Scottish Christmas Dinner Menu & Dundee Cake

One of the challenges of having teenagers and young adults in our home now is the constant fracturing and splintering of our family time.  Sports and ballet, homework and after-school activities, church, scouts, jobs, and friends take up a great deal of time that used to be almost exclusively family time.  It's hard to find time when all of us can be together as a family.

I used to think that Christmas vacation was one of those times.  It really should be.  The children are out of school.  The professor husband is out of school.  It is even one of the few times during the year that sports coaches (mostly) respect family time, and the calendar settles down to what should be day after day of doing only what one pleases to do.  A few years ago, though, our local congregation decided to have an extra Christmas activity-- a live nativity, singing, and refreshments--to be held in our neighborhood just a few days before Christmas.  It was a lovely idea, even though we had already had one Christmas party at the church a few weeks earlier.  And then I discovered the little asterisk--the youth had been asked to handle all of the preparations, which actually meant that the mothers of the youth would be handling the preparation.  (Because apparently simply going to the ladies' auxiliary directly to spread out the work amongst all of the women in the congregation was not possible.  Sigh.)  We had four children in the youth program, and each was expected to bring two dozen cookies.  My scoutmaster husband was in charge of a massive amount of cocoa, and three of our teens were in the nativity itself.  I spent an entire day prepping for the evening activity, and found myself too tired, cross, and mildly resentful to even go and enjoy the program.  I sent my family out the door with eight dozen cookies, two giant jugs of cocoa, and three costumes layered underneath with thermals and vowed that the next year would be different.

The next year was different.  We warned our children ahead of time that the two weeks of Christmas break were a stay-cation, therefore we would not be participating in any scheduled activities of any sort.  This worked well, up to a point.  That point was where our children decided that they should be playing with friends who were also home for the holidays during any period longer than an hour when we didn't have something specifically scheduled at home or out with the family.  Saying "no" to friends on some days only resulted in pitched battles.  I longed to be one of those families with relatives close enough or budgets big enough to go somewhere at Christmas time so that for just a couple of weeks a year it would just be... family.

So last year, facing the same dilemma, I decided to schedule two weeks worth of festivities, reasoning that if there was something scheduled every single day, our kids would spend time together--cheerfully, even.  As part of those festivities, I decided to have a special dinner every single evening.  We have ancestors from thirteen different countries (okay... close ancestors.  If you go back further, it's even more, but it's hard to get as excited about your 15th great-grandfather from Russia as it is your grandfather from Syria).  I planned out a feast for each of those countries celebrating with their unique traditions and hoped that it would keep my children around the table as well as giving them a taste of their heritage.  I rounded up recipes from family, friends, and research.  I planned menus, prepared as much as I could ahead of time, and then plowed forward. 

Especially For Kids -- Peanut Butter Balls

Teaching children to cook is not my forte.  There's just something about hot ovens and kitchen knives that makes me cringe just the teeniest bit inside at the thought of letting small children into the kitchen to do... well, anything.  My mother was an amazing teacher, though she's humble enough that I doubt that she would say so.  She had us in the kitchen from the time that we were very young, perched on top of chairs, draped in over-sized aprons, doing age-appropriate bits of cooking like grating cheese or opening cans of kidney beans.  By the time I was nine, I had a small repertoire of meals that I could make all by myself such as homemade mac & cheese, Mexican casserole, and French Toast.  (Along with the requisite and much larger repertoire of baked goods.  I made a mean peanut butter cookie back in the day.)   I look back on that in wonder because I've been such a foot-dragger about teaching my own children to cook.  Part of that is as I said above--fear of accidents, and part of that is just a time issue.  Most days it seems hard enough to get food on the table at all without adding another 20 minutes or so to the prep time because you have a child in the kitchen learning to chop onions without cutting his or her fingers off.

Grasshopper Pie -- A Pi Day & St. Patrick's Day Classic

When I was six, my family moved to Idaho for a year while my father taught economics at Idaho State.   When you are a child and missing your old home and friends, it seems like your new town has very little to offer.  One thing, however, that Pocatello had, was an abundance of grasshoppers.  My older sister and I would capture them by the quart jar full and bring them to my mother.  Then we'd tease her that she should  make grasshopper pie with them. 

Making grasshopper pie on Pi Day almost seems like a cheat after rolling out pastry for pumpkin, pecan, apple, or berry pies.  Paired with a chocolate crust (which I almost always just purchase at the store), the mint filling is spring-like.  It's the perfect compliment to a St. Patrick's Day feast, too.  The best part--you can make it ahead of time, pop it in the freezer, and forget about it until the day of your event.

Beware the Pi of March -- Perfect Pumpkin & My Mom's Fabulously Flaky Crust

All right... I'll grant you that pumpkin pie in the middle of March is pretty unconventional.  But hear me out.

I love pumpkin pie.  I really do.  When I was growing up, I looked forward to Thanksgiving for one and only one reason:  pumpkin pie.  I kid you not.  My mother's crust was to die for and the filling was perfect--not the blonde, barely pumpkiny fillings of some pies, nor the dark, overly spicy fillings of others.  It was right in between.  But then Thanksgiving was over.  No more pumpkin pie for another year.  This was not to be borne. 

Beware the Pi of March -- Blackberry Mini Pies

Happy Pi Day!  (3/14 = 3.14)  With a math professor in the family, we take Pi Day seriously here.  There has been a lot of baking & filling of pie shells here for the last few days, and I thought I'd pass along a few of our successes.

First up is the Mini Blackberry Pie you see before you with the holes cut to look like pi.  Heh.  Didn't see that one coming, did ya?

Made in tartlet pans, these mini pies are perfect for one, or could be shared by two.  They go together fairly quickly for what they are.  Unlike apple pies, berry pies don't need any peeling or chopping for the filling--just toss the berries in a little sugar, etc., and you are good to go.  I made them as one idea to give away to our children's math teachers.  Though I ended up doing something else altogether, the fact that they can stand to be out of the refrigerator for a while made them a good candidate.  If Pi day is being celebrated in your town, consider this recipe for the pies you hand to your children to bring to school. 

Tuesdays With Dorie: Rugelach

 I've always been more of a bar cookie sort of girl.  Brownies are by far my favorite--and not just because they are chocolate.  Five ingredients, one bowl, and forty minutes later, I have a treat ready for kids coming in through the door or a room full of hungry adults working out the details of one or another community activity.  So, it was with great trepidation that I looked over the directions for today's recipe that my Tuesdays with Dorie group was baking and blogging about. 

The March 6th recipe that the Tuesdays with Dorie group decided to work on was rugelach.  Rugelach is a traditional Jewish dessert that is usually made rolled up like a croissant, though it can also be made by rolling up the dough jelly roll style and slicing it before baking, which was how this recipe was made.  Filled with an assortment of dried fruits and nuts, the pastries come out soft, moist, and extremely flavorful.  They are certainly a unique and delicious dessert.  I am glad that I had a chance to try making them this week.  The recipe can be found on p. 325 of Baking with Julia or at Jessica's website My Baking Heart.  Jessica's pictures are wonderful, but she left out a few extra bits of the recipe, so I will post them down below.  

Texas Sheet Cake

Growing up in a family of eight, the first thing that I learned to do in the kitchen was help with the dishes.  We didn't have a dishwasher until I was in my late teens (my father always claimed that we had six dishwashers), so I learned at a very young age how to tackle mounds of pots and pans, plates and cups, glass and silverware.

The next thing that I learned how to do was bake.  Baking has always been a joy to me since then.  Until... now.  Well, three and a half years ago.  What changed?  Our elevation.  We moved from sea level to nearly 5000 feet above, and as anyone knows who has half-glanced at the back of a box of cake mix, there are special directions for high altitude baking.  I've lived at a high altitude before, but never quite so high.  At about 2500 feet, an extra tablespoon or two of flour is about all that it takes to right the ship and keep your cakes and quick breads from falling in.  At 5000 feet, it gets a little more complicated. 

Lemon Tart

One of my sisters in law came up to our house with the cousins last weekend to see our oldest son off.  He's going to be gone for a couple of years, and everyone is trying to say their goodbyes.  Now, when the family gets together, good food ensues.  It's just the way that it works.  We made homemade pizzas, which is a fun activity for little cousins as well as being tasty and much healthier than the fast food version.  And of course, no gathering is complete without dessert.

My sister in law is not a big fan of chocolate, so I made a lemon tart.  This is the perfect lemon tart.  The crust has lemon zest in the dough.  The filling is luscious and tangy.  The crust to filling ratio is perfect.  It's like a lemon bar dressed up to look like a fancy pie.  It's perfect for company.

Recipes for a Middle Eastern Feast: Baklava

No feast would be complete without dessert, and for many Middle Eastern feasts, this means baklava.  It is probably the most well-known of the many dessert options, and the ingredients are inexpensive and widely available.  One of the appeals for me of serving baklava on special occasions is that it is such a unique dessert.  Obviously, it is not a cake, pie, or cookie.  It also does not fall into the category of "frozen dessert."  It is a filled pastry, but it is a completely different creature from a creme puff or chocolate-filled puff pastry.  It takes less than an hour of hands-on time to make at home, and like many Middle Eastern dishes, it can be made the day before the event.  You can also purchase baklava in many bakeries and grocery stores.

For years, that's exactly what I did.  I purchased my baklava along with my pitas and hummus to go along with the other dishes that I was making.  Phyllo dough scared me, and the dessert looked complicated and time consuming to make.  Moving to a small town a few years ago forced me to change my opinion.  The only baklava here is in the fancy pastry section of the local bakery and costs as much for two tiny pieces as a whole tray of it in any other place that we lived.  So I rolled up my sleeves, looked up half a dozen recipes, and went to work figuring it out.

Cardamom & Cinnamon Buns

The family of one of my childhood friends owned a cinnamon roll shop when I was in high school.  The rolls were fluffy, huge, and covered... no, smothered in icing.  Warm, they were absolutely fabulous, and they were the sort of after school snack that was certain to put you in diabetic shock.  I kid you not.

I love cinnamon rolls.  What I don't love is the difficulty eating them.  The modern American versions seem to be meals unto themselves--too large to pick up without the greatest of difficulty and so covered in icing that by the time you are finished eating one, you are so sticky that you need another shower.  Using a knife and fork barely helps with that problem.  But they are so... wonderful.   They smell like heaven.  Spicy and sweet, they transport you into a new realm of calm, gooey homemade goodness.  When you eat one, the world stops for just a moment and you are back in your mother's kitchen, perched on a stool, taking a break before jumping back into the burdens of real life.

Enter Lotta Jansdotter's recipe for Cinnamon Buns.