Healthier German Apple Pancakes

Last night I did some bad tossing and turning so I woke up like a bear out of a cave (in other words, I needed some serious grub). Pancakes, bacon and scrambled eggs smothered in maple syrup? Sounded awfully good. So I got to work (did I ever tell you about my butler fantasies?)

My go-to German apple pancake recipe comes from Marcia Adams's Cooking From Quilt Country. Now Marcia's recipes feed armies so I tend to halve them. When I opened the page for the pancake recipe, lo and behold, I found a piece of paper with old notes I'd scribbled for halving the recipe! Great! So I put on my apron and got to work. A quarter cup of flour, a quarter cup of whole wheat flour (apparently, the last time I did this, I wanted a healthy version, thus the whole wheat — well, I didn't have whole wheat but I did have oat bran, so I used that), 1 tablespoon of sugar, 3/4 teaspoon of baking powder (yeah! get to use the homemade one), 3/4 teaspoon of baking soda, 1/4 teaspoon of salt, 1 egg, and — this is when I realized something was wrong. Where's the milk? You need milk for pancakes. So I compared the original recipe to my notes. Hmmm. Some serious discrepancies. Like the original didn't call for baking powder or baking soda. And it had all sorts of goodies like nutmeg and vanilla. And apples. Whoops. Wrong notes.

Well, by this time I had pretty much everything all nicely mixed up in my reliable quart-sized Pyrex measuring cup. So I just threw in the milk and spices. I figured it was all good. And it was. I especially liked the addition of the oat bran. It made the batter much more flavorful and gave the pancakes a beautiful brown color.

Making the pancakes is really easy. So much preferable than doing little ones on the skillet. I don't follow Marcia's directions completely. Instead of precooking the apples, I just do it all in the oven like this. Preheat the oven to 470 degrees. Get a really good skillet (cast iron is best but I have an ancient Cuisinart that has stainless steel sandwiched in the aluminum). Put about a tablespoon of butter in it. Cut up a smallish apple very thinly. Put it in the skillet with the butter. Put the skillet in the oven, letting the apples cook while the oven is preheating. About five minutes into it, stir the apples around so each piece gets a nice coating of melted butter.

Meanwhile, mix everything for the batter. When the oven finally preheats, the skillet should be pretty darn hot. Pour the batter over the apples. Put the skillet into the oven. Now, at this point, you can follow Marcia and turn the oven down to 350 degrees. Today, I was too busy with the scrambled eggs and bacon so I forgot. But in ten minutes, I got the crispiest, nicest pancake! I'd definitely give this dish an A.

BTW, if you live in LA, go to Huntington Meats at the Farmer's Market for your bacon. They have the best apple-smoked bacon, thick, meaty slices that are so much better than Niman Ranch. Try to get the older gentlemen to help you. The younger ones so aren't into service. And they don't really know that much. Huntington also sells Moffat's chicken pot pies. Seriously good.

Too Scared To Shop

I had these two experiences shopping in the last month:

1. At Bristol Farms in South Pasadena, one of the employees climbs on top of the cheese display so she can rearrange the shelf above. Her dirty shoes were gripping the rim of the display.

2. At Whole Foods on Arroyo, an employee picks up some red kale that had fallen on the floor and puts it back in the produce display. This was kale that had been kicked around and run over by a shopping cart.

This is why I'm too scared to shop and too scared to eat.

Japanese Style Korean BBQ

In Japan, Korean BBQ is called yakiniku. The meat is flavored for Japanese tastes, but the experience is pretty much the same: large platters of beef or pork grilled at the table. But I think things are changing. I just caught the end of a program that showed one Japanese restaurant serving individual portions of meat. Usually, at a Korean restaurant, you order a platter of a specific cut or part (marinated/unmarinated steak, ribs, tribe, etc.). So, unless you're with a large group, you only order one or two platters. But in Japan, people wanted to be able to order a piece at a time, like at a sushi restaurant, so they could eat a variety of meat. I've often wished that myself! This is such a great idea and hope Korean BBQ restaurants here in the US follow suit.

Deep-frying Disaster

Okay. Not going to deep-fry duk (Korean rice cakes) again! One exploded quite spectacularly about five inches from my face. Unfortunate because the deep-fried duk was really delicious -- like golden noorunji (the crisped up rice at the bottom of a cooking pot). I ate them with sugar.

DIY Baking Powder

When I found out you can make your own baking powder, I thought this is something I must try. Well, it took me several years, but I finally did it this morning. Wow. What a difference. I put some in my oatmeal pancake batter and the whole thing bubbled up like a witch's cauldron!

It's so easy. You just need cream of tartar and baking soda. It takes about five minutes. That's it.

The recipe I used comes from Scott Peacock's The Gift of Southern Cooking, a most excellent book. Much of the recipes from the book is from his mentor, Edna Lewis, as is the baking powder recipe. Scott writes that Miss Lewis was so "distressed by the chemical additives and aftertaste of commercial 'double-acting' powders" that she started making her own: 1/4 cup of cream of tarter with 2 tablespoons of baking soda, sifted together three times and stored in a tight-sealing jar (I use a tiny Lock 'n Lock). The powder lasts 6 weeks, but store at room temperature and away from sunlight.

Scott writes that when he first started using the DIY powder, he didn't taste any difference, but that when he tried using the commercial powders again, he could definitely feel the metallic tingle on his tongue. I thought my oatmeal pancake batter fried up crisper too.

Baked Asian pears

Recently, while shopping at Costco (one of my least favorite things to do), I noticed a box of fruit labeled "Apple Pears". I, naturally, thought it was one of those weird hybrid fruits, borne out of some mad marketing scheme. But no, the "Apple Pears" were just Asian pears. Go figure. Anyway, the price was right, so I bought a box, and after eating two or three, decided to make some baked pears for a little variety.

The inspiration came from a show I saw about steamed Asian pears. This woman had cut in half this massively big pear (the size of a small watermelon), scooped out the seeds, and filled the cavity with honey, jujubes, ginkgo nuts and all sorts of goodies. I didn't have any of these things, nor did I have a steamer. So I put my halved pears into a baking dish, filled their tiny cavities with maple syrup, filled the baking dish with a little water, sprinkled some cinnamon and baked it in a 325 oven.

After about an hour and a half, I opened the oven to take the pears out and this strange thing happened to me: the warm smell of baking fruit, the steam from the oven, lifting the ceramic baking dish — I suddenly thought about baked apples, how I used to make baked apples all the time — why had I completely forgotten about baked apples — why did making baked pears seem so completely novel?

Why had I stopped making baked apples? Baked apples are fantastic. Why was no one else making baked apples? I can't remember the last time I'd read a recipe featuring baked apples. Caramel and candied apples are all over the place, but the equally good baked apples have disappeared from our collective memory (aka the media). Very strange.

The interesting thing about baked pears is how boozy the result was. I'd only added maple syrup and cinnamon, and yet, it tasted like I'd added a good quarter cup of eau de vie. Since I like boozy, the result was heaven. Or at least a little bit of heaven.

I'd give this dish a solid A.

Welsh Rarebit

On a cold fall day, nothing is better as an afternoon snack than Welsh rarebit. Not the strange runny cheese sauce on toast you often get in the US, but the substantial crusty pizza-like thing you get in the UK. One of my favorite recipes comes from the Two Fat Ladies, Jennifer Paterson and Clarissa Dickson Wright. According to them, the original Welsh rarebit was just a thick slice of cheese toasted in the oven. Their version is like a souffle, the melted cheese puffed up with eggs. And fairly easy to make. If you're making it as a snack for you and a buddy, shred about 4 ounces of cheddar cheese and add some mustard (they recommend dry English, but I used Sierra Nevada Pale Ale mustard), Worcestershire sauce (I add a huge amount), Tabasco, salt and pepper. Now take two eggs and separate the yolks from the whites. Add the yolks to the cheese mixture and stir until things look pretty uniform. Then whip up the whites until there are some nice stiff peaks (mine were just soft, but hey, it all eats the same). Fold the whites into the cheese mixture. Finally, put the mass on top of toasted bread and bake in a preheated 450 degree oven (hopefully, you've put the bread and cheese into a baking pan). In ten minutes, the tops should be golden.

Snacking on Welsh rarebit isn't a bad way at all of spending the time while waiting for the Muse to come back. And, Dear Muse, come back soon. I really don't think it's fair of you to get me all excited about this thing and leave me hanging with barely 40 words. After all, I've been so good. Ever since that time you punished me and left me with a 11,000-word story when I was hoping for a good, chunky novel, I've been your devoted slave. I'm not even hoping for a novel this time.