Posts Tagged ‘food’

Successful gardening is a combination of art, science and luck. You can do everything by the book, and one season, Mother Nature will reward you with a bountiful harvest. The next season, when you think you’ve got it all figured out, she’ll give you nothing more than a cluster of dead plants.

That’s why, if there’s such a thing as a foolproof plant, I grow it. Perennials are the perfect example: you plant them once, and they come back year after year, with little or no work, sometimes bigger and stronger with every season. In the vegetable garden, asparagus is one of those delicious, reliable crops that comes back every year. Onions, chives and some herbs are favorites as well.

I’ve grown peas for over 50 years…from my very first gardening season. In my young days, I sowed the standard English peas that everyone is familiar with. Able to withstand cold and damp soil, peas have always been the first to go in the ground. I still go by the old saying: “Plant your peas on St. Patrick’s Day.”

But in the late 60’s, the Sugar Snap pea was introduced. It became an AAS winner in 1979, and later was awarded the most popular vegetable of all time! What made it different from standard peas was that you could eat the entire pod: the peas and the outside shell. They were sweet, they were prolific, and incredibly easy to grow. Once I discovered Sugar Snaps, I grew no other pea.

If you let Sugar Snap pea pods grow to their fullest, you’ll get a nice, plump crunchy pod with sweet, juicy peas on the inside. There’s no need to cook these peas…they’re at their most flavorful when eaten raw, straight off the vine.

Sugar Snap peas in early June: well over 6′ tall!

But what makes Sugar Snaps foolproof is that you can eat them at any point during the growing season. Pick them early, when they’re flat and small, and use them in a stir fry. Wait until they plump up, and they make a refreshing crunchy treat. And when the season ends, when your pea plants start to wither in the summer sun and it’s time to pull the plants out of the ground and toss them in the compost pile, you can still pick off every single tiny pod left on the plants for that last farewell snack.

They say you can grow peas in the fall, but I’ve had limited success. There’s something magical about growing peas in the spring. They’re one of the first plants to grow, when the weather is still cold and damp, tiny green shoots sprouting out of the cold (sometimes snow-covered) soil…a sign of better, warmer, sweeter days to come.

The warm weather has finally arrived here in New England, and that means it’s time to break out a classic summer recipe.

It’s interesting that an Eastern European country that is as far north as Newfoundland has one of the most refreshing cold summer soups of any country in Europe. It’s a cold beet soup called Šaltibarščiai (pronounced shul-tih barsh-chay) and it’s classic Lithuanian cooking at its best.

No summer was complete without my Mom’s Šaltibarščiai on the table, and my Dad always insisted on eating it with boiled potatoes on the side. Now residing in an assisted living facility, my Mom has not had this soup in many years, so I made her a batch when she came to visit recently.

There are many different variations of this soup. For example, many Lithuanians today use keffir instead of buttermilk. My Mom insists buttermilk tastes better.

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1 quart buttermilk
4 hard-boiled eggs, peeled and chopped
3 cucumbers, peeled, seeded and chopped
8 beets, cooked, peeled and chopped
1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh dill
1 scallion, finely chopped, greens only
salt
a pile of boiled potatoes (optional)

 

Pour the buttermilk into a large bowl. If it’s very thick, you can dilute it a bit with fresh water.

Peel and chop the eggs and toss them in the bowl. Peel, seed and chop the cukes…then into the bowl.

I love Love Beets, hermetically sealed cooked and peeled beets, ready to use, available in most supermarkets. (In the old days, my Mom would simply use canned beets.) I open a couple of packs of Love Beets, pouring the beet juice into the bowl. I chop the beets and add them as well.

Grab some fresh dill and chop it finely. Add it to the bowl. Finely chop the greens of one or two scallions and sprinkle some salt on them. Rub the salt into the scallions, mashing them a bit, softening them. Then add the to the bowl.

Stir everything together, put a lid on the bowl, and let it chill in the fridge for a few hours.

Remove from fridge, stir, and season with more salt if needed.

 

It’s Father’s Day. Here’s a story about my Mom’s dad, my grandfather. Born in Lithuania, he came here during WWII. He was a short man, barely 5’5″ tall, but he was the strongest man I ever knew. As a kid, I watched him crush walnuts, and even hazelnuts, in his bare hands. He would go out into the water at Rockaway Beach, and the waves would hit him head-on, but never knock him down. He had little or no formal education, but he could fix or build anything, from concrete driveways to dog houses. And no matter what chore he took on, he wore a white shirt and tie with a vest while he did it. He never became a US citizen because he had a hard time with the English language, but he maintained his legal alien status, and spoke enough to work in the kitchens of several high-end restaurants in Queens, NY.

My grandfather, Vaclovas Lukosevicius. A helluva name and a helluva guy. Now I know where I got my receding hairline!

I smoked my first cigarette with him when I was 12, and we had a good talk about it after my face returned to a lighter shade of blue-green. We would walk to his favorite bar on Jamaica Avenue in Richmond Hill, the Triangle Hofbrau (it’s still there) and they let me sit at the bar, snacking on pretzels with a 7-Up while he enjoyed a beer. My Mom was an only child, so I was the only grandson, and nobody made me feel more special than he did.

One of my grandfather’s passions was horseradish…homegrown, homemade horseradish.

It’s been almost 50 years since I watched my grandfather dig the long, dirty, gnarled horseradish roots out of his garden with a sharp spade, lunging at the ground with all of his strength to cut through the thick fibers of the plant.

After harvesting a large piece, he would wash the dirt from it and then peel it, leaving behind a beautifully smooth white root.

He had a large bowl set under a grater, and he would hand grate the horseradish root with incredible speed. But no matter how fast he went, the potent vapors released by the root would make their way to his eyes, and he was forced to stop several times to wipe the tears away with his old handkerchief and regain his composure before returning to grate the root again.

Onions were child’s play compared to horseradish, and I understood why he did all the preparation just outside of the kitchen door of his Queens, NY home.

Once grated, he would add some water, vinegar, and salt, and his prepared horseradish was complete. He’d store it in tightly sealed glass jars in the fridge, and when it was time to sample the goods, he would carefully open a jar, poke his knife in, and spread the prepared horseradish over beef, beets, twice-smoked bacon, or anything else he desired.
I’d watch his face slowly turn red, small beads of perspiration developing on his forehead, and he’d turn and smile at me and tell me in Lithuanian: “Labai skanu!” (Very tasty!)

At the age of 10, I couldn’t figure out what he saw in horseradish, but it didn’t take long before I was hooked myself, as it was a staple at every family dinner table.

Opting for the stuff that came in a jar in the supermarket, I never made my own prepared horseradish until almost 50 years later.

I’ve had a huge horseradish plant growing in my garden for years, and I just never got around to doing anything with it. But the other night, as I was preparing my cocktail sauce recipe and I realized that I was out of prepared horseradish, it became clear that the time of reckoning had arrived. It was time, in the finest tradition of my grandfather, to make my own prepared horseradish.

Freshly harvested horseradish roots

Freshly harvested horseradish roots

I went out to the yard with a sharp shovel and lunged at the horseradish plant, splitting a few roots off of the main crown. I pulled them out of the ground, detached the long leaves, and headed back to the kitchen.
Today’s kitchen technology gave me a distinct advantage over my grandfather, and after washing and peeling the root, I chopped it into smaller pieces and tossed them into a food processor. No hand grating necessary!
The processor pulverized the root in no time, and I added water, vinegar and salt as my grandfather did, being very careful not to stick my face too close to the opening of the processor where the vapors were their most powerful.
A small taste on my tongue just about had my eyeballs shoot out of my head, and I muttered silently to myself: “Labai skanu!”

My grandfather would be proud.

Horseradish is a member of the Brassicaceae family, which includes mustard, cabbage, wasabi, and broccoli. The horseradish root itself hardly has any aroma. But when you crush it, enzymes from the broken plant cells produce mustard oil, which irritates the mucous membranes of the sinuses and eyes. To keep the horseradish from losing its pungency and freshness, vinegar must be added immediately.

Prepared Horseradish

6 oz. fresh horseradish root, peeled
6 tablespoons water
3 tablespoons white vinegar
3 pinches of salt

Chop the horseradish root into small pieces and add water, vinegar and salt. Process until proper consistency is reached.
Careful! Use proper ventilation or the vapors will blow your eyeballs and sinuses out!

Despite what many of the labels on the bottles say, there are really only two kinds of balsamic vinegar: the highly prized, DOP-regulated, aceto balsamico tradizionale (or traditional balsamic vinegar)—and everything else.

 

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Much like the olive oil market, the world of balsamic vinegar has been so messed up and confused that what most of us consider to be balsamic vinegar really has nothing to do with the genuine article.

Aceto balsamico tradizionale is the pinnacle of all vinegars: produced by hand in small quantities using methods that are hundreds of years old, it has the consistency of maple syrup, and costs anywhere from $150 to $400 for a 3.4 ounce bottle.

That doesn’t mean there aren’t any good (even excellent) non-DOP balsamic vinegars out there. It just means you have to do a lot of label reading to make sure you’re getting a good thing. DOP stands for Denominazione de Origine Protetta, meaning food products whose origins are identifiable in the taste, texture or “perfume” of the product and produced in a specific region with all the ingredients coming from that region. This is all carefully overseen by the Italian government and it is a big deal when it comes to quality.

In order to bear the name aceto balsamico tradizionale, every aspect of its creation, from grape to bottle, is carefully regulated by DOP standards. The vinegar undergoes a lengthy transformation that takes a minimum of 12 years. To keep competition fair, each producer is allotted a specific number of bottles he can sell, which is indicated by a numbered tag on the bottle’s neck. Bottles from Modena are usually bulb-shaped, while bottles from Reggio nell’Emilia are bell-shaped. A red cap means the vinegar is at least 12 years old, while a vinegar that is 25 years of age or more has a gold cap.

Back in the 1980’s, when the balsamic vinegar craze hit the United States, many chefs looking for exotic ingredients in their dishes, started using balsamic vinegar. It became an overnight sensation, and the demand was too great for these small handmade batch producers to handle. And so the market for inexpensive balsamic vinegars was born: vinegars that bear little resemblance to the real thing, using ingredients like cider or red wine vinegar, sugar and artificial coloring.

So can you buy a good vinegar if you don’t have wads of money to spend?

Well, the next step down from the good stuff is called aceto balsamico condimento—what we see in the stores as Balsamic Vinegar of Modena (although some are produced outside of Modena) and they average in price from $20 to $60 a bottle. They’re kept in less expensive wood barrels, and are aged less than 12 years.

And then there’s everything else.

Some simple tips on what to look for on the ingredients label: Since the really good stuff is very expensive and should never be cooked or reduced, look for high quality non-DOP balsamic vinegars. Look for those from Modena and Reggio nell’Emilia with Consorzio di Balsamico Condimento on the label to guarantee the age. Even if this stuff is too expensive for you, at the very least, make sure that “grape must” is the first ingredient on the label and that its acidity is not above 7 percent.

I recently found a bottle of balsamic vinegar under the brand name Rozzano. A 34 oz bottle goes for about 9 bucks. Is it the good stuff? Not really. But does it work in a salad dressing or a marinade? Absolutely. The only ingredient listed is balsamic vinegar of Modena, and its acidity is 6%.

 

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Here’s a really good and simple recipe you can make with this inexpensive vinegar…

 

PORT WINE/BALSAMIC VINEGAR STEAK SAUCE

½ cup port wine
½ cup balsamic vinegar
¼ cup red grapes, sliced lengthwise (optional)

Place the ingredients in a small sauce pan over medium-high heat and reduce by half. Use this sauce on steaks, burgers, etc.

I love salmon in all forms but cooked. To me, cooking changes the true flavor of this fantastic fish, so I enjoy it raw (as in sashimi), smoked, and cured.

The best smoked salmon uses the gentle process of cold smoking. It’s something that the average homeowner can’t really do successfully, so I simply buy cold-smoked salmon when I crave it. I’ve made hot-smoked salmon at home with some success, but the fish is so delicate, you really have to keep an eye on it. It takes no time for a juicy, perfectly smoked piece of salmon to turn into a dry, overcooked hockey puck.

Curing, which is how you get Gravlax, is really quite simple. You just need to have enough patience to wait a few days before you can eat it.

There are many gravlax recipes out there.  Some use peppercorns, fennel, caraway, even Aquavit in the curing process.  My opinion is: if you’ve got a beautiful piece of fish, why mask the flavor of it? I go with the simplest recipe possible, featuring just 3 ingredients that cure the salmon: salt, sugar and fresh dill,  and I lean toward the salty versus sweet side.

The first step, of course, is to get the right piece of salmon. What you want is that beautiful, vibrant, almost-orange wild-caught Alaskan or Pacific salmon that costs more than you thought you were going to spend. Wild-caught means the salmon has eaten the foods it loves, a balanced diet consisting of bugs, fish, shrimp, and small invertebrates. A natural diet gives the meat of the fish that beautiful color and incredible flavor. What the salmon eats is very important because you are eating the salmon. Wild-caught salmon is high in Omega-3’s…the good fats.

A beautiful piece of wild-caught salmon laying on a bed of the cure.

 

I avoid Atlantic salmon at all costs. Unfortunately, most restaurants on the east coast serve Atlantic salmon because it’s less expensive. There’s a reason for that. Atlantic salmon is farmed in the USA, Canada and Europe, which means the fish are kept in crowded underwater pens and are fed food pellets that contain a number of nutrients and additives. Often, farmed fish are treated to prevent sea lice, and are given antibiotics to prevent diseases caused by their tight living quarters. When you buy Atlantic salmon in the fish store, you can spot it a mile away, because it’s pale with a tinge of gray, and its flavor is bland and lifeless. Farmed salmon is much lower in Omega-3’s.

If it doesn’t say wild-caught Alaskan or Pacific salmon, it isn’t! Previously frozen vs. fresh fish matters less than where it came from and how it was raised.

2 lbs. wild-caught salmon, skin on, pin bones removed
2/3 cup (100g) Kosher salt (I use Diamond Crystal)
1/3 cup (80g) sugar (I use natural beet sugar)
1 large bunch fresh dill, washed

 

If your fish monger hasn’t removed the pin bones from your salmon filet, you’ll need to get a pair of long-nose pliers and remove them. It’s not the worst thing in the world to leave them in there, but you really don’t want to be spitting bones out later.

The reason I mention that I use Diamond Crystal Kosher salt is because all Kosher salt does not weigh the same. Morton Kosher salt, for example, is much heavier by volume, so it weighs more even though you’re using the same cup measurement. In the case of Diamond Crystal, 2/3 cup weighs 100g. Same rules apply to the sugar.  This is really important point to keep in mind when you’re curing anything, fish or meat.

Get a non-reactive tray long enough to hold the salmon filet. I prefer glass.

Mix the salt and the sugar together, and sprinkle half of it evenly on the bottom of the glass tray. Lay the piece of salmon down on the cure, skin side down, and cover the top of the salmon with the rest of the cure evenly.

Lay the sprigs of dill on top of the cure, covering the entire piece of fish.

Cover everything with several layers of plastic wrap, pushing it down and tucking it into the corners for a tight fit.

Find a flat board or something similar (I used a clear plastic tray) and lay it on top of the plastic wrap.

Add heavy weights on top to press down evenly on all surfaces. I used cans of tomatoes.

Side view.

Place the tray in the fridge for 48-72 hours.

After 24 hours, remove the plastic wrap and, tilting the tray, baste the dill-covered salmon with the brine juices that have formed. Put clean plastic wrap on top, add the weights, and put it all back in the fridge for another 24 hours. Repeat that process at the 48-hour mark, if needed.

 

You’ll know the fish is fully cured when the thickest part of the filet is firm to the touch.

Unwrap the salmon, discarding the salt and sugar brine and the dill. Rinse the filet under cold running water and pat dry with paper towels.

I don’t like a ton of chopped dill imbedded into my gravlax as some do, but if you do, simply chop a bunch of dill, spread it out onto a board, and press the salmon into it flesh-side down.

To serve, place the gravlax skin-side down on a board. With a long, sharp narrow-bladed knife, slice the fish against the grain, on the diagonal, into thin pieces. Serve with mustard-dill sauce, chopped onion, capers, hard-boiled egg, bread, whatever you like.

Refrigerate any remaining gravlax immediately, wrapped in plastic wrap, for up to 2 weeks.

 

(My fresh dill bunch came with the roots intact, so I cut them off and placed them into the soil in my herb garden. New dill will sprout up quickly!)

 

 

 

 

 

 Over the years, I’ve tweaked this Asian marinade recipe, adding more ingredients. Feel free to use more or less according to your own taste. After all, that’s how any recipe becomes truly your own.
My wife is on a gluten-free diet, so I cook that way when possible. In this case, the soy sauce usually has wheat, so I use La Choy, a gluten-free brand.  You’ll notice two bottles below. I sometimes mix half regular soy sauce with half lite soy to cut the sodium.

 

10 lbs. chicken wings, the larger the better
1 cup soy sauce (I use La Choy, which is gluten-free)
1 small can (6 oz.) pineapple juice
2/3 cup brown sugar
1 tablespoon hoisin sauce
2 teaspoons chili garlic sauce
1 teaspoon granulated onion
1 teaspoon granulated garlic
1 teaspoon Chinese five spice
1 teaspoon sesame oil
1 teaspoon peanut satay sauce (optional)

Place the chicken pieces in a large  Ziploc bag. Whisk all the marinade ingredients together in a bowl. Add the marinade to the bag, seal it well, then squish the bag around so that the marinade makes contact with all the chicken.
To prevent accidental spills, place the bag in a clean bowl. Marinate the chicken for several hours at room temperature or overnight in the fridge, turning the bag once in a while to make sure everything gets an even exposure to the marinade.
The next day, pour off the marinade and discard it, removing the chicken wings from the bag. Place the wings on a cookie sheet lined with foil (I use Reynold’s non-stick) and bake at 325 degrees for about 30 minutes.

A SAD STOLI

Posted: June 4, 2017 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , ,

I thought I got this little bugger…

On January 23rd, I posted a recipe on this blog about herring appetizers my Mom would make and the Stolichnaya vodka she’d serve to wash them down. (http://wp.me/p1c1Nl-10B) My cousin, in the booze business, saw the post and passed it along to her friends at Stoli Elit, my favorite vodka. Next thing I know, a package arrived at my home, and inside was a big, beautiful bottle of Stoli Elit with a thank you card!

But…the seal on the bottle was broken…the bottle had been opened! I’m guessing that the intern in charge of sending my bottle to me reached into the big Stoli promotional closet full of bottles and accidentally grabbed one that someone took a swig from, and mailed it to me without giving it a good look first. So there I was…my favorite vodka in hand, but already opened. I really wanted to drink it…but I knew that I shouldn’t.

I didn’t have the heart to pour the vodka down the drain, so, with a deep sigh, I put the bottle in my garage until I would figure out what I could do with it.

Now, remember, this is a chipmunk story…

A week later, this little rat bastard tunneled through the area near the back door of my house. Suddenly, there was a hole in the ground that didn’t exist the day before. I had tried all the tricks of the trade in the past: smoke bombs, mouse poison…nothing worked. I don’t mind having chipmunks in my yard, but not tunneling right next to my house.

Suddenly, I had an epiphany: I would put that bottle of Stoli Elit to good use. I grabbed it, unscrewed the top, and jammed the bottle upside-down into the chipmunk hole, watching my beautiful elixir slowly gurgle its way out of the bottle and down into the underground tunnel system below my feet.

 

A reenactment of my “Stoli solution.” No actual bottles of Stoli Elit were damaged, and not a drop of additional vodka was spilled, during the photo shoot.

 

I covered the hole with a stone as a marker, and it remained unmoved for weeks. I thought my eradication was a success. No better way to go than drown in a bath in Stoli Elit, right?

Then, one day, a small hole, a new tunnel, appeared next to the stone. Maybe Stoli Elit is his favorite vodka, too.

I really thought I got this little bugger…

Many people are turned off by lamb because somewhere in their past, they had a horribly cooked piece of meat that ruined it for the rest of their lives. I’m here to tell you: don’t be sheepish! Try lamb again!

If you think lamb is too “gamey,” buy American lamb over New Zealand or Australian lamb. Although the animals are mostly pasture-raised, American lamb is larger and grain finished, which means a milder flavor.

I prefer 100% grass-fed lamb. You can find it from the US, but most of it comes from New Zealand. Having been to the country, I can tell you that the quality is unmatched and the grasslands in New Zealand are the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. New Zealand lamb is smaller and is slaughtered at a younger age than American lamb, making it very tender. In New Zealand, as well as many other countries, only an animal under 12 months of age and without incisors can be called “lamb.” No such labeling is required in the United States.

I love the baby lamb chops that look like miniature porterhouse steaks. You can find them in any supermarket. A good marinade will get rid of any of those flavors you don’t want. Here’s an easy recipe that I served at a party in my home for 40 people, many of whom claimed they didn’t like lamb or never had it before. By the end of dinner, the chops were gone!

lamb LTL

 

 

½ cup olive oil
¼ cup balsamic vinegar
2 cloves garlic, through a garlic press
1 tablespoon fresh rosemary, chopped
1 tablespoon honey
2 teaspoons Dijon mustard
1 teaspoon dried oregano
Salt and pepper
2 lbs. lamb chops

Place the lamb chops in a plastic bag. Combine all the ingredients for the marinade and pour it over lamb. Seal the bag and squish it around so that the marinade reaches every part of the chops. Place it in refrigerator for a few hours…overnight is better.

Next day, pre-heat your barbecue grill. While your grill’s warming up, remove the plastic bag from the fridge and let the lamb come to room temperature.

Grill the lamb chops until they’re done, which means cooked no more than medium. Don’t cook it to death!

If you can’t get to a grill, pre-heat your oven to 350. Heat an oven-proof pan on the stove top with a little oil. Carefully place the lamb chops in the pan and sear on all sides. Then place it in a 350-degree oven to cook all the way through.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Who says you have to cook a burger on the grill for Memorial Day? This is one of my favorite ways to enjoy clams…and without the clam knife! I always use hardwood charcoal.

Although I live on the opposite side of Rhode Island, I love visiting my friends at American Mussel Harvesters in North Kingstown. The quality of their seafood is second to none, which is why they supply so many area restaurants with their products. They feature “restaurant ready” mussels, meaning they’ve been cleaned and de-bearded. And their “restaurant-ready” clams mean they’ve been purged to perfection! (www.americanmussel.com) They ship, too.

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A couple of dozen (or more) little neck clams, washed and purged
1 stick (8 oz.) of unsalted butter
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
1/4 cup chopped parsley
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1/2 teaspoon dried basil
1 teaspoon minced garlic
1/2 teaspoon sea salt

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The clams should be stored cold and dry until ready to use…not in water, not on ice. Place the clams in a bowl and cover with a wet dish towel in the fridge.

Because my clams have already been purged, I don’t have to do it at home. But here’s what to do if they haven’t been purged: Fill a large bowl with cold water, add sea salt and some corn meal to it, and mix it around. Add the clams to this bowl and let them purge in this liquid for at least an hour. They will suck up the corn meal and spit out sand and grit. After an hour, pour off the water/salt/meal/grit mix, and thoroughly wash the clams.

Start your hardwood charcoal grill and divide it in half: coals on one side, no coals on the other.

While the coals are heating up, grab a disposable aluminum foil tray and place it on a burner on your stove over medium heat. Add the butter, olive oil, parsley, oregano, basil, garlic and salt, and stir to combine. Once the butter has melted and everything has blended, bring the tray over to the charcoal grill and place on the side of the grill without coals. It will stay warm.

Once the coals are hot, just place the clams directly on the grill. (Use tongs, unless you want to remove all of your knuckle hair.) They’re done as soon as they open, but you can cook them as long as you like, from raw to more thoroughly cooked. As each one reaches its desired doneness, place it carefully in the aluminum tray, making sure you don’t lose any of that precious liquid inside the clam shell. Give it a swish in the butter and herb mix.

When all the clams have been cooked and are in the tray, serve them with that herby butter sauce on top of pasta…or simply eat them with a fresh baguette. A glass of great white wine is a must.

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This is our family’s favorite pancake recipe, but the need to go gluten-free for my wife meant a change in the ingredients. Fortunately, my favorite go-to all-purpose flour, “Cup 4 Cup,” worked so well in this recipe, there was no difference in taste or texture. Now this is the only way we make ’em and no one notices the difference!
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1 cup all-purpose flour (or Cup 4 Cup original multi-purpose flour)
1 1/2 cups stone-ground yellow cornmeal
2 tablespoons organic cane sugar
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 cups buttermilk (or 1 1/2 cups milk and the juice of 1 large lemon)
zest of 1 organic lemon
1 large egg
3 tablespoons melted unsalted butter, slightly cooled
1–2 teaspoons avocado oil
1 cup fresh or frozen blueberries, preferably wild, rinsed and dried
Whisk the flour, corn meal, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt in a medium bowl
to combine.
In a separate bowl, whisk the egg, lemon zest, and melted butter into the buttermilk to combine.
Make a well in the center of the dry ingredients in the bowl. Pour in the milk mixture and
whisk very gently until just combined. Do not over mix. A few lumps are OK.
Heat non-stick skillet over medium heat. Add 1 teaspoon of oil and use a brush to coat the skillet
bottom evenly. Pour 1/4 cup of the batter into 3 spots on the skillet. Sprinkle 1 tablespoon of the
blueberries over each pancake. Cook the pancakes until large bubbles begin to appear,
about 1 1/2 to 2 minutes. Using a thin, wide spatula, flip the pancakes and cook until they’re golden
brown on the other side, 1 to 1 1/2 minutes longer.
Chow down immediately!
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