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Sunday Morning Pancakes: Of buttermilk and hangovers

Has this ever happened to you? It’s Sunday morning and you wake up with a yen for pancakes. Perhaps you overindulged the night before and need a little bulk to face the day. Or maybe you overindulged then picked a fight with your husband and are feeling just a tad guilty. It may even be that your in-laws are visiting and you’d rather cook than discuss the Sunday papers, your “drinking problem” or how you can be such a bitch to their golden boy who is also the perfect husband. Maybe it’s all three, not that I’d know much about that. Anyhoo, whatever the reason, it is safe to say that when we crave pancakes (or white cake, or biscuits, or whatever) it’s best that the monkey be fed. For everyone.

So as I was saying, there you are on Sunday morning, all ready to whip up a batch of the best when you realize the recipe calls for half a cup of buttermilk, which of course you do not have. I for one don’t even know what buttermilk is, nor do I care enough to bother to find out, and I certainly wouldn’t waste valuable cold storage space – space that is required to keep champagne at the ready and at least one bottle of white in reserve – on buttermilk, which only comes in quarts and will have to be located and thrown out in three months after I’ve forgotten all about it and it’s gone rancid and is stinking up the kitchen.

Now I know what you’re thinking – there’s no buttermilk in the instructions on the Aunt Jemima box. I thought we understood each other on the issue of baking mixes by now. Well all I can say is once you’ve had scratch pancakes, which are about the easiest thing in the world to make, you will never go back to the nasty, grainy, plastic ones from the box, no matter how kindly and reassuring the face under the headscarf may be. And I’m not even going to get into buckwheat pancakes. Why in the name of all that’s holy would anyone eat those?

Here’s the good news: there is no need to have buttermilk on hand, or go out searching for it at odd hours while trying to conceal your pajamas under your trench coat, as long as you keep powdered buttermilk on hand. Oh yes, it comes in powdered form, just like the dry milk you use in bread machine recipes. Saco makes it, and there’s even an organic version available from the good folks at Organic Valley. You can order it online, it never goes bad and you keep it in the pantry.

Alternatively, you can substitute either of the following for a cup of buttermilk:

  • For each cup of buttermilk, pour a tablespoon of white vinegar or lemon juice into a one-cup measure and fill with milk, then let it sit for ten minutes or so.
  • Drop a heaping tablespoon or so of plain yogurt into a one-cup measure and fill with milk. Mix and use immediately.

For those of you who can’t be bothered with any of the above, here’s my no-buttermilk recipe. Although buttermilk pancakes are best, the regular milk version is still head and shoulders above anything from a mix. This recipe is utterly foolproof and goes a long way toward getting those pesky in-laws off your back happily fed on a Sunday morning.

No Panic Pancakes  (makes about 10 smallish pancakes)

In a bowl, mix:

  • 1 cup all purpose flour (don’t even think about whole wheat)
  • 1 tablespoon sugar
  • 2 teaspoons baking powder
  • ¼ teaspoon salt

Add:

  • 1 beaten egg
  • 1 cup milk (whole is best, low fat will do, skim only in an emergency)
  • 2 tablespoons vegetable or canola oil (or use melted butter, which I prefer). Almond oil is also nice for a slightly nutty flavor.

Stir until just blended and still a little lumpy, then cook on a hot, oiled griddle as usual.

A note on additives:  If you’re adding fruit, and this is important, don’t add it to the batter in the bowl. Instead, sprinkle each pancake with the fruit (or chocolate chips, which are delicious with bananas or strawberries, btw) right after you pour the batter on the griddle, then flip.

And now, for those of you who have hung on to the bitter end, a little John Malkovich to go with your flapjacks.

Saturday night is bean night!

wicked good beans!

In Maine, back in the Bronze Age when I grew up, it was traditional to have Boston baked beans on Saturday night, and by this I mean every Saturday night. Now, there were families that just heated up a can of B&M, dumped some coleslaw from Shaw’s into a bowl, steamed up the brown bread and called it a night. Not mine. For us, baked beans represent serious tradition. Grammie Sue baked her own, as do my parents, and so do I. In the past, I have even made my own brown bread, but I cannot in good conscience urge you to do so; just buy the can. Making brown bread is a pain in the bean shoot.

Why Saturday night?, I’ll bet you’re wondering. Well, I can only guess, but my hunch is that it has something to do with the Puritan mania for mortification of the flesh. Let me explain.

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Entertaining guests with food allergies and special diets

I have hosted shellfish sensitivities, gluten intolerance, vegetarianism, veganism, kosher rules and, yes, even a chicken allergy. No lie, all these and more have paraded through my front door and presented themselves at the table expecting a savory and delicious meal that will not send them into anaphylactic shock with the first bite. So I know a thing or two about feeding high risk dinner guests, and I’d be delighted to share my expertise with you.

Here’s what you do:

  • Order in pizza two hours before your guests arrive, then eat it. This is crucial. You’ll see why.
  • Go to the ATM and make sure you’ve got plenty of cash on hand.
  • Check the liquor cabinet and restock any bottle that is less than half full.
  • Chill the wine and champagne. You’ll want both.
  • Practice saying the following: “I hope you like scallops / pasta / veal / eggs / uncleanly butchered pork! Oh my goodness, did you tell me that? I totally forgot! More champagne / vodka / grain alcohol mixed with green Koolaid?”
  • Repeat that final question ten or fifteen more times. Don’t take no for an answer.
  • Order in Chinese food. That way any tongues that swell or get swallowed are not your fault.

As any good host knows, you need to match your guests drink for drink, so here’s the hottest of hot tips. On the odd occasion I’m a tad over-served, I dissolve two tablets of Airborne in a glass of warm water and drink it right before turning in. I often leave the “works” by my bed to ensure I remember this important step even if I’m a little “tired” at bedtime. Of course, this may not work for you, especially if you have many sensitivities and allergies yourself. I only speak from personal experience, however scant.

Cheap AND Easy: Go ahead and get screwed

I love screw top wine. There, I’ve said it and I’m standing by it. Loud and proud.

As far as I can tell, there is absolutely no difference between the corked and the screwed, and I for one am ready to throw off the tyranny of broken corks, moldy stoppers and malfunctioning corkscrews. At last count I had thirteen different models in varying states of collapse squirreled around the house waiting to be pressed into emergency service when the current favorite snapped, disappeared or otherwise failed.

And then there is the horror of the cork slipping into the bottle in front of company. Makes no nevermind to me, of course, but my party guests have, on at least two occasions, taken issue with my pouring wine through paper towels to filter out the little cork crumbles after just such a malfunction. Waste not, want not! Needless to say, they have not been invited back, not that they’ve asked, but there you have it. Anyways, when it comes to wine and corks, the strain of the lurking unknown and the fear of failure have always conspired to seriously undercut my enjoyment, though let’s be honest, not enough to reduce my intake. That’s just crazy talk.

Here’s my favorite screw top white, by the way: Terranoble Sauvignon Blanc from Chile. I’ve sourced it locally for $6.99 a bottle and with a 15% case discount, it’s almost free!

Here’s what winedepot.com says about it:

This Sauvignon Blanc offers a pale yellow colour with greenish tones. It has attractive fruity aromas with a touch of peach notes. It’s a fresh wine, with a balanced natural acidity, medium structure and permanence in mouth. Ideal as an aperitif in summer time, with seafood and fish.

I don’t know what that permanence in mouth business is all about, and really with the exception of my original fixtures, a couple of crowns and some lovely veneers, I don’t think there’s anything I want permanently in my mouth, but to each his own. Here’s the swiller’s review: A perfect party wine, light, but not too sweet. Serve ice cold with whatever you’re eating, or if you’re just drinking.

Don’t fear the reamer

courtesy omnomicon.com

Now I don’t pretend to understand how exactly a citrus reamer came to inspire a heavy metal song. For the nonmusical layperson, it’s hard to imagine Robert Plant whipping up a lemon mousse, or Ozzy Osborne insisting on fresh key lime juice rather than bottled as he meticulously constructs a pie for his dinner guests; however, the gods of rock move in mysterious ways. Ours is not to question why.

do know that the handy citrus reamer is among the most important tools in my belt. It occupies a place of honor next to the garlic press in the top drawer of my kitchen – meaning it’s not shoved at the back and covered with takeout chopsticks and back-up corkscrews. For a quick tablespoon or two of fresh lemon or lime juice, it is just the thing. Slice the fruit in half, ream the life out of it, rinse the utensil and bung it in the dish drainer. Done.

One more thing we can be certain of: you can never have too much fresh citrus, or too much cowbell.