CHIVE BLOSSOM BUTTER TARTINE

Chive blossoms are one of those spring specialties I spend the entire rest of the year looking forward to finding at the farmer’s market or in a friend’s garden. The round, puffed clusters of delicate lavender blossoms nodding at the ends of comically long thin stems like cartoon flowers are almost their own reward just for their goofy beauty….but then there’s the flavor. Delicately onion-like, a little floral, just garden perfection. Chive blossoms are like nothing else, and that’s reason enough to look forward to them all year. 

I always make chive blossom-steeped vinegar and sprinkle the little lavender blooms on my salads, but a tartine of chive blossom compound butter with a thin layer of another spring favorite, juicy fresh radish slices, is my absolute favorite way to consume this treat. A tartine is nothing more than a slice of good bread all gussied up French-style, with something delicious spread on it—it doesn't need to be anything more than that, and this chive blossom butter is certainly excellent on its own. But the addition of thinly sliced radishes at the peak of their spring perfection, adds an element of crunch and faintly peppery bite that really completes this humble little snack in an elegant way.

Tartine of Chive Blossom Basil Butter & Radishes

Makes 4 oz. of compound butter

1 stick (4 oz.) good quality unsalted or cultured butter

10 chive blossom heads (large purple clusters of tiny blossoms)

1 tablespoon fresh basil leaves, chopped

1 teaspoon honey

½ teaspoon salt

Freshly ground pepper, to taste

Rustic loaf of bread, sliced

Thinly sliced radishes (use your sharpest knife and try for translucent slices)

Let butter soften to room temperature in a bowl. Carefully rinse chive blossom heads and shake loose any garden grit, then gently blot them dry. Remove the tiny blossoms from the head and sprinkle them over the butter along with the basil, folding them in with a spoon or spatula as you do. Add honey, salt and pepper, check taste and adjust as needed. Extra compound butter can be re-formed into a stick shape, twisted up tightly in plastic wrap and saved in the refrigerator for easy slicing (use within a week for the best results).

To assemble, spread chive blossom butter on a slice of rustic bread, arrange as many thinly sliced radishes as you like on top, and maybe a tiny sprig of basil for color. Here’s to spring!

ON SOFTNESS, ON COURAGE, ON COCONUT RICE PUDDING WITH FRESH MANGOES

I'm going to talk about rice pudding in a second, I swear to you. I'm talking about a velvety rich concoction that clings to the spoon in that most voluptuous of ways, topped with ripe mango slices and a drizzle of magical caramel sauce (more on the magic of that later), finished with a showering of pistachios. But you're going to have to hang in there for a moment, because I recently had a birthday, and as the occupant of a possibly-gracefully-possibly-not aging human body.......something else has been on my mind a lot lately.

Tell me about vulnerability, says one half of me, as though I were two separate people, each turning to the other.

I'm standing over the stove and poking the surface of a rice pudding at the time, stirring whole grains as they melt into a creamy mixture, and if I'm startled by this sudden self-address I'd like to think I am too cool to show it. This is how people lose their minds, isn't it?

I prod the grains of rice in coconut milk for a moment longer, thinking about how to answer myself. Softness. Let's talk about softness, shall we? We so often speak of strength as hardness, she's steely or he's made of stone, as though simple hardness were the thing to be prized. But hardness resists experience, rejects knowledge. Things glance right off the surface of a steely, hard thing, colliding and gliding away into the ether without leaving so much as a scratch. True, the next movement in your direction could, say, be a knife sneaking into the velvety hidden, mortal place between your ribs, or it could be an innocent spoon nudging into the silken depths of a warm bowl of rice pudding.

Still I can't help but wonder.......is that, really, all there is to all this? To harden up and evade life's every experience, unscratched? Believe me, one half of me says to the other, you've known people like this. And so have I. Is that really all that we're here to do, to escape and remain unchanged and unlearned and eternally youthful and unblemished, only to die one day without ever having really lived? What a blatant waste of a lifetime on earth.

No thanks.

Far more courageous, I think, to turn and face the knife--or the stirring spoon, as it may turn out--and not grow yourself an outward shell to deflect the blow; to remain soft, yielding, open to experience. It takes a strength far greater than simple steeliness to accept life's blows and to absorb them, allowing the resulting dings and scrapes and even gouges to become part of our personal landscape. Press up against life--yes, okay, in a way like warm rice pudding, surging upwards above a spoon or pressing silkily into the roof of your mouth--and let its other people, atmospheres and events leave impressions; some will linger, and some will fade. I scrape my battered wooden spoon against the bottom of the pot again and again, leaving loops and whorls that fill with creamy deliciousness as they collapse. My rice pudding is nearly done.

Tell me again about the teacups, then, says the skeptical half of me to the resilient half, not yet satisfied with my answer. About the teacups? I say that there are wiser cultures than our own that value an object more as it sees daily wear--the wabi-sabi nature of an heirloom cup, the glorious warm-to-the-touch tarnish on a piece of antique copper, the rich, rubbed softness of a piece of vintage velvet--and how it grows in beauty and usefulness as it's touched and scratched and tarnished along the way. I talk about the teacups whose glaze literally takes on different colors as years and years of repeated pourings of hot water and ceremonially sipped tea transform what was into what will be. It's supposed to add to their beauty, not detract from it, and I like that idea--as the occupant of a human body myself. People ought to cherish themselves, body and soul, in the same way. Shouldn't we? We change, we grow, we twist into ribbons, we bloom and reshape, we transform into extraordinary things, and finally, we die. One day. If we haven't let circumstances leave impressions on us along the way, then we've missed the whole point.

My second self is satisfied, silent.

I serve us each a portion of coconut milk rice pudding, heaped softly in a bowl under a fan of thinly sliced ripe mangoes, a drizzle of coconut dulce de leche and a small handful of pistachios. The rice pudding steams fragrantly upwards into our faces as we dip spoons again and again into the soft surface of the rice, not a word passing between us until it's all gone and we're silently scraping the sides of bowls.

Coconut Milk Rice Pudding with Mango & Pistachios

Serves 4 (depending on how well you tend to share)

This is, obviously, a rich creamy treat for anyone who's looking to take dairy out of their dessert routine without sacrificing flavor. It's still pretty decadent, but it's loaded with healthy plant-based fats from the coconut milk and pistachios. And a fanned-out spread of ripe, delicious mangoes on top adds just enough tart sunshine brightness to what is otherwise a bowl of soft, sweet, addictively spoonable goodness.

I've made several different versions of this in the past, including a variety that used brown rice for its nutty crunch and was a loose spin-off of this Mark Bittman recipe. In the end, though, I settled on arborio rice, the grain used to make traditional risotto, as much for the intercontinental vibe of this recipe as for its creamy texture. The grains swell up and become plump but still just toothsome enough, suspended in a thick and rich coconut pudding.

2 14 oz. cans of coconut milk (buy the best quality you can find, and use the full fat version, please)

4 tablespoons brown sugar or coconut sugar

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon ground cardamom

1/2 cup arborio rice

Optional (but recommended) toppings

Fresh mango slices

Chopped roasted pistachios

Coconut dulce de leche (see recipe below)

Pour coconut milk into a heavy-bottomed saucepan, add sugar and stir until dissolved while heating just to a boil. As soon as bubbles begin to break the surface, reduce heat to the low end of medium and keep at a simmer. Add salt, cardamom and rice, stirring well.

Let simmer for about 45 minutes, remembering to check in with your wooden spoon every few minutes--even if you are in the midst of deep, philosophical conversation with your 'other' self--and give it a stir, scraping the bottom to prevent sticking. Rice pudding is finished when it's thick & creamy and rice is tender. Remove from heat and serve slightly warmer than room temperature (although it's a pretty great breakfast eaten cold the next day, as well), topped with fresh mango slices, a drizzle of coconut dulce de leche and pistachios.

Coconut Dulce de Leche

This is a pretty great basic recipe to have up your sleeve in general, as it's suitable for vegan, paleo or dairy-free diets, and is amazing on fruit, cake, ice cream, a spoon........whatever takes your fancy. The 'magic' of this wonderful sauce is that it somehow manages to taste like the most creamy, rich, butterfat-filled version of caramel sauce you ever tasted, while using none of those actual ingredients. In fact, it takes only three ingredients and comes together in less than thirty minutes on your stovetop with minimal effort. MAGIC.

Makes about 2/3 cup

1 14 oz. can of coconut milk (same note as above regarding quality)

1/2 cup brown sugar or coconut sugar

1 teaspoon salt

Combine all ingredients in a medium, heavy-bottomed saucepan (it's not much liquid, but you want to go larger rather than smaller on this, the extra surface area will help the caramel to evaporate and reduce), whisk together over medium heat until sugar and salt have dissolved. Bump the heat up to medium high and boil gently for about 20-25 minutes, stirring often to make sure it doesn't burn, boil over, or generally do anything else unpleasant.

Dulce de leche is done when it has thickened and darkened to a caramelly, nut brown color....yes, I realize this is totally subjective. Just stop it when it looks & tastes good to you. Remove from heat and let cool completely, then drizzle over rice pudding with mango slices. Can be saved in a container with an airtight lid for about three weeks. But it probably won't be around that long. :) 

CARROT APPLE PECAN BREAKFAST CAKE

First we eat, then we do everything else.

- M.F. K. Fisher

What else could she have been talking about but breakfast? M.F.K. (whose name, because profanity always makes me giggle a bit, gives me great pleasure.....so sorry, Mary Frances) Fisher's words were ringing in my ears the other day as I was out for my ritual morning walk* and dreamed up the idea for this hearty breakfast cake. A cake, but a good one, one you can feel good about eating for the first meal of the day. Lots of protein, ground almonds, yogurt, that sort of thing. It shouldn't feel too healthy though, there should be a certain amount of sin built in, just enough to promise fun for the day to come, so some sweet-and-ever-so-slightly-salty toasted pecans and a hit of real sugar in there, too. Gluten-free? Why not. Texture? Grated carrot and apple, for some extra sweetness, as well. Shape? Definitely a Bundt**. Let's do this breakfast thing.

( *The reason for getting out of bed at daybreak and doing that whole morning ritual walk thing in the first place? Two adorable, wet-nosed reasons. See below.

( **I've got Bundts on the brain lately, it seems)

Also, I've got to mention it just one more time....nominations for the 2015 Saveur Blog Awards close tonight, March 13th at midnight EST. Please consider nominating this site for this round of awards (just highlight/copy sweetlaurel.blogspot.com, then click over here to cast your nomination in Best New Voice/Best Writing/Best Photography, it couldn't be easier!), it would mean the world to me even to be a finalist in the best awards in food blogging. 

I promise to keep the recipes for delicious things like Carrot Apple Breakfast Cake coming for a long time to come! Thanks for reading, all. On to the cake!!

Carrot Apple Breakfast Cake with Toasted Pecan Glaze*

( *Gluten-free!)

1 tablespoon butter

1/4 cup tapioca starch, plus about 1 tablespoon extra for dusting the pan

1 cup old fashioned rolled oats

1/2 cup brown rice flour

1/2 cup almond meal

2 teaspoons ground cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon baking powder

1/2 tablespoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

3/4 cup light brown sugar

1/3 cup vegetable oil

1 egg

1/2 cup Greek yogurt + 1/4 cup milk (you could also substitute 3/4 buttermilk for this mixture)

1/2 cup grated carrot

1/2 cup grated apple

1 1/2 cups pecan pieces, divided

3/4 cup confectioner's sugar

1 tablespoon water (or more)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Generously butter a cake pan (I used a 6-cup Bundt pan), lightly dust with tapioca starch, then tap off the excess. While oven is heating up, toast pecans on a baking sheet for a few minutes, until warmed and just beginning to brown. Remove from heat and set aside in a bowl to cool (nuts burn easily; if you leave them on the hot baking sheet they may darken too much. Ask me how I know this. Go on, ask me).


Place oats, brown rice flour, almond meal, cinnamon, baking powder, baking soda and salt in a large mixing bowl, stir to combine thoroughly. In another bowl, whisk together sugar and oil, then add egg and beat until well combined. Add yogurt + milk mixture (or buttermilk, if subsituting) and beat until smooth.

Add liquid mixture to the bowl of dry ingredients, stir until everything is blended. Add carrot, apple, and 3/4 cup of pecans (reserving the rest), mix until just blended. Pout batter into prepared cake pan and place in preheated oven. Bake for 50-60 minutes, or until a knife inserted into the thickest part can be removed cleanly. Remove and let cool. Turn cake out onto a plate.

Place 1/2 cup toasted pecans (this should leave you with 1/4 cup of pecans remaining) in a food processor with confectioner's sugar and water, blend into a smooth paste (you may need to sprinkle in additional amounts of water to keep blending, do this sparingly). The ideal, pourable consistency for this mixture is something like honey, it should be a runny enough glaze to spread down the sides of the cake when you pour it on. Add the rest of the pecan pieces, toss to coat, then pour the mixture evenly over top of cake. Serve once glaze has set up a bit, after twenty minutes or so.

Add a cup of coffee to this morning cake ritual and experience paradise. Trust me. :)

ON NECESSITIES, CANDIED VIOLETS, AND THE 2015 SAVEUR FOOD BLOG AWARDS

So, I've been thinking a lot lately on the question of necessity.

Really thinking. I mean, I've pondered and tapped thoughtfully on both my forehead and my keyboard and hummed, typed, erased, re-typed (more on the 'why' of that, later). What do we humans really need? The question has a special relevance for someone who loves to create in the kitchen, I think, because really, you know..........why? Do we need to create special meals? Do we really need dessert, a course on the menu which has always been about pleasure and never about sustenance? Could we not just jam raw nutrients directly into our mouths? Sure, we could do that. But I'd argue that we need beautiful cooking just as urgently as we need books, art, poetry and the music of Tom Waits and Leonard Cohen in our lives. Like we need italics in our typing. We just do.

Why am I bringing this up today? The 2015 Saveur Food Blog Award nominations opened up on March 3rd, and I've been thinking about them ever since. I mean, are accolades necessary? We don't need them, I suppose. And yet, we just do. Like the candied violet (and yes, more on the 'how' of that later) on top of a beautiful cake, don't they just they add a shiver of unexpected pleasure here and there? Do I want to win a 2015 Saveur Food Blog Award?

Dear readers, I've gotta admit to you, I very much do.

Do you have thirty seconds to spare? Because that's all the time you'll need to help me out by nominating Sweet Laurel for this award (you don't even need to register to nominate!). Just follow this link and then make your screen look like mine does in the photo above. And thank you! The freshly baked lavender-lemon shortbread cookies are in the mail, I promise. ;)

Why all the thoughtful tapping, typing, erasing, re-typing? Well, I hate to ask. Simple. I don't write to win awards (wouldn't that be a bit like spending years falling in love and getting married just to ultimately get your hands on a blender? A pretty shameful example of totally missing the point along the way), and I don't like to solicit attention unless it's towards a worthy goal. But as a real flesh-and-blood human with a soul and an ego, I'm not going to lie to all of you following along at home......this one matters to me. Saveur is one of the last print publications doing real food journalism, and their sixth annual blog awards are a real-deal Big Event to me. Some of the most well-respected blogs (and favorite daily reads of mine) have been finalists and winners of this same award along the way. I'd be beside myself with happiness and gratitude just to be in their company as a finalist. I'll try not to say too much more on the subject until the results are announced.

As to that nagging question of necessity, there's no real answer, as is true of the best questions in life. There's no question in my mind that we need cooking as a form of self-expression. Likewise, in 2015 there's no question for me that we need food blogs themselves; many of us depend on them even more than cookbooks these days (although of course many of us are still hopelessly addicted to buying cookbooks, as well). But food blogging awards, a necessity? Of course not. They're not the main meal itself, awards are really just the candied violets on top. And that's quite all right with me.

You may remember these particular candied flowers making an appearance in last month's Chocolate-Covered Cherry Cake post, but I thought I just couldn't do these little darlings sufficient justice without a post of their own, so here we go!

Candied Edible Flowers

These make a spectacular topping (almost like edible confetti) for any cake you're particularly proud of, whether it's a show-stopping centerpiece or a pile of darling little cupcakes. Still, don't feel limited to the world of desserts. These little beauties look magically dipped in crystallized fairy dust, and add an otherwordly, 'forest floor' touch to any course on your menu. Try a sprinkling of candied flowers on a mixed green salad, or as an unexpected garnish on a sweet & savory main course like honey-glazed pork tenderloin. Or just try a handful, inserted directly into your mouth! Few things in the culinary world feel stranger and better than eating handfuls of flowers.

Violas*, as shown (make sure they're grown without pesticides, specifically to be eaten)
1 egg white
1/2 teaspoon water
Fine granulated sugar
One small paintbrush (use a brand new synthetic-bristled one for this, you can pick one up at any art or craft supply store for just a few dollars)
Parchment paper

( *Plenty of other flowers, including roses and marigolds, have edible petals that can be candied)

In a small bowl, lightly beat the egg white with the water just until thoroughly combined. The slightly thinner texture created by adding water will make the mixture easier to brush onto the delicate petals.

Leave the stems on your flowers during the sugaring process to use as a handle (they're not edible, so just snip them off once flowers have set). Dip the bristles of your brush in the egg white mixture and gently paint it onto the petals of each flower. Gently. I can't stress that enough. This is an easy task, unless you're impatient or in a hurry, so just, you know......chill. Get into the whole slow, repetitive, satisfyingly crafty nature of completing this task. Just don't rip those petals! 

After you've brushed one flower thoroughly with egg white, hold it over a small plate or saucer and shower it with granulated sugar. Shake off the excess, repeat if necessary until no more sugar will stick. Set flower aside to dry on parchment, repeat with remaining flowers. 

The coating will set on your flowers after a few hours, after which you can gently snip or pinch the stems off and use them to decorate to your heart's content! Your candied blossoms will keep in an airtight container for up to three months, but with all the cupcakes, salads and roasts you'll be decking out in flowers, they're not likely to stick around that long.

SUNDAY, BLOOD ORANGE SUNDAY

Greens. They're what's for dinner. 

Seriously, like every day. Ever since my household joined a local CSA last month, our weekly box has been overflowing with tender baby lettuces, kale, turnip and beet greens, darling baby onions and green garlic, and a whole bunch of other little spring treasures. While I don't think of salad as the only way to use up extra foliage in the kitchen (I have been known to cram greens into just about anything, including chopped fresh herbs in everything from bread to soup, kale in meatballs, and anything leafy into imaginative and highly-subjective 'pesto'), it's certainly a good one. This recipe is particularly great, showcasing not only the tender salad greens that are so prevalent right now, but also another standout of the late winter/early spring season......citrus. Paired with perfectly ripe avocado slices and a handful of crumbly, satisfactorily salty cotija cheese, this humble salad can easily be elevated to entree status.

Citrus Salad with Baby Lettuce, Cotija & Avocado

Makes two servings

3 loosely packed cups of baby greens (or your lettuce of choice)
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon honey
1/4 teaspoon of fresh orange zest (grate from whole blood oranges before slicing)
salt & pepper
1/4 cup chopped scallions
1/2 cup sliced radishes
1/2 ripe avocado, sliced
blood orange slices, peel & pith sliced away
cotija cheese, crumbled

Wash and dry your greens, tear them into bite sized pieces and set aside. 

In a medium sized mixing bowl, whisk together olive oil, lemon juice, honey and orange zest. Add salt & pepper to taste. Place greens in bowl with vinaigrette and toss to cover. Add scallions and radishes to salad and toss gently to combine. 

Divide salad onto two plates, top with sliced avocados and blood oranges. Garnish with crumbled cotija cheese to taste. Enjoy!

IN WHICH I HAVE A DATE (WITH DESTINY)

I'll be the first to admit, I don't always get it right. 

Case in point, there's a forlorn bulb of kohlrabi languishing in my fridge right now, due in large part both to the fact that we recently joined a CSA and also that I have absolutely no idea what to do with kohlrabi*. Life via social media can look tantalizingly crisp and glossy, but it's important to remember that the reality might look more like sweaty pajama bottoms for the third day running, or a nonstop crying jag because I'm almost thirty-four and I'm never gonna figure any of this adulting out or because I just broke that handmade plate** or because taaaaaaaxes, man. Sometimes the onions burn. Sometimes I have to admit my powerlessness over caramelization. Sometimes the best laid plans go awry, sometimes the path the night is taking can only lead away from a homecooked meal and straight to the door of a Szechuan takeout place. Sometimes vegetables wilt unnoticed in the crisper and get furtively thrown away before their time, to be replaced by a fresh infusion of guilt and a new weekly box of produce.

[ *Shortly after writing this, I peeled, cubed and roasted the sucker with some onions and a drizzle of maple butter, snuggled up in the pan next to a whole chicken. Highly recommended. ]

[ **Almost immediately after taking the photographs above, while gingerly hand-washing and whispering to myself don't don't don't break it please, I broke the beautiful handmade blue plate seen here into three brutal pieces. Boom. Done. C'est la vie, c'est la guerre, c'est la frickin' pomme de terre. ]

Just please know that there are times when I'm standing in the kitchen, hair in disarray and a desperately clutched saucepan in hand, thinking I can't, there's no way, I have absolutely no idea what to feed my family. And also know that at this point, that family only consists of two adults and two small dogs (who eat identical bowls of kibble at nearly every meal).

But then. Oh, then. There are those sublime times when I figure out how to make delicious truffles out of juicy dates, tender coconut, rich dark chocolate and flakes of smoky sea salt. These are the times when I feel like I get it very, very right.

I can feed these to my gluten-sensitive friends. I can offer them to my paleo-observant warrior mom. I can & will pop one of these delightful date truffles into my mouth, crackling dark chocolate shell giving way to sticky, chewy date filling made more intriguing by a hint of coconut and light sweetness. And then maybe one more--straight out of the fridge at midnight--to celebrate the fact that I am a mostly-functional adult person who does have a few things figured out, after all.

Chocolate helps. The magical combination of sweet dates, dark chocolate and delicate flakes of smoked sea salt helps even more.

Date Truffles with Coconut and Smoked Sea Salt

Makes about thirty small truffles

1 1/2 cups pitted Medjool dates

1 tablespoon coconut oil

1/4 cup shredded unsweetened coconut, plus more for rolling

3 tablespoons almond meal

2 tablespoons honey (or maple syrup/agave nectar/sweetener of choice, if you'd like to make these vegan)

1/4 teaspoon salt

3 oz. dark chocolate

Optional, but recommended: smoked sea salt, for sprinkling over the truffles. Mine is super-fancy, super-flakey Halen Môn smoked sea salt from Wales, but it's also available from a number of other places.

Place dates & coconut oil in bowl of a food processor, pulse to combine until a rough paste begins to form (it should not be perfectly smooth but instead should have bits of fruit still visible, try to keep the blending to a minimum). Add almond meal, honey and salt, pulse a few more times to combine.

Roll mixture into balls about the size of a quarter (mixture will be sticky; it may help to throw the entire bowl of date filling into the fridge for about thirty minutes prior to rolling), set aside on a sheet of parchment.

In a double boiler over medium heat or in a microwave-proof bowl, gently heat the dark chocolate until just melted, stirring vigorously until smooth. Remove from heat. Drizzle over each ball of date filling, sprinkle with smoked sea salt (if using), and allow to harden until set.

If you're chocolate-averse, these are also amazing simply rolled in shredded coconut, as also shown here. Either way, good for the soul.