Sometimes perfect is the enemy of the delicious

Every Christmas my mother bakes these ginger cookies for my stepbrother. He lives out of town and doesn't spend too much time at my mum's, but he adores her ginger cookies and so my mum, because she's amazing like that, never forgets to include them in her Christmas baking. Since mum has come to rely on my help with baking (and by rely I mean I show up and beg to help), I have been in charge of the ginger cookies for the past two years. I'm a pretty decent cookie baker, or so I thought.

Last year I accidentally doubled the butter. Rarely do I think too much butter is a bad thing, but in this case the cookies drowned in it. They swam in oceans of butter. They still looked like cookies but they were too soft and just not what I set out to bake. Hoping to prove myself as at least an average baker this year, I tried again. And failed, again. Who leaves out half a cup of flour. Half a cup? All the time and energy one devotes to properly scooping and sweeping my flour with just the right technique falls to the gutter when one abandons the recipe in favour of not paying attention. To be fair, I was paying attention, but not to my cookies. I would wager my entire bank account that my attention was held by two exceedingly blonde children who take up residence in the middle of kitchen each and every time I turn my mixer on.

My cookies were a mess. Without the right amount of flour the cookies couldn't reach their intended round shape, and instead became one single, enormous cookie. We were left with three of these colossal cookies, one from each cookie sheet. With her glass half full attitude my mum dug out the pizza cutter and simply cut cookie shapes from the flat, soggy, cookie mess. We set them aside on the cooling rack and crossed our fingers. By the next morning they looked like this:

For those of you who can't decipher the iPhone-captured shape in front of you, I'll just tell you what it is. It's a Ginger Blob. A blob of crystalized ginger, molasses, butter, sugar, and (a little) flour. It was already Christmas morning at this point, but I couldn't handle my failure. My mum asks so little from me and I didn't want my stepbrother to think I did care enough to make him a single, round, edible cookie. So in between making Eggs Benedict (my mum's Christmas morning specialty) and prepping for our family dinner, I made a new batch of ginger cookies. They were round and they were perfect.

But then. In the middle of the Christmas day chaos, we never threw out the Ginger Blob. It sat there on the back counter next to the gorgeously round, neatly presented, real cookies all day. That's where the magic happened. Every time someone new walked through the kitchen they would pop a piece of Ginger Blob in their mouth. Not only did everyone start snacking on Ginger Blob, they declared it to be delicious, over and over again. All day long my perfect cookies remained untouched and the Ginger Blob slowly disappeared.

We are all so hard on ourselves sometimes. Afraid of failure, afraid of being judged, afraid of anything less than perfection, we can make our life a lot more difficult. I should rephrase that: I can make my life a lot more difficult. Besides being delicious, Ginger Blob taught me an important lesson: don't overlook opportunities, new possibilities staring you right in the face, because they are less than perfect. While I'm wasting my precious time trying to live perfectly, to make the perfect decisions and take the perfect steps, opportunities are passing me by.

So here I am, a little voice on the internet, asking you to find something in your life that doesn't seem to fit, and look again. Take a second look at that job opportunity, that chance at a new friendship, or the beginning of a new habit that at first glance seems to hard or wrong or out of reach. Does it match perfectly with the things you think you want? Maybe not. But might it end up surprising you with unexpectedly deliciousness? It might. Let's find out.

In a week filled with resolutions (and I'm brewing up a few of my own), let's take a moment to be a little easier on ourselves. Try something new, not something perfect.

xo

Update: My husband informed that I misspelled "perfect" in my post about perfection. Of course I did. But I corrected my typo, not because I'm trying to be perfect, but this is a writing blog and it's time I start editing my work. Baby steps. 

When children make poor eating choices, and other mushroom adventures

Can I just start off by telling you that I was making wild mushroom risotto for dinner? It was going to be delicious. Alyce and Shira were playing in the backyard, as they always do around the time I'm cooking dinner for the grown-ups (Matt gets home too late for the girls to wait for their dinner, so I make two dinners. It's not my favourite thing, but it's a temporary adjustment until we move and Matt stops commuting!). Anyway, after Shira woke up from a long afternoon nap we made muffins for dinner. Yes, muffins for dinner. Chocolate chip muffins. Sure, it's out of the usual dinner realm, but these muffins contain the following ingredients: leftover steel-cut oatmeal, whole wheat flour, 4 tbsp sugar or honey, an egg, some milk and butter, a handful of raw millet seeds, and yes, some chocolate chips. I can think of a lot of meals that might appear more on par with dinnertime that aren't nearly as good as these muffins (you can find the exact measurements here, from Soule Mama). So they baked them and they ate them. Things were going well.

That is, of course, until Shira started eating mushrooms growing randomly in the backyard.

Or at least I think she was, because the combined accuracy of two and four year old children is pretty terrible. I went outside to investigate the original claim, that according to Alyce, Shira was into the mushrooms. What mushrooms? I wondered. There they were growing all over the back garden and grass. Shira had a fistful in one hand and was grabbing at more with the other. Alyce (I think) understands that we can't eat random mushrooms we find outside (and has also extended that rule to apply to any and all mushroom varieties found in the fridge), but Shira, no, Shira doesn't know this rule. So I asked Alyce and Shira, both, to fess up about whether any of these mushrooms made it inside Shira's mouth. Shira told me, yes, she ate them and they were in her belly. Alyce confirmed Shira's story.

Do you believe young children when they are smiling and prancing around in a field of mushrooms? I wasn't buying it. I even told Alyce that I didn't believe her, which of course now I regret tenfold because that's just a crumby thing to say to a kid who tries so hard to follow the rules. But in the end, I sort of had to believe them because the alternative was a two-year old maybe succumbing to mushroom poisoning, and I also wasn't having any of that. I called Poison Control (the kind woman kept calling me Dianne, but I got over it) and they told me to get that child of mine to the hospital. They couldn't tell what kind of mushrooms she ate and wouldn't take the chance. Bad mushrooms could do leagues of damage to her liver and I spent far to many months growing that liver to take the chance that one handful of bad mushrooms might destroy it. I like that liver, and Shira too, so off we went. Fortunately Matt was home with the car in five minutes and off Shira and I went to the hospital.

Alyce, of course, was devastated that she couldn't come with us to the hospital. Her eyes were big with concern for Shira (and she even offered her best Bear for the trip) and I think she was a bit frightened. Lucky for her she was able to dull the pain with not one, but two bowls of ice cream while she awaited our return. This morning when she woke up I shared with her our hospital adventures and apologized for not believing her.

But back to the mushrooms. Poison Control called ahead to the hospital and we were given a bed in the ER right away. I should have known our night was going to suck when the nurse told me this isn't going to be pretty. They were going to fill my Shira's belly with charcoal, they explained, to absorb and neutralize the potential toxins. I will spare you most of the details, but I will tell you three things:

1. Shira does not enjoy have 8 large vials of charcoal shoved down her throat.
2. Children will not believe you when you tell them that charcoal is chocolate milk.
3. The entire emergency room floor is now familiar with my daughters screams.

I'll share one more thing, too. Breastfeeding came to the rescue (can I get high five for breastfeeding toddlers?). Shira was sobbing and screaming and I was sobbing right there next to while I held her down on the bed for the procedure. But between vials the nurses would let me hold my charcoal covered baby and breastfeed her. It didn't solve all of Shira's problems but it made a difference. She found some comfort in the middle of a terribly uncomfortable situation. All in all the charcoal treatment took about 45 minutes (halfway through I texted Matt to come to the hospital because I needed moral support and a change of clothes), and the rest of our time at the hospital was a breeze. We were there until 11:30 pm, having to wait six hours since the time she ate the mushrooms to rule out any toxicity. Shira didn't sleep a wink at the hospital, but she did a lot of the following: eat french fries, drink real chocolate milk, play with face masks, entertain the nurses, breastfeed some more, watch Dora on my iphone. She's feeling better today and we have a quick follow-up with the pediatrician.

Have you or your children ever snacked on the odd poisonous plant or fungus? Shira takes after it honestly. When I was four I ate the end off the leaf of a poisonous plant and holy cow did that burn my mouth. In my defense I was trying to imitate a ballerina who was dancing on tv holding a leaf and I was just trying to get my own proportions right.  And you?

Whole Wheat Challah

It's Friday. It's been quite a week. Did I mention we found an apartment in Toronto? Did I forget to tell you that? Well, we did! We'll be moving at the beginning of July. More details (and excitement) to come!

Today I offer you my favourite challah recipe. I try to bake challah a couple of Fridays each month for Shabbat. It's so easy to do (really) and enjoying fresh bread from your own kitchen is a delight I hope you'll share with me. Try it once, just to see.

Deb's recipe makes challah of the exact perfect consistency and I didn't really want to mess with it, but I did anyway, just a bit. I desperately wanted a whole wheat challah that didn't handle or taste like a brick.  I found that substituting half (or almost half) of the all-purpose with whole wheat in this recipe worked perfectly. Almost too perfectly, really. Usually there are so many other adjustments when it comes to cooking with whole wheat, but not here. I'm not asking any questions. Don't mess with what works, right? I also added honey instead of sugar because I just love honey that much.

Do I have any bread making tips? Not really. I love using my stand mixer for the kneading, and I suggest you do the same if you have one. Some bread making purists might disagree, and I'd even understand if they did. Kneading bread by hand is one of my favourite things do, except that I'm five foot two and I'm too short to knead on most surfaces. You need to get above your dough when you're kneading and I can't find a good place here at mum's to do that. Instead I turn to my mixer, which is almost as delightful. One note, though, and Deb warns of this, too: the full recipe as listed below is a bit too much for a standard size mixer. Since I often only make half of the recipe, it isn't a problem.

You'll thank me when your house smells of baking bread. Also, and I just have to say this, you don't need to be a Jew celebrating Shabbat or a holiday to make challah. It's traditional in Judaism to use challah for special blessings, but basically it's just delicious bread. I think it's the reason my non-Jewish family embraced my conversion. Now, please, go make this!


Whole Wheat Challah
Adapted only slightly from Smitten Kitchen

Makes two loaves

1 1/2 packages dry yeast (or 1 1/2 tbsp)
1 tbsp sugar
1/2 cup oil (olive or canola)
1/2 cup honey
5 large eggs
1tbsp table salt
4 cups whole wheat flour
4 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
sesame or poppy seeds (if, that is, you won't be sharing this with Alyce)

Dissolve yeast and sugar in 1 3/4 cup warm water (I do this right in the bowl of my mixer).

Whisk oil into yeast mixture, then beat in  4 eggs, one at a time. Add honey and mix again.

Gradually add the flour, about 1 cup at at time, kneading in your mixer for about ten minutes, or until the dough isn't too sticky, feels nice and soft, and stretches without breaking.

On a floured counter, knead by hand for a few minutes, just for good measure. Place dough in an oiled bowl and cover with plastic wrap. Let rise for an hour. (You can also, as Deb suggests, let it rise inside an oven that has warmed up to 150 degrees and been turned off. I like doing this.)

After an hour, marvel at how much your dough has grown.

Punch the dough down in the centre and marvel at how much your dough has deflated. Cover it back up and let it rise for another 30 minutes.

Braid your challah however you like. I'll let you read how Deb explains braiding or you can watch someone else show you here. You'll be taking your dough, splitting in half, and then making either three or six long strands out of each half. From these strands you'll braid together a beautiful challah no matter what other people say. Oddly braided challah is delicious no matter what. Maybe even more so.

Beat 1 egg and brush it over your braided challah (don't throw out the rest You'll be brushing your loaves again soon). If you want to freeze them, as Deb suggests, you can do it now. Wrap up your loaves tightly with plastic wrap and slip them in a freezer bag. If you're not freezing them, you can cover them again and let them rise another hour.

Preheat your oven to 375 degrees. Once they are all done rising, brush again with the egg wash and sprinkle seeds on if you like them. Bake for 30-40 minutes, but I suggest you start checking around 25 minutes. Over-baked challah doesn't do anyone any favours. You'll know it's done with the incredible smell in your house, and by tapping the bottom of the loaf. If it sounds hollow, you're done. Really, take the time to tap the bottom (just put an oven mitt on so you don't burn yourself!), you won't regret having perfectly baked challah.

Cool loaves on a rack.

Shabbat Shalom, everyone!

We bake

 We settled in at (on) the counter to make challah today. Shira was napping, so we got to baking.

We (Alyce) tasted the honey, because, I have no reason. It's just what one does. 

She put her entire self into the project.

She told me stories of princesses.

And best of all, she had the good sense to give me a break and do some dishes already.

Our house smells of warm challah, and I don't know if there is a better smell in the whole world (the cookies we also made this afternoon were a close second). More cookies, you ask? Yes, I need help. I. Can't. Not. Bake. But if you think that over-baking is really so terrible, than I don't think we should be friends. And you might want to stay friends, because then you can eat the cookies. 

Moving on. I'm excited for a relaxing Shabbat dinner tonight with Matt (the girls are heading to bed early tonight after they both woke up on the wrong side of early this morning). Tomorrow me and The Children have been invited to a tea party at a friend's house, and Sunday the three of us head to Toronto for a visit with other friends, where we will enjoy, among other good things, some Indian food. Matt is taking most of the weekend off because he deserves it. We like and and want him to stay happy.

What are your plans for the weekend? I hope it's a great one.