At the risk of sounding like a citrus-loving Joan Rivers, can we talk about clementines? I feel like they’re everywhere right now–great, big cardboard flats of them for, like, five dollars a box or something crazy, calling from across the produce section with the promise of sweetness and light and sunshine, even though as I understand it, most of the country has been in a never-ending winter.
(I say “as I understand it”, because here in California, an occasional rainstorm is as close to we get to anything resembling winter weather, and we mostly just, you know, ride our bikes around in t-shirts to go eat kale salad outside and “LOL” and “OMG” over all the banaaanaaazzz weather we’ve been hearing about online.)
(As it happened, I was actually stranded in New York for a week because of a snowstorm last month, so I guess Mother Nature sensed my meterological la-la-la-ness and decided to show me how soft I’ve become during my 10 years on the West Coast. Touché, fair lady.)
But even in a mild-weathered place like California, we really do appreciate citrus during our “winter”. It’s a burst of happy food no matter where you live, all these clementines in bulk. Every year I succumb to buying at least one flat, intent on being all virtuous and snacking on them instead of spoonfuls of peanut butter or cookies, tucking them into lunchboxes and all that jazz. But even after countless little orbs eaten out of hand and a dozen packed lunches, the pile of clementines never seems to shrink. Not one bit. How many clementines does a person have to eat to make a dent in one of those boxes, for real? My fingertips are permanently stained from all the e-z peeling. Forget this noise. Let’s make doughnuts. (And share a little news with you, while we’re at it.)
I know we’re barely into September, but I am READY for fall, friends. Although I’m generally a fan of the fall season (having been a November bride once a upon a time, my husband still claims that I love him more September through December. Probably?), this year I’m particularly pumped about the passage of time. Could it be that it’s because I’m very type A and relieved to finally be falling into a new routine now that Little C is in Real School? Or maybe it’s that I’m desperate for San Francisco Summer, which is to say September and October, when we finally get temperatures above 65 degrees and the skies become sunny and clear (true story, if you’ve never visited)? Or it could just be that I”m counting the hours because my baby is teething like a mad man, sweaty and sobbing and only happy when he’s being held and gnawing on all my slobbery body parts and I really know I shouldn’t be wishing this time away with my baby, but hey, at least he’s six months old now so LET’S BRING ON THE IBUPROFEN, SUCKAHS.
Ahem. What I mean to say is I’m excited for fall because pumpkin. Yes, that’s what I mean. Autumnal pumpkin treats for all!
Just to give you an idea of what my personal fitness regimen is like these days:
Today I took one of my first post-pregnancy walks (beyond wandering aimlessly around the grocery store, trying to remember what I’m there for besides milk and coffee beans). Rounding a corner, I saw a woman running at a good clip, looking confident and fit. I flashed her the thumbs up. Not for her form, or fly Lululemon ensemble, mind you. No, the first thought I had when I saw that chick running was, “Dang, I wish I had a pelvic floor like that.”
So at three weeks after birth, we’re dealing in small moves to get back into shape over here, inside and out, in both the exercise and nutrition departments. While I didn’t go all J.Simps on my pregnancy weight gain, nothing can really prepare you for, um, the state of things after you give birth. Let’s just say I won’t be doing a post-baby HOW I GOT THIN! photo session for US Weekly at six weeks post-partum. Getting back into a routine takes time in the real world. I’m trying to be patient with myself about that bit, even though I’m dying to get back into my non-stretchy clothes. And getting a few easy baking recipes into the arsenal that also happen to be what I call Halfsies Healthy really helps things along.
Okay, so there are biscuits, and then there are BISCUITS. Namely, these biscuits. Let’s call it a biscuit recipe that changed my mind about a few things. That major, these biscuits. And I’m managing to tell you all about them just in time for Thanksgiving side dishing. Glorious!
What do you MEAN it’s nearly mid-November?! This absolutely cannot be. No, no, no; I simply won’t allow it.
From the above sentence, you might gather one of the following:
1. Little C has just gotten into movies with Julie Andrews, which means I am now into movies with Julie Andrews.
2. The recent time change has rendered me totally incapable of knowing what hour or what day it is. Like, more than usual.
3. I am now officially at work on book number two (whee!) and have a calendar full of deadlines (gah!), not to mention that I think I’m gaining weight by absorbing butter and sugar through my skin from all the recipe testing for this one. That’s a thing, right?
Well, whichever of the above options you chose, you would be correct. Mary Poppins is indeed in the regular rotation. I’m getting less sleep than usual and Little C is enjoying way more Julie Andrews than she should be because I’m trying to pull a manuscript out of the madness. We are busy, but we are happy, and we’re all desperately in need of a big pot of soup and some Apple, Cheddar, and Whole Wheat Scones this weekend. I’ll make extra for you, because I’ll wager to bet we’re all in the same boat, zooming towards the New Year, trying to tie up all sorts of loose ends. I-yi-yi. Sweet cracker sandwich, let’s all have wine with said scones while we’re at it, yes?
This recipe began as so many wonderful things do. Which is to say the sort of partial sentences that the husband dreads hearing when I’m in the kitchen. It usually goes like this:
Now, in all fairness to the husband, sometimes these mad scientist moments don’t turn out so well for any of us. Such as when the recipe itself is a failure in the technical sense, not rising or baking properly and generally just causing a whole lot of dirty dishes and frustration for no payoff. And of course I get all mopey and difficult to live with after said failures. Like, even more difficult to live with than usual. Big time difficult. Pretend you are shocked at this news.
Other times, things start out promising, and then the result is less than palatable, which of course needs to be confirmed by the husband. Like, oh, say, Guinness Marshmallows. I know, I know. Just. Listen. There was dark cocoa and gingersnaps involved too so I thought it might end up all complex and edgy and interesting. Which it was, for a few hours. But as the marshmallow cured, however, the whole thing strangely began to taste a lot like the smell of certain Maltese taxicabs I’d ridden in during my summer semester abroad. In short, wholly undelicious. That’s what I get for trying to be edgy and interesting, I suppose.
But this time, I was destined to get it right. Bananas, peanut butter and chocolate. There’s no way this could not go well. Right? So basically I married some techniques from a few favorite recipes to arrive at this unbeatably moist, tender, flavorful banana bread-chocolate cake combo. And of course, chocolate chips. Because, duh. Obvi.
Really, what’s better than putting a carb-y, breakfast-y baked good in your face first thing in the morning? I mean, never mind that you might feel like you’re walking in mud for the rest of the day if you start things out with jelly doughnut–I’m talking more about instant gratification here. Because a croissant and coffee for breakfast? Glorious. But one morning pastry I tend to pass over, never even pausing to consider it, is the humble scone. I’ve always sort of thought scones were just a big snore.
Anyway, the topic of my conversation with my agent was moving to Los Angeles to pursue an acting career, and in short order she told me that I might want to “lose some pounds”. As I took in that advice, I continued to snack on the horrible scone. A few beats later the well-meaning agent said, “That’s a huge scone.” And that was the end of my relationship with scones.
Until now. Now I know what to look for in scones. Also, how to interpret advice. So there’s that.
sites i love
This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons License.