My Mom's Chocolate Chip Cookies

After I send this recipe out into the world, I'm afraid my life as a food blogger will be over.  You will have no use for me anymore.  You'll have seen the best I have to offer, and it's all downhill from here.

Before you leave, let me at first sing the praises of my mom.  She is by far my most faithful and engaged reader, so I can be sure she will see this and blush.  For years, both my mom and I were on separate journeys to find the perfect chocolate chip cookie.  Neither of us thought it could be all that hard, but it WAS, and it eluded us for a long time. They were too airy, too cakey, too crisp, had too big a crumb.  Maybe some of you share this frustration.  My mom figured it out before I did, and these are the result.  They are the only chocolate chip cookies I've made for the last seven years.  They are quick (just one bowl) and have at least four secrets:  1) One egg and one egg yolk instead of two eggs 2) More brown sugar than white sugar 3) Melted butter so they don't require a mixer (which beats too much air into the batter) and 4) More oatmeal than flour.  I'm sure you've heard this sort of "perfect cookie--your search has ended!" claim before.  Please consider all other claims completely misleading.

In addition to her cookie creation prowess, here are some other things I like about my mom:

• She's always scheming about how to eat outside even in the most miserable weather
• Her closet is the most stylish 57 year-old closet you'll ever see
• She expertly mixes her metaphors (to hilarious effect)
• She is constantly helping people--making meals, volunteering at her local food bank, sponsoring refugees
• She innately knows how to be a stellar grandmother
• She insists she's an introvert and we laugh harder each time

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.  Thanks for giving me so much love and good food and for always being in my corner.  I love you.

P.S. I made these last night for our Mother's Day BBQ, which my parents couldn't be at because of my dad's back surgery.  He pulled through great, but we missed them.  My sister Naomi and her family were over, and we talked about how crazy it is that we're both mothers now.  I'm thankful for her this Mother's Day, too.

Margaret Murphy's Chocolate Chip Cookies

1 1/2 c. flour
2 c. old fashioned oats
1 c. brown sugar
1/2 c. white sugar
1 ts. baking soda
pinch salt
2 cubes (1 cup) unsalted butter, melted and cooled
1 egg and 1 egg yolk
1 ts. vanilla
1/2 bag chocolate chips (Can add more if you want.  This is how I get two batches out of one bag)
1 c. coarsely chopped pecans (I toast mine)
1 c. dried cherries (optional)

Preheat oven to 350.  In medium bowl, combine flour, oatmeal,sugars, salt, and baking soda.  Add egg, egg yolk, melted butter, and vanilla, stir once or twice, then add chocolate chips and nuts and dried cherries (if using).  Refrigerate dough for about 30 minutes to firm it up.  Place balls of cookie dough on cookie sheets lined with parchment paper, and bake for about 9 minutes.  Take them out while they still a little underdone.  Once they sit for 15 minutes, they'll be just right.

Pappardelle with Lentils, Sausage, and Kale

     

If Yancey and I had kept stats on our fights over our 14-year marriage, most of the pie chart would be taken up with "fights because Sarah was hungry."  I don't know if I technically have low blood sugar, but anecdotally, I do.  Famously so. We argue about the dumbest things while I'm trying to get dinner on the table.  When we finally sit down and the wine is poured, all of the sudden I become congenial and chatty and actually care about what happened during Yancey's day.  Sometimes we think this is funny and other times we don't. Often I can't rise above everyday annoyances because, as Yancey says, I'm in them. Rising above seems mostly to happen later. After the kids are in bed.  If you've got more zen than I do, please send it through the miles.

So last night while I was making this pasta, I couldn't really focus on how lucky I was to be in my kitchen about to eat with my family because I was too hungry.  Yancey's been getting home at 7:00, and since I'm on a kid schedule, that means I've eaten lunch at 11:00.  And lately, mostly thanks to this blog, I've been forgetting to snack.  You KNOW something's up when that happens.

But once we sat down, I was thankful, and I'm thankful all over again remembering how good this pasta was. I hope it's alright with you that I don't have a problem tooting my own culinary horn.  All my other shortcomings even things out, believe me.  Though Emily says I shouldn't too too self-deprecating here.  I told her my goal was to be the Anne Lamott of food writing.  Anne doesn't really do anything too exciting in her life. She just makes fun of herself and writes about donuts and sleeping in and she's sold millions of books.  That's a compliment, Ms. Lamott.

If you don't like dark, leafy greens, you are SOL on this blog lately.  Because this pasta features another one. Imagine an announcer's voice, like that red-haired guy on Letterman.   And tonight, it's BLAAAACK D-I-N-O KALE!!!  It's lusciously textured, and looks like this:



It's not actually black, but it's so much darker than curly or red kale that it's black by comparison.  I got it at my nearest PCC (Seward Park) and they often have it.  I sauteed it down with lots of garlic and olive oil (surprise), found some dried pappardelle from Trader Joe's in my cupboard, and am still trucking along with my big jar of lentils.

I worry about it boring you (so I don't list this every time) but, if I were reading this recipe on someone else's blog, here are the options/substitutions/opinions that would run through my mind:

• I don't have sausage, so I'm leaving it out.
• There's no way I'm going to PCC for triceratops kale or whatever that is.  I'll use spinach instead.
• Like I have time to cook lentils.  I'm going to use those pre-cooked kind they sell at Trader Joe's.
• All I want is the greens, pasta, and garlic.
• All I have is penne, so I'm using that instead.
• Why does she have ricotta salata around?  What is that anyway?  I'm using parmesan instead.

This would be a perfectly acceptable conversation to have with this recipe.  I encourage it.  Any pasta recipe in the world is just a combination that someone happened upon and decided to share, and the combinations are so utterly endless.  And of course, if you happen upon one you're excited about, I want to hear about it.

Pappardelle with Lentils, Sausage, and Kale
(serves 4)

8 oz. pappardelle (broad, flat egg noodles--I broke mine into smaller pieces) 0r other dried pasta
3 c. cooked lentils (cook 2 c. dried lentils in lots of boiling water for about 25 minutes and drain)
1 big bunch coarsely chopped and de-ribbed dino kale or other leafy green (kale, chard, spinach, broccoli raab)
4 cloves garlic, minced
couple big glugs olive oil
1 lb. cooked Italian sausage
1 c. ricotta salata or feta, cubed
juice of one lemon
salt and pepper
red pepper flakes
chopped fresh oregano (optional.  I have it coming out my ears)

Cook pasta in a big pot of boiling water and brown sausage in a skillet.

Meanwhile, heat olive oil in another big skillet.  Add kale and garlic and saute until wilted and tender, about 10 minutes.  Salt to taste.

Drain pasta.  Add pasta, lentils, sausage, and ricotta salata to kale mixture in the skillet and toss gently.  Salt and pepper to taste and add lemon juice.  Serve with more cheese, red pepper flakes, and fresh oregano on top.

Ginger Tea with Friends and Strangers

In addition to Mark Bittman, I have another new crush. It's on the poet Naomi Shihab Nye who Emily and I saw last night as part of this season's Seattle Arts and Lectures series at Benaroya Hall.  I am still basking in everything she said, her haunting poems, sweet smile (she signed my book), sense of humor, and the way she uses language to promote peace and reconciliation.  Emily and I have been exchanging little remembrances and bits of poems all day via email.  I just love that, in a world of tweeter (I know it's Twitter.  I was making a joke) Seattleites are still packing out halls to hear poetry.  I cut her picture from the program and put it on my bulletin board. Then I took a picture of that.  I'm leaving it up for awhile as a reminder of how I want to be in the world.



She read a poem called Red Brocade, and I knew two things immediately.  1) I had to have the book no matter what and 2) This poem was going in today's post.  Thankfully, 19 Varieties of Gazelle:  Poems of the Middle East was in paperback for just $6.99.  Also, thankfully, some of you now trust me enough to let me talk about poetry instead of food.  Don't worry.  This is still about food.  And so much more.

Naomi (we're sort of friends since she signed my book, so I'm dropping formalities) is Palestinian-American, and has lot of relatives and friends in Palestine who are suffering.  She writes about the human cost of war in a way that makes you put down the book and cry.  And yet she's not a pessimist--not even close.  She celebrates the smallest, most intimate beauties in everyday life, honoring people she loves and strangers she's never met.  

This poem praises the power of food to bring people together and the magic of hospitality. And it gives us a little chiding about the curse of busyness.  It's my new anthem.

Red Brocade
Naomi Shihab Nye, from 19 Varieties of Gazelle

The Arabs used to say,
When a stranger appears at your door,
feed him for three days
before asking who he is,
where he’s come from,
where he’s headed.
That way, he’ll have strength
enough to answer.
Or, by then you’ll be
such good friends
you don’t care.

Let’s go back to that.
Rice? Pine Nuts?
Here, take the red brocade pillow.
My child will serve water
to your horse.

No, I was not busy when you came!
I was not preparing to be busy.
That’s the armor everyone put on
to pretend they had a purpose
in the world.

I refuse to be claimed.
Your plate is waiting.
We will snip fresh mint
into your tea.

-------------------------------

I refuse to be claimed!  I refuse to be claimed by a culture that says achieving is more important than loving. I refuse to be too busy to eat together, refuse to wear busyness like a badge of honor.  I want to lay out the "red brocade pillow" for friends and strangers.  I'm a long way from always doing it without hesitation, but I'm getting closer.

I love the line "We will snip fresh mint/into your tea."  Maybe because I just planted a little mint pot last weekend (and you know my obsession with mint).  Or maybe because offering a drink to someone is the first thing I do when they walk in the door.  Or maybe because it gives me a simple, delicious way to make this poetry posting into a food posting.



I've been noticing lately how many people in my life don't drink coffee, caffeinated tea, or alcohol.  This is something I can offer them that's still a treat, something that says, "Here--sit on the best pillow."  You don't have to use fresh mint.  I've made it many times with just lemon, ginger, and honey.  You can also brew peppermint or green tea and use that as a base instead of water.

This won't surprise some of you, but I'm tearing up as I write today because this blog has given me unimagined ways to lay out the red brocade pillow.  Thank you for sharing tea with me so often even if we can't be in the same kitchen.

Ginger Lemon Tea with Fresh Mint
(double if more than two people are drinking it)

3 cups boiling water
juice of one lemon + 1/2 lemon, thinly sliced
one inch chunk of ginger, peeled and thinly sliced
at least 4 Tb. honey (can make it sweeter if you want)
handful fresh mint leaves

In a tempered glass beaker or teapot, put lemon juice, lemon slices, ginger, and honey.  Pour hot water over and stir.  Add mint at the last minute.  It will get brown, but still look and taste delicious.  You can also let this sit around to cool and then pour it over ice later.

Parchment Baked Tilapia

All things considered, I like running outdoors a lot better than sweating it out on the treadmill. But the treadmill has a huge factor in the pro column--magazines.  Glorious magazines left by other gym patrons, waiting to be oogled and pilfered by yours truly.  Calm down.  I don't take the whole magazine, but I do rip out recipes.  Last week I ripped out three recipes on my 3.5 mile run, and the guy next to me didn't notice at all.  Or at least he kindly pretended not to notice.

One recipe I "borrowed" was from this month's Martha Stewart Living, and it was for bass cooked in parchment paper.  If I knew I wouldn't lose readership, I'd devote the next 10 postings to the wonders of parchment paper.  One little paragraph? Please?  Thank you.  It used to be that, when I read recipes which demanded parchment paper, I felt left out.  For one, I could never find it in the grocery store.  And if I could, it was a measly little roll for $5.99.  And I've seen some recipes that say you can substitute waxed paper, but that's not true.  Don't believe them.  So, you wonder aloud, how did The Leftoverist solve this problem?  

Second paragraph.  Sorry.  All is well now that I have begun buying the GIANT box of parchment paper at Cash and Carry.  It sits on top of my fridge, and it's like a security blanket.  Or a fat bank account.  Or any number of comforting things.  It costs around 35 dollars (I know), but it will last me at least until the end of Obama's second term.  (Oh yes. He will have one.) The sheets are flat (no roly poly nonsense) and are restaurant-size full sheets, which means you can get two home baking sheets out of them.  

Third paragraph.  Please stay with me.  Things I use it for (and flagrantly because I have so much):  nachos, cookies, roasted vegetables, oven fries, bacon, as wrapping paper, and between layers of baked goods that I'm giving as gifts.  And now, steaming fish.  Tilapia, to be exact.


Martha's recipe was black bass with soy sauce, sugar, and julienned ginger, and that would have been delicious.  You could also use the dressing from the broccoli bowl posting.  I happened to have some lemongrass dressing around that I made earlier in the week, so I used that along with some serrano peppers, green onions, and red chili flakes.

I stopped at Mutual Fish (a treat I allow myself every 6 or 8 weeks) and noticed that tilapia was only $3.99/lb, and they filleted it right in front of me.  At that price, we can eat this more often.  And Milo and Loretta had more fun in there than if we had paid $40 to go the Pacific Science Center.

So back to the parchment paper.  If you don't have it, I suppose you could steam this fish in foil and it would turn out fine.  My pushy advice is to find a friend or two that might want to go in on a box of the blessed paper.  You might fight over who gets to keep it on top of their fridge, though.

P.S. We ate this with steamed rice and zucchini that was stir-fried with garlic and a little more of the lemongrass dressing.



Parchment Baked Tilapia
adapted from Martha Stewart Living (May 2009)

4 8 oz. fillets of firm-fleshed mild fish (like bass or tilapia)
6 Tb. soy sauce whisked with 1 ts. sugar OR 8 Tb. lemongrass dressing (recipe follows)
6 Tb. julienned (matchstick-shaped) fresh ginger
1/4 c. chopped green onions
1 serrano chile, seeded and cut into rings
red chile flakes

Preheat oven to 400.  Place each fillet in the center of a piece of parchment paper that's big enough to fold up around it.  Top each with a drizzle of soy mixture or lemongrass dressing and a scattering of ginger, green onions, serrano, and chile flakes.  Fold edges to seal, place on a baking sheet and bake for 10-12 minutes.

Lemongrass Dressing
from Sally Schneider's A New Way to Cook--I'd double this if you're going to the trouble to make it

3 Tb. fresh lime juice
2 Tb. fish sauce
1 Tb. rice vinegar
1 1/2 ts. sesame oil
1 Tb. + 1 ts. sugar
2 ts. grated fresh ginger
1 ts. minced fresh lemongrass (inner white bulb only)
pinch of red pepper flakes

Combine everything as much in advance as possible.  The dressing is better as the flavors develop.

Banana Oat Bran Pancakes

Almost every morning, the kids wake up before I do.  Loretta might sing to herself in her crib for awhile if I'm lucky, and Wyatt usually wanders in and asks, "What's for breakfast, Mom?"  Is he a kid after my own heart or what?  I'll usually mutter "toast" or "something that doesn't require an alert mother," but this doesn't prevent him from asking the daily question--"Can you make pancakes?"

This prompts a complex algorithm.  I factor in the following variables:  Do I have buttermilk? (90% of the time, I do.  That's how I roll.)  Should I be eating oatmeal this morning instead?  What time is it?  Should I say "no" to Wyatt just to prove I'm not a total pushover?  At least one morning a week, my answer is "Yes!".  It's quite hard to resist Wyatt, and I love pancakes maybe even more than he does.

I didn't use to care for them much until I got pregnant with Wyatt.  Maybe that's why they're so ingrained in his cute little DNA.  Another thing I craved during my pregnancy was milk.  Pancakes and milk, as you know, are in a serious relationship.

So for the last six years, I've experimented quite a bit with little variations, and here's the current favorite.  I don't like pancakes made from a mix or with plain old milk.  I always use buttermilk, or sometimes yogurt if I run out of that.  I need something cultured to give them tang and tenderness.  Most recipes call for oil or melted butter, and I like this one because it has neither of those.  I got it off the movie No Reservations--that Catherine Zeta Jones chef movie.  The movie itself wasn't very good, mostly because I found her transformation from bitch to loving aunt lacking credibility.  But the food scenes and the pancake recipe in the extras made up for it.  Okay--now that I think about it, the movie must not have been that bad if I hung around for the extras.  Just like I only read James Joyce, I normally only watch extremely inaccessible indie films.  This was the one exception.

If you're like me, you probably have on-the-brink bananas around quite often, and this is a great way to use them up--much less of a commitment than banana bread.  And I can't write about banana pancakes without giving a shout-out to my mother-in-law Phyllis, with whom I enjoyed many memorable banana pancakes during our trip to China when I was pregnant with Wyatt.

Banana Oat Bran Pancakes
1 c. all-purpose flour
1/2 c. oat bran or whole wheat flour
pinch salt
1 Tb. sugar
1 Tb. baking powder
1/4 ts. baking soda
2 eggs
1 1/2 c. buttermilk
1 very ripe banana, mashed

Heat up a griddle on medium heat.

Combine dry ingredients in medium bowl.  Whisk eggs and buttermilk together in a small bowl. Add buttermilk mixture and mashed banana to dry ingredients, stirring just until blended.  Drop 1/4 cupfuls onto hot griddle, flipping after bubbles have formed.  Serve with sliced bananas and toasted walnuts, if you like.  I also grated some orange zest over mine because I had a half-zested orange sitting on the cutting board.  That turned out to be fortunate.