A Waffle of Insane Greatness (or What I'm Interested In This Year)

It has taken me a long time to find a decent waffle. So many recipes—particularly the sought after yeasted kind—require an overnight plan.  My wager is most people do not go to bed with the anticipation of wanting a waffle in the morning. 

Yet, I’d bet many of these same folks would not turn down a breakfast that includes maple syrup and butter.  Unless, of course, they have pledged to give up flour, or sugar, or dairy for 2015.  In which case, this subsect may very well be dreaming and scheming for a plate of stacked waffles knowing there is a kale smoothie in their immediate future.

I personally do not have any grand aspirations of mind-body domination for the new year.  Nor do I have goals that align with pureed vegetable drinks.  But I do hope to be kind to my body in the way you might be kind to someone who has just survived shingles or a forth grade piano recital.

So this will include the occasional waffle.

And a waffle of insane greatness is the only kind of waffle I am interested in making.  Particularly one that doesn’t necessitate advanced notice.  This recipe requires the usual suspects in the kitchen and thirty minutes of sitting time for the batter.  And that’s it.

What you get in return are crispy, light waffles that stand up to their hyperbolic namesake.  That they happen to smell faintly of vanilla and require dirtying only one single bowl is additionally motivating.

I will not bore you with descriptors.  You have probably had some decent waffles in your past, maybe even a few great ones.  This is the recipe when time is of the essence and a waffle is what you require. 

So if one kind of greatness will find you dreaming of waffles and one kind will find you actual waffles, I’d suggest the latter.  Insane resolution smoothies don’t last.  Insane waffles do.

The Waffle of Insane Greatness

Adapted from Aretha Frankensteins

Ingredients:

½ cup all purpose flour

¼ cup whole wheat or spelt flour

¼ cup cornstarch

½ tsp baking powder

¼ tsp baking soda

½ tsp salt

1 cup whole milk or buttermilk

1/3 cup olive oil

1 egg

1½ tsp sugar

1 tsp vanilla extract

Instructions:

In a medium bowl, sift together the flour, cornstarch, baking powder, baking soda, and salt; stir to combine.  Whisk in the milk, oil, egg, sugar, and vanilla until no lumps remain.  Let the batter sit for 30 minutes.

To make the waffles, heat your waffle iron: cooking instructions may vary slightly depending on the type you are using.  (I lightly grease mine, which is this, with canola oil.)  Once the iron is preheated, pour in about ½ cup of batter.  Close and let cook about 2 minutes, or until the waffle is golden brown.  (If you are using a stovetop iron you’ll want to flip it after about 60 to 90 seconds; I keep mine on medium to medium-high heat.)

Repeat this process until all the batter is gone.

Makes about ½ dozen waffles.

Notes:

-The whole grain flour is there to make the batter a little more interesting and I’d highly suggest it.  I don’t see why you couldn’t go fifty-fifty, either.

A Spicy Resolve of Red Lentil Hummus, And Other Things

Another year has poofed.  The hopes of 2011 have gone up in smoke.  We’ve arrived at a symbolic fresh start.  And I stand at the edge of 2012 emptied handed, with no neatly folded, nicely written resolutions to share.  Each year I simply resolve to live life a little more.  To really feel it.

Last year I baked pie.  Made lace curtains.  Finally conquered madame brioche.  Sent more handwritten notes.  Saw Paul Simon sing “ The Sound of Silence.”  Mastered the charcoal grill. And drank my fair share of dark and stormies.

This year I have a new set of wishes. Listen to more Chet Baker.  Drink rosé on random Tuesdays.  Ease into silence.  Shell more oysters at home.  Conversationally work in the word “honey.”  Not fret about the dangers of homemade mayo.  Remove “should” from my dictionary.  Wear the canary yellow fascinator I bought last year out of the house at least once. Put in a shade garden.  And continue to nurture the traditions I’ve sown.

I’ve been working on these traditions for a few years now.  I reset my wishes in January.  Eat salt water taffy on the Cape in June.  Buy a glass pumpkin every October. And make lentils at the start of every new year.  Like any good Italian should would be well advised to do.  While I don’t participate in resolutioning, I do believe a little luck never hurt a gal.  And this is where the lentils come in.

At the very least, it certainly isn’t terrible to have this creamy lentil hummus around.  It’s a plucky spread with some serious heat and a gracing of roasted garlic.  And its charming orange hue takes very well to some Ethiopian flavors I’ve grown quite found of.  So after a quick whirl, the red lentils are laced with the likes of berbere, a blend of about a dozen warm spices that I found in a little metal tin at the South End Formaggio.  If you can’t track it down, you could tackle making your own.  Or even just add a few of the spices commonly found in berbere; cayenne pepper, paprika, ginger, cardamom, and coriander come to mind.

It’s a lovely little dip to let linger in your fridge.  Will it help with your hopes for 2012?  Probably too soon to tell.  But honey, it’s worth a shot.

Spicy Red Lentil Hummus

Ingredients:

6 cloves roasted garlic (see directly below)

~ 2 cups dried red lentils

6 cloves

2 bay leaves

kosher salt

1.5 tsp berbere spice (see note)

1/2 tbsp chili garlic sauce

Juice of 1/2 lime

2 tbsp tahini

3 tbsp olive oil, plus additional for drizzling

Roasted garlic

You can roast garlic by cutting about 1/4 an inch off the top of a garlic head.  Rub the head with olive oil and cover it completely with foil; bake in a 425 degree oven until the cloves are sweet, slightly browned, and melty (about 45 minutes give or take).  Gently squeeze the cloves out of their skin.  You'll have extra.

Instructions:

In a saucepan, add lentils, cloves, bay leaves, and a pinch of salt and combine with enough water to cover the lentils by 1 inch; cook until the lentils are softened (about 10-15 minutes).  Drain any excess water, remove the cloves and bay leaves, and place the lentils in a food processor along with the remaining ingredients; puree.  Salt to taste and adjust with additional seasoning as needed.  Drizzle with more olive oil (about a teaspoon or so) before serving.

Makes about 2 cups

Notes:

-Berbere is an Ethiopian spice blend that often includes fenugreek, dried chiles, paprika, ginger, cardamom, coriander, nutmeg, cloves, garlic, and allspice.

-This hummus is also fantastic with some crumbled feta on top.

-Oversized homemade croutons proved to be the perfect vehicle for the spread.  Carrots also.  It's spicy, so you'll want something that won't fight with it.

Glazing Over Resolutions with Ginger-Glazed Carrots

Carrot: n. a reward offered for a desired behavior; an inducement

Glaze: v. to give a smooth, glossy surface

At the top of a new year we tend to pause, take a step back, look ahead, and perhaps start to envision a more together life. A life in which your socks match on a regular basis, a life in which you don’t feel chronically bloated and, perhaps, a life in which you are awarded a Pulitzer.

And so the resolutions for a better being begin. Lose weight. Eat better. Improve grammar. Comb hair regularly. Marry George Clooney. These goals are nice, but nothing has really sparked any change: just a big sparkly ball dropping from the sky. Just time passing, as it always does. And so resolutions typically don't last. And even if they do, they don't ensure happiness. (Not even you, Clooney.)

Which is why I’m not really a big fan of them. I don’t despise resolutions. It’s just that they tend to be arbitrary and lofty; forced progress towards achieving a perfect version of yourself. A feat that is downright unattainable.

It brings to mind the old “carrot on a stick” routine. Boy holds a stick with a carrot tied to it. Boy dangles carrot in front of the donkey he is riding. Donkey moves to get the carrot. Carrot remains slightly out of reach. (Clooney is also famous for this, as an untamable bachelor.)

With resolutions, you often do this carrot tomfoolery to yourself. But you can also do it to others. And others can do it to you. And we can live for years like this, dangling carrots and chasing them all over the place.

So while I applaud those that manage to create thoughtful resolutions (and marvel at those that keep them), I gave my New Year’s resolutions (version 2.011) the old heave-ho. This year I want to eat my carrots instead of chase them. And decided to start in one of the most un-resolution-y ways: with butter. I also had a large quantity of ginger ale in my fridge that was taking up space and making me pretty anxious. Enter Alton Brown. Untamable in the kitchen, he had me glazing carrots with my soda surplus, and chuckling to myself at how easy it all was.

And while I won’t say these glazed carrots were perfect, they were pretty darn good. Sweet, tender, healthy—sort of—with a little gingery bite.

So I suppose if you had to pin me down to a resolution, I’d say it's to glaze over resolutions and eat more carrots. I wish you great success with all your carrots in the coming year, may there be more glazed than dangled in your days ahead.

Ginger-Glazed Carrots

Inspired by Alton Brown

2 tbsp butter

1 tbsp fresh ginger, minced

1 bunch carrots (about 1 pound), peeled and cut so that they are all about the same size

8 ounces ginger ale

pinch kosher salt

pinch coriander

pinch allspice

pinch cayenne pepper

Heat a saucepan (that has a lid) on medium heat. Add butter and ginger and stir; add carrots, ginger ale, salt and spices. Cover and bring to a simmer (this will take about 10 minutes or so). Once liquid is simmering, remove lid, stir, and reduce heat to low. Continue to cook carrots uncovered until ginger ale reduces to a glaze and carrots are tender, occasionally spooning liquid over carrots as they cook (about 10-15 minutes more).

Serves 3-4 people

Notes:

-For a less sweet, fewer additive-containg beverage you could try using GuS ("Grown Up Soda") ginger ale, which can be found at Whole Foods.