One of my favorite things to do on weekend mornings (and one of Richard’s favorite things for me to do) is to bake scones.
Growing up, my mother made fresh buttermilk biscuits on the weekends and sometimes even during the week if we were lucky. Her biscuits have layer upon delicate layer of melt-in-your-mouth goodness. They are little, delicious dollops of true Southern comfort food baked upon a seasoned iron skillet. And I remain unconvinced that I’ll ever be able to make anything as perfect.
What I can make, however, are scones. Richard, being English, prefers this — his own little nook of food-induced comfort on the weekends — so I revel in preparing them on Saturday mornings, before anyone else has gotten up, when I can open the windows and hear nothing but the soft sounds of wind through the pine trees and the chirping of sparrows.
I’ve tried many different scone recipes in the pursuit of something that I’m truly proud to present in the mornings. Some recipes turn out scones that are too hard; others are too light and crumbly; still others are too cake-like. One day I found a recipe that called for strawberry yogurt in lieu of milk or eggs, in an attempt to make the scones fruit-based without using any actual fruit.
That sounded rather disgusting to me, and I didn’t have any strawberry yogurt anyway. But I did (and always do) have a large tub of vanilla yogurt on hand and decided to give it a try with a few modifications. What emerged from the oven after ten minutes were the best scones that I’ve ever tasted. What’s better, they were the best scones that Richard had ever tasted. And if that isn’t a seal of approval, I don’t know what is.
Here’s the recipe:
Continue reading On Scones
I like to think that one of the most important culinary achievements of our time (our time being, oh, the 1980s forward) is the ability of chefs to present dishes in a manner that elevates food from mere sustenance to an art form. Granted, some people can take this a bit too far into that grievous “food porn” territory (I’M LOOKING AT YOU, NIGELLA LAWSON), but on the whole I’m quite happy to think that I’ll never be presented with this:
Both monstrous dishes are courtesy of the reliably hilarious Gallery of Regrettable Food (the website, that is). If you’ve never been there before, go posthaste. Among my personal favorite galleries are The Unbearable Sadness of Vegetables and the bilious 10pm Cookery.
The point of all this is that there’s a new book out called Gastroanomalies, which is in the same vein as the Gallery of Regrettable Food (and by the same author, James Lileks) and which I will most definitely be giving out to friends and family this Christmas. NPR recently did a great story on the book and Mr. Lilek’s fascination with frightening food. You can listen to it here.
I graduated from college with a degree in cartography. Like many other post-grads, I’ve found very few real-world applications for my degree (at least, ones that pay enough to live off of…) and so I work in a completely different field now. That said, I still have a deep appreciation for the art of cartography and the beauty of maps. Take, for example, these fascinating maps of food (and be sure to click on each heading to visit the page where I found these lovely maps):
I’m kind of startled to see that Houston (and San Antonio, Corpus Christi, Brownsville, the entire Valley, etc.) falls into the “Gator Nation” belt. Now, don’t get me wrong; I love alligator as much as the next person. But I definitely wouldn’t categorize it as a Totem food here. And I can’t imagine trying to serve someone alligator in the Valley. Houston’s close enough to Louisiana and the swamps of East Texas for alligator to be fairly standard cuisine, but that’s not true in points west.
In reality, the whole portion of the Gator belt starting with the Texas-Louisiana border and heading west should be an amalgamation of the Corn Bread & BBQ Nation and the Chile Pepper Nation. Mmm… Now who wouldn’t want to live in that nation?
Continue reading Cuisine Cartography