty crumbs; they will stick to your fingers and the front of your shirt.

Road Trip Granola aka Maple Granola from MS Living February 2010. Makes 7 cups. 
3 cups rolled oats
1 cup dried unsweetened coconut chips
1 cup pecans or walnuts, quartered
1/2 cup pure maple syrup
1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil (I used a scant 1/4 cup and it turned out fine)
1/2 cup packed light-brown sugar (I used 1/4 cup because I didn't want it too sweet. It was perfect!)
1/4 cup sesame seeds
1 teaspoon coarse salt
3/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1/2 cup golden raisins
Preheat oven to 300 degrees. Mix together oats, coconut, nuts, syrup, oil, sugar, sesame seeds, salt, and nutmeg. Spread granola in an even layer on a rimmed baking sheet. Bake, stirring every 10 minutes, for 40 minutes. Add raisins, and bake until granola is toasted, about 10 minutes more. Let cool completely.

Strata: A Holiday Tale & Recipe

This post appeared on The Kitchn yesterday. Thank you Kitchn!

I am not exactly sure what most people eat for breakfast on Christmas morning. There is often a lot of talk about dinner: roasts and hams, traditional side dishes, and glittering desserts. But the day has to start somehow; you can’t dig through stockings and unwrap presents on an empty stomach. And it’s Christmas, so it better be special. That means no bowls of cold cereal or skimpy slices of toast.

For as long as I can remember we have eaten the same breakfast every Christmas morning: my mother’s savory egg strata, citrusy ambrosia made from my Southern Grandmother’s recipe, and a wreath shaped bread stuffed with walnuts, cinnamon, and raisins, drizzled with vanilla glaze, and doused with red and green sprinkles, an annual gift from a dear friend.

My Mother prepares the strata, essentially a savory bread pudding with eggs, sausage, and cheddar cheese, the day before and bakes it on Christmas morning. My Dad wakes up early, lights a fire, and queues some holiday music. It is hard to say what wakes me first: the eggy, cheesy smell of the strata, the noise of coffee percolating, or music and the sounds of rustling paper as the dog pokes her nose into the presents.

As a child we were encouraged to “eat a little something first” before starting to open the gifts. This didn’t work then, and it doesn’t now. Even as a group of adults, we still eat buffet style, loading up a plate in the dining room before sitting around the tree to poke through stockings and presents. We lounge and pick at the breakfast food all day. My brother eats seconds and thirds of the strata, I always have at least two hunks of the sweet holiday bread. And several cups of coffee. And, eventually, a big nap.

By the end of the morning it is usually afternoon. We marvel at the fact that the breakfast platters have been picked clean, stare at the papers and ribbons strewn across the living room, and ponder taking a walk in the snow. “Fresh air would be good, right?” someone always says. “After all, it will be time for dinner soon.”

Christmas Breakfast Strata
From my family to yours; enjoy!
6 slices bread, preferably a dense Italian style loaf, cut 3/4 of an inch thick
1 pound pork sausage
1 teaspoon prepared mustard
1 ample cup shredded cheddar cheese (it’s Christmas, go big with the cheese!)
4 eggs, slightly beaten
1 and 1/2 cup whole milk
3/4 cup half and half
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon pepper
dash of nutmeg
1 teaspoon Worchestershire sauce

Trim crust from bread and fit it into the bottom of a 10 by 16 baking pan. Brown sausage and drain off any excess fat. Stir mustard into sausage. Spoon sausage evenly over bread, and sprinkle with grated cheese. Combine remaining ingredients (eggs, milk, half and half, salt, pepper, nutmeg, and Worchestershire sauce) and then pour over cheese and sausage. Bake at 350 for 25 to 30 minutes.

This can be made the day before and kept in the refrigerator. Allow extra time for baking if it has been refrigerated.
Serves 4 to 6 people.

Christmas Breakfast Strata

Curious about this? Head over to The Kitchn today to find the recipe and learn more about the breakfast strata my family eats every Christmas morning.
Thank you to The Kitchn for letting me do another guest post!