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Belgian Waffles

Monday, October 11th, 2010

♪♪I’m Stuck On You♪♪

Of course, with any new-fangled idea, there were bugs, the major one being that when the cook used one of these pans, what looked like bugs appeared in the scrambled eggs or the white gravy, due to flakes of the nonstick surface loosening. Small sheets of Teflon® floated in the cooking food and small, shiny hints of the base metal were exposed. If you were the least bit paranoid, you worried that your family was ingesting some poisonous substance that the government had invented to get rid of half of the population to save the planet. If you weren’t paranoid, you surmised that maybe Teflon® wasn’t such a great invention after all.

Then came the nonstick surface that was co-mingled with the base metal of the cooking utensil. That was better. I think that T-Fal® was one of the first. It worked pretty well, but we quickly figured out that nonstick didn’t really mean, NONSTICK. It just meant “not-as-likely-to-stick-especially-if-you-use-oil-to-coat-the-pan-like-you-did-for-your-old-pans-that-were-not-nonstick.” I had a whole set of T-Fal® and still have a few cookie sheets, but while they were the “thing” in the ‘70’s, as I became more and more entrenched in the kitchen, I gravitated back to my perfectly seasoned, cast iron skillets and wonderful three-ply bottomed, heavy-weight, stainless steel pots and pans. Wouldn’t trade them for the world.

It is with this background of wisdom that I should ask myself, “What were you thinking?” because, recently, I couldn’t resist the purchase of a nonstick surfaced Belgian waffle maker that was on sale. Actually, another waffle iron was on sale, but the store was out and because I had such a pained expression on my face and the manager probably thought that my gray hair indicated that I might be hard to get along with, I was handed a more expensive, with more gadgets, Belgian waffle iron at the sale price. It had a timer that beeped!

I took my prize home, predictably thrilled at beating the system of sales, and quickly unboxed it to prepare for the next day’s breakfast surprise for Hubby – waffles topped with strawberries and whipped cream. I read the directions for the batter – easy enough – decided on how I was going to change it (added vanilla) because it isn’t in my nature to just follow directions, and made sure that I had all ingredients required. I got up the next morning, whipped up the batter in a matter of minutes, heated the waffle iron until the light went out and carefully measured ¼ cup of batter into each section. Closing the lid, I flipped the whole assembly on the stand, over to the opposite side as per the directions. Steam gushed from the seam of the surfaces and a wonderful sizzling sound let me know that breakfast was on its way. The timer automatically began its countdown.

At the ear-piercing shriek of the waffle siren, I jumped out of my skin and rushed to flip the waffle iron back to the other side of the stand. I gently lifted the lid – well – attempted to lift the lid, but nothing separated. I got a plastic fork and slipped it between the layers of metal to carefully pry them apart but nothing budged. But it’s a nonstick surface! The box said so…. no oil needed. It’s 2010! It’s new and improved! I flipped it back to the other side and tried gently pulling the sections apart. No dice. I turned it over to its original position and thought, “Maybe I’m not pulling hard enough.” I gave it a hard tug and jerked the top lid off of the bottom surface. One half of the waffle traveled with the lid and the other half stayed on the bottom.

Now you know that you are NOT to use ANY metal utensils on nonstick cookware. Plastic only. And so, I took the plastic fork and carefully slid it under the top half of the waffle. Fully expecting for the waffle to lift off the surface, I was sorely disappointed. The tines of the fork slipped through the cooked dough, and succeeded only in removing a couple of chunks. I tried a different location with the same results. At this point, I was frustrated and I started digging at the center of the mess. Some of the pastry lifted out of the multiple indentions, but the majority remained adhered to this “nonstick” epitome of false advertising. The tines on the fork broke.

Of course, it never occurred to me, at the time of purchase, to see if the two cooking surfaces could be removed for easy cleaning. And of course they could not be removed. They opened into a gigantic “L” with teeth, every tooth encrusted with waffle plaque. The lettering on the base cautioned, “DO NOT IMMERSE”. Why would I need to immerse it?? It is nonstick, for crying out loud! My only recourse was to concentrate on one surface at a time, digging out as much of the now rock-hard waffle as possible. I poured hot water just to the batter level to soak and finally washed with a brush, repeating the process for the other side. This took most of the morning. Did I mention that my husband ate cereal that day?

Yes, all of the labor saving brilliance that is dangled before us cooks have obviously been created by inventors who never really watched the process of food preparation and cleanup, let alone attempted it themselves. However, I will say that one such item HAS put its comrades to shame, as it has proved to perform in exactly the way it was intended. It has made available for my dear husband, the Belgian waffles that he loves, baked on the aforementioned, offending waffle maker. This product states on its label, “no stick, fat free, cholesterol free, calorie free, sodium free, naturally clear”…Yep. It’s spray olive oil in a can and it works like a charm. Who would have ever thought of putting oil on the surface of a cooking utensil to keep food from sticking? What will they think of next??

My Belgian Waffles

1 3/4 cups all-purpose flour or pastry flour
1 tbsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
2 tsp sweetener (honey, sugar, splenda, etc.)

1 3/4 milk (2%, whole, skim)
2 eggs, separated
2 tbsp vegetable oil
Possible additions:
1 tsp cinnamon
1/2 cup chopped pecans

Mix all dry ingredients in a batter bowl or large mixing bowl

Separate eggs and set aside to whip. In a separate bowl, whisk together eggs, milk and oil

Add mixture to dry ingredients and whisk until batter is formed. It will be thin

Whip egg whites until white and fluffy and fold into batter.

Pour batter into oiledwaffle maker and cook according to directions.

Pile chopped and sweetened fruit on top of buttered waffle and add syrup and whipped cream if you really want to go the max. We fix these for supper too!

Happy Cooking!! MB
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Tags: batter, cooking, humor, strawberries, waffles
Posted in Breads, Breakfast, Humorous, Let's Cook! | 7 Comments »

Beef Vegetable Soup

Wednesday, September 1st, 2010

Soup’s On!!

No, I am not going to give you a recipe for scorpion soup. Is there such a thing? Could be. It would make sense. I mean, just think about it. Who was the first person who dragged a lobster out of the sea and said, “Wow. I bet this thing would be good with drawn butter!!” For every thing that is edible, there is someone who considers it a delicacy. But no, today I will not give you such a recipe.

In Oklahoma, we do have scorpions. They scitter across the floor, clawed appendages extended like a mini forklift, making a clacking sound that just gives you the creeps. Seeing them is a good thing. Not seeing them results in pain that could not be reproduced if a 2000 lb wrecking ball was dropped on your foot. If one of these things gets into your clothes overnight, putting on a pair of pants the next morning can leave sting after sting as the awful critter wages fierce battle with your thigh. You hop around the room, screaming, swatting your pants and crashing to the floor as you struggle to get out of the offending garment. There is no good thing about a scorpion. Yes, God put them on this earth for a reason, but I will wait until I am before Him to ascertain that purpose. Until then, the only good scorpion is a dead scorpion.

I am certain that it is an interesting study into the macho masculine psyche of the average American male when it comes to crawly things. The most manly of our species is reduced to hopping from one tip-toe to the other when startled by a spider, snake, centipede or scorpion, while emitting high-pitched squeaks and other manner of unidentifiable sounds. Such was the case with my macho man as he spotted the first scorpion of the season creeping from under the stove and attempting to navigate the kitchen floor. I heard my name called in a higher than normal squeal, a command to appear and I arrived in time to find my husband hopping up and down, splayfooted (shoes of course) on the flattened remains of the struggling scorpion. Now, I might add in all fairness, that I can’t make too much fun of the opposite sex, since I and others of my ilk have been known to reach even higher decibels of screeching at the sign of a mouse, or in my case, a flying bat, in the house.

Oddly enough, the first sign of a scorpion in our home has turned into a ritual of planning for us because we have noticed, over the past many years, that with the appearance of the first brave critter, cooler weather is soon to follow exactly three weeks later. No joke. It was this year, however, that I decided to test our observation and theory most scientifically. As soon as the prehistoric-looking and dead, yucky bug was deposited in the yard for disposal, I grabbed the calendar and counted twenty-one days forward to August 24. I wrote on the calendar “Cool Weather??” With that bit of scientific notation accomplished, I promptly forgot about my experiment and continued to survive the 100++ degree heat that we had been experiencing much of the summer. Of course, you might think that I was seeking something on which to hang my hopes of some kind of relief from the dry inferno that is August in Oklahoma, however, would you blame me?

Last week, we of Central Oklahoma woke up to a day of normal heat, but joyfully watched as a front moved into the area around noon, dumping rain and 80 degree temps. I was ecstatic and noted that the forecast showed ever cooler nights with daytime temperatures ranging from the 80’s to mid 90’s ahead. The heatwave of Summer had broken. I flipped open my calendar, as I remembered my note, and checked the date on which I had scrawled my question. August 24th. And what was the day’s date? August 24th!! I am calling my discovery “The Scorpio Buggus Phenomenom” and I am hoping to win a Nobel prize in science for my diligent research. I need someone to nominate me. Hint. Hint. You can include in your nomination my theory as postulated thusly: “The season change from Summer to Fall is dependent solely on the appearance of Scorpiones Paruroctonus and occurs exactly 21 days from a first sighting. Summer cannot change to Fall without the sighting of these tiny arachnids.” I am expecting a government grant. I figure that this is much more critical to the issue of global climate change than the mating habits of the humpback whale.

Biology and Physics aside, the snappy feeling of Fall is in the air. Sights and sounds predict state fairs, pumpkin patches and a winter not too far away. It puts me in the soup mood and I have been canning my share. There is nothing more wonderful than opening your own jar of homemade soup, on a cold evening, to be enjoyed with cornbread or fresh homemade bread. If winter is a beast and ice storms steal your electricity, you can pop open a jar of your soup, put it into a pan over the fire, heat it and warm your insides. This is my own version of beef-vegetable soup and is a hearty blend of lean meat and vegetables galore!! It is easy to make and easy to can.

Beef Vegetable Soup
3 lbs meat
1 cup onions
1 cup celery
2 cups diced potatoes
2 cups corn
2 cups peas, canned or frozen
2 cups green beans
pepper to taste

2 cans ranch style beans
1 can whole or chopped tomatoes
12 cups water
10 tsp. or 10 cubes of beef bouillon
1 tbsp minced garlic (or more if desired)
2 cups diced carrots
1/2 cup pearled barley
1/2 tsp thyme

I use a nice, lean, rump roast and cut it into little cubes	Brown the meat in two tbsp. of olive oil in a large stew pot. Add onions and cook.
Add chopped carrots, celery and green beans. (Hint: I cheat and chop the carrots and celery in the food processor)	Add corn. This is corn that I cut off of the cob and froze earlier in the summer.
I like to add new potatoes from the garden. These were harvested in June and have been boxed in a cool, dry place. You can use Russets too.	Ranch style beans give it just that little extra kick.
Continue cooking meat and veggies together. Add garlic and thyme.	YUM YUM!
Add tomatoes and stir	Add water, bouillon and pepper and let simmer for an hour. Add barley and simmer for 30 minutes longer.
Ladel into warm, sterilized jars to 1/2″ head space.	Place lids that have been warming in nearly boiling water onto jars and screw on rings, but not too tightly. Place jars into pressure canner that is filled with warm water about two inches deep.
Pressure according to canner directions at 10 lbs for 70 minutes.	Remove jars from canner and allow to cool. Listen for popping of the lids as they seal. Lids should be flat across the surface with no bulge in the center.

You can add anything else you like to this soup.
The sky is the limit – well, that is, except for scorpions.

Happy Cooking!!~~~~MB

Posted in Canning and Food Processing, Humorous, Let's Cook!, Soups | 9 Comments »

Milking A Cow

Tuesday, June 15th, 2010

A “Moo”ving Experience

My internal alarm clanged inside my head and I jerked awake at 5:35 a.m., dog and husband still curled beside me, both snoring, and the sun not yet ready to clock in. I tried to remember why I wanted to be up so early. Realizing that I had a real alarm set, I reached over and shut it off so it wouldn’t awaken either dog or husband. I stumbled out of bed to brush my teeth and wash my face. “Oh yes. I remember now. I’m going to a friend’s to milk a cow.”

Most women my age are facing this time of life with the realization that there is so much out there to do and just too little time to do it. Some of my friends are going on cruises, others are taking road trips to Yellowstone or the Grand Tetons and still others are going back to school. Of course, the cool women are bungee jumping and sky diving. I wasn’t cool in high school and not only am I NOT cool now, but I’m downright cowardly. I can’t even go across the Royal Gorge bridge without getting on my hands and knees to crawl across, carefully avoiding any chance of peeking through the cracks between the bridge timbers to the tens of millions of feet below. Yes, it was me you might have heard screaming, “I have to get off of here!!!” at Six Flags Over Texas, while my 11 year old daughter tried to calm me – on the kiddie Ferris Wheel. Well, I know I heard about those hapless people stuck on the big wheel, just last week!!

Therefore, my adventures into the unknown involve less likelihood of flattened bodies, heights above that of a step stool, or jumping out of any mode of transportation unless the tires are on the asphalt and the vehicle is at a dead standstill. When a young friend kindly offered to let me share in a cool, breezy morning of communing with a cow, I jumped at the opportunity – figuratively speaking of course.

God gave me such a morning! What a gorgeous day. It was a bit humid, but the cool, Oklahoma wind made me take a deep breath, thrilled at being alive in God’s creation. I arrived at the farm home which is nestled among big oak trees, promptly at 6:18am, and met my two young instructors, Jillian and Josiah. I was ready to be taught.

The first thing I noticed was their Wellingtons. I glanced down at my white tennis shoes and wondered if perhaps I had been too optimistic in my ability to stay clean. As we headed to the barnyard, I realized I should have borrowed my husband’s pair of rubber boots, no matter how foolish I’d have looked. I have to add here that I am no stranger to the barnyard. I should have known better. In my past life, as stated in my previous post, sheep, horses, cows, hay and muck were an everyday part of my existence. I’ve slept since then. I do remember one time on our farm, when an affluent aunt and uncle on the former husband’s side, from Georgia, came to our beautiful 375 Tennessee acres to see what in the world we were doing. The aunt arrived in a dress and high heels and insisted on seeing the massive sheep barn. As we traipsed across the barnyard to the front of the barn, Auntie sniffed, wrinkled her nose, looked down at her shoes and said, “I don’t know how you do this. It’s so…………..dirty.” Yep. It is that!

So, I should have known better. But no crying over spilt milk –eh? Well, over white shoes with green cow manure decorating them. There was actually no spilt milk except for that which missed the bucket because I can’t aim very well. The two youngsters put me to shame but I was certainly thrilled that I could get a stream of the white stuff going strong and that I didn’t get stepped on or knocked over once. The cow was too busy munching her breakfast to care that some stranger was getting up close and personal with her. I did catch her looking at my white sneakers, however, and I swear she frowned at me with a “What were you thinking?” look.

Now, I have a two gallons of milk cooling down as I prepare to make another leap into the unknown in an attempt at making cheddar cheese. Yes, I realize that at 56 years of age, I live dangerously, but hey, you only live once!!

The udder is sprayed with disinfectant

Josiah displays true skill! Look at those streams! It’s a team effort with Jillian on the other side.

Yours Truly with the telltale gray hair makes an attempt

Heh look!! There’s milk in that thar bovine.

This calf thought my fingers tasted like a milk bottle.

The milk is strained twice and put into a jug. And now it’s ready to go in the frig for ice cold milk and cream. See? You CAN teach an old dog new tricks!!

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Posted in Humorous, So You Have To Make It Educational!! | 5 Comments »

Making Granola

Sunday, June 6th, 2010

Grain Ain’t Just For
Horses, You Know

My Gelding, Buzzard Bait (Real Name: Diamond Nicky)

In my former life, we raised horses. Quarter horses. And I loved them. Mucking out a stall was not so bad for me because it meant that riding came next. Rounding up our sheep on horseback was a daily joy. I can’t remember when I decided that horses were God’s greatest creatures ever given to man, but I know that I was really little. At 5 years old, I would feed grass to the two aging mares across the road from our house and dream of the day when I could have one all my own.

There was the time, in the fifth grade when I decided that I would have a horse all of my own. Of course, we lived in the city and though our yard was large, it wasn’t that large. However, I determined that I could make it work and so I began the tedious process of begging my parents to death. I cried. I begged. I searched the newspapers and came up with arguments “pro Ol’ Dobbins” that I was sure could not be dismissed. I thought that the labor-saving, non-machinery, grass-cutting qualities of the equine mammal had to be of some great benefit. I knew how to argue the environment early. Eventually, I decided that if I produced the money myself, there could be no argument. The result: A table at the street curb with broken toys, tiny multicolored ‘ratfinks’, and troll dolls with soft hair, all for sale and advertised by a large sign stating, “Help Kids Buy A Horse.” My sisters assisted in the hope of sharing in ownership. My eloquent pleading and early entrepreneurialship did little to impress my parents and I had to be satisfied with Marguerite Henry and Walter Farley books, along with a suitcase full of Breyer model horses with which to pretend.

It was marriage that brought me my first horse and a beautiful Tennessee farm. Kimmie was ½ Quarter Horse and ½ Thoroughbred so she was pretty tall – 16 hands – but she was gentle as a kitten and she was my pal . My one mare, eventually turned into over a half a dozen mares and geldings and one stud.

Feeding time was an experience of sounds and smells. Opening the trashcan of sweet feed drew my face down to drink in the aroma as fast as it attracted the flies. Oat grains slathered in molasses rattled into the measuring can and poured like tiny pebbles into the feed buckets with the most pleasant of “whooshing” sounds. As the grain was placed in each stall, muzzles pushing me away to bury deep into dinner, the steady, crunching of satisfied mouths made that feed sound like something I wanted to dig into as well! I must confess that I did so on many occasions – chewing on a little sweetened grain as I went about my work. I was eating granola before it was the world’s newest, healthy snack! Never mind that there were probably all kinds of horse vitamins in there. I never started counting with my foot and so I couldn’t have been too damaged. But as I said, that was in my other life.

So, as I make my granola these days, those sounds and smells come back as peaceful memories. Honey, instead of molasses, oats, nuts and fruits are all baked to a crunchy cereal that makes the same ‘whooshing’ sound as it is poured from its container. I wonder if some Swiss farmer just took some horse feed one day, mashed it and baked it and said, “Yah. Dis is goot! I tink I’ll call dis ‘granola’!” (translated from the Swedish)

I have to interject here that I have splurged and gone one step further in seeing what else I can add to my daily work routine. I purchased a Marga oat flaker and a bucket of oat groats from Debbie Barton at Sonrise Whole Grains, so that I can hover around the hot cereal isle in the grocery store and sidle up to strangers to whisper with authority, “I roll my own oats” and so that they can respond, “So what?” The flaker really is pretty cool to play with! It is neat to watch those tiny grains get mashed flat as you turn the handle to the rollers. It’s kind of mesmerizing. Oatmeal takes on a whole new flavor and consistency and this “I hate oatmeal” girl has turned into a “Let’s have oatmeal again for breakfast because I hear it lowers cholesterol” kind of addict. The hot oatmeal is nutty and chewy, not the usual bowl of gluey gruel fit for the movie “Oliver”. And so, fight as I might, I am being dragged into healthy eating through the seductive temptations of new kitchen gadgets. They’re so shiny and pretty!! Who can resist?

The oats comes in 45 lb buckets. Rolling is a cinch.

With that confession, I’ll end with a recipe for granola that my cousin contributed to our Then and Now Cookbook, a compilation of our family recipes (thanks Beth!). You can find the cookbook at the online store under the shop tab. I will put her recipe on one side and then on the other side, I’ll put what I have changed to suit my husband’s “I have a sweet tooth the size of a golf ball” taste buds. Either way, it is great and is what I use on the yogurt parfaits in the previous post. Enjoy the granola, and as you savor its crunch, you could retreat to the fantasy of youth and pretend that you are a horse masticating its sweet feed. However, be aware that it would mean you’re kind of weird!

Homemade Granola

Beth’s Recipe:

1 box of rolled oats (1 lb 2 oz)
1/2 cup sunflower seeds
1/2 cup sliced almonds
1/2 cup honey
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1 tsp cinnamon
1/2 cup raisins

My Changes and Additions
1 box rolled oats (1 lb 2oz)
1/2 cup sunflower seeds
1/2 cup sliced almonds
1/2 cup chopped pecans
3/4 cups honey
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1 tsp cinnamon
1/2 cup dried/sweetened cranberries

The recipe instructs to combine oats and nuts in a long, shallow baking dish, but I found that mixing it in a large bowl worked better for me. It is much easier to mix in the oil and honey.

Heat the oil and honey; then add cinnamon. Pour over oat and nut mixture. Mix well, so all oats are moistened.

Spread on a cookie sheet with a lip. Bake at 300º about 30 minutes.

Immediately add the raisins or cranberries and store in a covered container in the frig.

Happy Cooking!!
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Posted in Breakfast, Humorous, Let's Cook! | 10 Comments »

Okie Quiche

Friday, May 7th, 2010

Real Men Eat Egg Pie

~~A recipe follows~~

I have a certain soft spot in my heart for the French language. I took five years of French in school and feel sure that after all of this indepth study, I might be able to find the train station – la gare, a bathroom – salle de bains, flatter any waiter as “my little cabbage” – mon petite chou and wage war – la guerre, if ever I make it to that city of cities; Paris. I can read signs fairly efficiently, however, reading and speaking are two different things. I may be able to decifer words on a sign, but when speaking off-the-cuff, I eventually descend into a mixture of English and French with a voice growing ever louder as if the object of my discourse is deaf. Most Americans assume that if one does not understand English, the only problem is that the English is not being pronounced slowly or loudly enough.

One of my most memorable excursions into the world of translation occurred when I was in high school and I had finished my third year of this Romance language. We were visiting the Quebec Province of Canada, in a little town where nobody spoke English. Now, if you are honest with yourself about this know-it-all age of 14-18, you will admit that you thought yourself far superior to any adult with a college education and/or work experience. You were in high school and what you were learning was new and different and more advanced than anything adults could have possibly gotten when they were in school! I could regurgitate French phrases to a teacher, and noone else in my family could! Therefore, I was special. I was the authority when it came to coping with menus and the poulet, the bœuf and the jambon. It was with this air of superiority that I announced to my mother, who was anxious about all of our dirty clothes, that I would speak with the motel clerk and get directions to a laundramat.

I want to add here that I distinctly remember the price that we paid for our rooms. We had gotten three motel rooms in this tiny town, to accommodate my father and mother and then two each of us four girls in each room. The grand total of the bill for one night was $18. Even then, in the early ‘70’s, that was pretty incredible. It must have been, to have made such an impression on me. Anyway, I left our suite of rooms to traipse across the lawn to the motel office, little sister in tow. I had already looked in my English to French dictionary to make sure that I knew the word for “laundry”. Since there was no word for “laundramat” I decided that laundry – blanchisserie – was the next best thing. I entered the office and spoke to the nice lady behind the counter. My little sister looked up at me adoringly. I gathered all 5’4” of my high school ignorance and said, in perfect pronunciation – I must say – “Où est une blanchisserie?”

The young woman looked at me quizzically. She said, “Blanchisserie?” I said, “Oui.” My little sister was all the more impressed. We were having a conversation! The woman studied for a moment and then said, “Ahhh!! Oui!” and disappeared into the back room. The next thing we knew, she was bringing me a tall stack of extra towels and sheets with the definitive statement, “Blanchisserie!” I grimmaced and said, “Non. Non. Blanchisserie!” and fell into my best pantomime of washing clothes on a washboard. An air guitar expert had nothing on me. I washed the pretend clothes, wrung the pretend clothes and then hung them on a pretend line. The woman watched my antics with a frown, trying to discern the French words that I was spelling out in theatrics. “Ahhhhhhhh!” she finally said, with the joy of having figured out the answer to a game show question. “Une laundramat!” She drew me a map and I sheepishly took it to my mother and father. I couldn’t gloss over the incident and pretend that I had intelligently conversed with a native so fluently as to have obtained the directions we needed. There were two young eyes who witnessed the whole thing. The good Lord knows how to take us down a knotch.

So, it was with a continuation of that lesson learning, that I have discovered in my research that one of my favorite dishes, Quiche, did not originate in France. All of these years, I have taught my children that Quiche was created in the Alsace-Lorraine region of France, although it could be argued that it is logical that it was named after some Lorraine lady who love to eat it. Not so, mon frère! How will I ever be the brilliant authority figure in my progeny’s lives again? According to foodreference.com, Quiche originated in Germany. I bet you didn’t know or care that the Alsace-Lorraine was actually part of Germany until the late 1500’s! That is one of those things that we all should know. At that time, the area was known as Lothringen. The word ‘quiche’ is based on the German word for an open pie filled with an egg/cream custard and smoked bacon, ‘Kuchen’. The crust of this pie was made from bread dough. The French changed it to a pie crust, added cheese and onions and voila, came up with Quiche Lorraine. It didn’t become popular here in America until the 1950’s, after WWII, when eggs were no longer $1000 a dozen.

With that enthralling bit of information under your belt, you’ll find my recipe for Quiche below. For the base, I use my pie crust recipe that you can also find on the blog. Quiche is great for any meal – breakfast, lunch or dinner – and is fast and easy. You can even make it the night before, leave it in the frig and bake it the next morning.

Now that you know the real history behind this tasty dish, we can no longer say that real men don’t eat Quiche. All men eat eggs and all men love pies, therefore, all men eat egg pies. See? I learned deductive reasoning in high school too!

OKIE QUICHE
That Won’t Clog Your Arteries

Pie crust
6 whole large eggs
2 egg whites from large eggs
3 tbsp flour
1/2 tsp sea salt
pepper to taste
4 spears asparagus in 1/2″ pieces

1 cup spinach leaves chopped (optional)
4 baby carrots sliced thin
3 mushrooms thinly sliced
1/4 cup diced onion
1/4 cup Hormel bacon bits
or 4 slices cooked bacon
4 slices Swiss cheese
1 1/2 cup skim milk

Note: If you want a creamy, amazing Quiche, you can use half and half instead of milk or 1 cup half and half + 1/2 cup heavy cream. However, don’t blame me if your doctor puts you on life support.

Make pie crust according to directions and roll out into a circle. For ease in transfer to a quiche pan or pie pan, fold the crust in half and then in fourths.

Place the folded dough into the quiche pan or pie pan and open to a half circle. Open the rest of the dough to fill the pan. Press and shape to completely bring the dough up the sides and onto the lip.

Cut dough flush with the edge of the quiche pan. Flute the dough by using the thumb and first finger as a crevice in which to push the dough with the blunt end of a knife. Pinch as you push the knife into the dough.

In a deep bowl, scramble the eggs with the 3 tbsp of flour. Whip egg whites until stiff and fold into the eggs. Add salt, pepper and milk or cream and stir.

Chop vegetables

Place all of the vegetables into the pie shell and sprinkle with Hormel Crumbled Bacon or lay strips of bacon or ham across the veggies. Carefully pour half of the egg mixture over filling.

Place slices of cheese to cover the surface and pour the rest of the egg mixture over the cheese. Dot with a few pats of butter.

Bake in a preheated 375º oven for 35 minutes or until set, puffy and golden brown. Allow to cool slightly.

Slice and serve with fruit or salad. Pictured here, the quiche is served with strawberries and vanilla yogurt.

Posted in Breakfast, Humorous, Let's Cook!, So You Have To Make It Educational!! | 7 Comments »

Meet Herbert

Friday, April 30th, 2010

Meet Herbert

Oklahoma is known for its abundant wildlife – its deer, buffalo, turkey, sandcranes, snow geese…..and even for those of us who do not live out in the woolly west of our state, the simple Oklahoma garden can provide a plethora of photo opportunities in the animal department.

With this being the reality of Oklahoma gardening, I know that I should never be surprised by any critter that might introduce itself, whether on purpose or by accident. My nerves should be steel. My attitude should be blasé as I move a wayward skink or disgusted toad out of my way. It is not “country macho” to freak over the sudden centipede. A startled, “Oh!” might be acceptable, but screaming and running around in circles is definitely not good country etiquette toward those of lessor status on the food chain.

It is therefore, with slight dismay that I admit my initial reaction to finding Herbert. I did scream. I did run away, but my redeeming moment came when I stopped, turned around and went back to gaze at Herbert and to introduce myself. It is possible that my first unseemly display of bigotry miffed Herbert as he did not appear to be at all interested in what I had to say. However, he stayed still long enough for me to go get Hubby so that both of us could offer our friendly curiosity.

I nearly stumbled on Herbert while I was admiring my strawberry beds. They are full this year and I am anxiously awaiting a crop of the ruby red gems with anticipation. Strawberry freezer jam, frozen strawberries for smoothies and shakes, fresh strawberries on shortcake and in pies – mmm – makes my mouth water. But you want to know about Herbert. I was stepping around the strawberry bed and backed up to one of the peach trees to go to the other end of the garden beds, when I looked down and nearly stepped on Herbert. All 4 1/2 or 5 feet of him. He was fat and had lumps all down his body. He must have had a grand meal of field mice with perhaps a quail egg thrown in for dessert.

I snapped a picture but Herbert decided he’d had enough of the two- legged critters that had disturbed his reverie and so he undulated to the nearest peach tree, lifted the front 1/3 of his body up to the bottom branch, hoisted himself up onto said branch and then wrapped his way around ascending branches until he was high enough in the tree to stare me in the eye. I figure that he felt he had a better advantage at that level vs. being on the ground next to my foot. I feel sure that he was well acquainted with the verse out of Genesis where the snake is told, “he will crush your head, and you will strike his heel.” Most people don’t wait to have any heel striking going on and are all about head crushing when it comes to snakes! Herbert probably knew that.

So, Herbert wrapped himself cozily among the peach branches and stared at me. That was when I named him Herbert. Don’t ask me why. I don’t even know a Herbert to say he looked like a Herbert. It just seemed right. I took portraits of him and then left him to determine how to unknot himself out of his predicament. He was gone when I checked a few hours later. Herbert is out there now, chasing all the field mice and boppin’ ’em on the head – and then swallowing them. But they won’t be eating my strawberries!!

Doesn’t he look like a Herbert to you too?

Posted in A Day In the Life Of An Okie, Humorous, So You Have To Make It Educational!! | 8 Comments »

Lois’ Corner

Tuesday, April 13th, 2010

Lois’ Corner

I get kind of tired of reading my own words – it’s kind of like having to hear yourself talk all of the time. Of course my hubby would argue that this isn’t a problem for me! I am never short on words. However, I do enjoy sharing other’s ideas and thoughts and my dear Aunt Lois – my dad’s sister – provided me with the opportunity. I am going to give her a platform all her own at The Oklahoma Pastry Cloth™ Blog to teach the young’un’s and to remind us oldun’s about life in general. I’ll add a few pictures for fun.

My aunt lives in Georgia and is a happy, talented and fun-loving woman of great faith and great humor. At 86, she writes for several sources and it will be a joy to share some of her memories, thoughts on life and brilliant observations on a regular basis here. Sit at her feet and learn!

Answer To A Question You
Didn’t Think To Ask

Written By Lois Wyrick
The question surfaced as I was preparing a program to give to a group of women. The topic was all that women do or not do to attain happiness and yes, it was a “tongue in cheek” response to what we do. One of the topics had to do with how woman struggles with her hair and how important hair is to her happiness.
I used my life as an example and told of my first hair permanent and all that I have gone through to have curly hair. Straight hair is in fashion now but that was not the case in my life. So, I went to Google to find out about the permanent machine that we used to get a long lasting wave and I was surprised with the answer.
The article begins with the fact that Caucasian women have never been content with straight hair and have gone to many lengths to get the curl. I remember mother telling how she and her sisters slept in “rags.” My understanding was they wrapped sections of their hair around strips of cloth and wearing this overnight gave a curl to their hair.

Rags were used as rollers

Did you know that the first permanent machine surfaced in 1872? I couldn’t believe how dangerous it sounded and wondered about the bravery or desperateness of the woman who tried it. Several machines were developed after that but it was in 1906 that a machine was developed that used rollers, solution and heat. The inventor tried it on his wife and it burned off her hair and gave painful scalp burns. The article didn’t say if the marriage survived the ordeal.

A Vintage Permanent Machine

Long hair was a woman’s crowning glory and it wasn’t until the beginning of the 20th century that woman began cutting her hair. This began with woman doing man’s work during WW1 and long hair got in the way of her work. Short hair became a fashion statement in the 1920s and the wave that women got with the cut came with a “curling iron.” The wave style was called a “marcel” named after the man who invented the method.
I remember mother telling the story of when she had her first cut and wave. Mother’s hair was long enough for her to sit on and it was my dad’s pride and joy. All of the women in his family had long hair but none was as pretty as my mother’s hair.
Mother’s younger sister, Susie, was the first to get her hair cut short and Dad’s mother told my mother that Aunt Susie would go to hell. Mother envied her sister’s sense of freedom with her short hair and decided to do likewise. She waited until Dad had to go out of town, took ,my piggy bank money and her grocery money and got her hair cut and “marcelled.” I never heard what anyone said about it, including Dad and his mother. Mother just smiled and shook her head, “no” when I would ask about it. As far as I know this was the most defiant act my mother ever did. Which says a lot about the relationship of woman and her hair.

Mother with her hair “marcelled”

The rest of the story: It wasn’t too many years later that Dad’s sisters followed mother with short hair and waves. It was about ten years later that my paternal grandmother had her hair cut and waved. However, she HAD to do it – Her explanation to everyone that the weight of her long hair gave her headaches and the doctor ordered her to cut her hair. I loved my grandmother but even I wondered about that.
I do remember my first permanent. I was fourteen and I’m sure my dad wasn’t too pleased about it. I had short brown hair with bangs and I was so ready for wavy hair like movie stars had. The machine used for permanents in the 1930s looked like something from outer space. It was round and had electrical cords hanging down with clamps at the end. A horrible smelling solution was applied to each section of your hair and the hair was then placed around rollers. The hanging clamps were then attached to each roller and electricity was then turned on and, for what seemed forever, your hair received heat to cook your hair. And yes, it came out curly and every woman and young girl looked like an overgrown Shirley Temple. It took forever for the smell to leave your hair.
The “cold wave” method that we use today came into our life in 1938 and I’m not sure when it replaced the heat method.
A lot of men worked on developing a way for women to have curly hair. They would be surprised at today’s hair fashion. Straight hair is “in” and it causes women to use a machine to press their curly hair straight. And so it goes with life.

Thanks, Aunt Lois, for reminding us just how far we women have come! Or have we?!

Posted in Humorous, Lois' Corner, So You Have To Make It Educational!! | 5 Comments »

Salmon En Croûte

Friday, March 5th, 2010

Fish, Cows and Things
That Go Bump In The
Night

Though I was originally born in Oklahoma, I have lived in a number of different parts of the country, whether full time or just for summers, and have enjoyed the particular regional foods that always stand out. In Maine, it was lobster and clams, in Maryland it was crab and crabcakes, in Kansas it was Prairie Chicken and Pheasant, in Texas it was bar-b-que shredded from half a steer baked in a pit, and in Tennessee it was grits, greens, country ham, spoonbread and fried okra.

I also had the privilege of growing up with students from other countries in my home and so that really broadened my epicurean horizons. Japanese, Italian, Jordanian, Moroccan – if they made it, we tried it. I remember one dish in particular, created for us by a young, Jordanian man, that fascinated my sixth grade, just emerging, artistic appreciation. It was a molded pile of rice, shaped like a volcano that had blown its top, and sided with sauteed slices of eggplant strategically pressed into the mount to produce decorative, purple-ringed circles. I have no memory of how it tasted, but it sure looked neat to me!

The one thing that I have found to be true, no matter where I’ve been, is that in every part of the country, the people love to eat! Put a steak in front of a Texan and “whoa doggie.” Shoot, in Amarillo you can get a 72 oz slab of steer and, if you can eat it all, you get to attempt to choke down another one! It’s free don’t you know? Right here in Oklahoma, not to be outdone by our neighbors south of the Red River, we boast of the steakhouse of historical steakhouses, Cattlemen’s Steakhouse. And so, yes, we Oklahomans are no different from the rest of the country. We like our food.

Unfortunately, there are those outside of this state who actually think that steak and potatoes are the only things that we do eat in Oklahoma. Well…that and Bubba’s 6 point buck, shot in the Fall for when the beef runs out. The truth is, however, that we Okies are pretty high-fallootin’ when it comes to our vittles. In Oklahoma City, Ingrid’s Kitchen is one of our many incredible and authentic German restaurants that also tantalizes its patrons with pastries that can only be classified as “an experience”. Then there’s Nonna’s fine European dining where the salads are served sprinkled with flowers grown by Nonna herself – flowers that you can eat right along with the arugula! Of course, I suppose one might argue that this could bring the conversation away from fine dining and back around to the subject of steaks from the lowly steer who also eats flowers. But I digress.

The Skirvin Hilton Hotel has a spread fit for oil barons and presidents and has actually served oil barons and presidents. Better yet, it is also supposed to be haunted!! Just ask the New York Knicks. They swear that they lost their game to the Oklahoma City Thunder because they were so scared of the ghosts that they couldn’t sleep. Sounds plausible to me. I’d say that an Okie ghost would have a great time scaring the daylights out of a New Yorker!

Therefore, at the prodding of my doctor who wants the recipe ( did you know that Alaskan Salmon has less mercury than Atlantic salmon?) I decided to bypass the usual “homey” fare of downhome cookin’ to post one of my more hoity-toity recipes. I came up with this one after having tried something kind of similar at a lovely restaurant that is no longer in business – I promise they didn’t go out of business because of the food – and on a day when I had an unlikely combination of ingredients that needed using. It is really good, if I do say so myself, and no matter where you live, it’s good for you too! My Okie doctor says so! Hope you enjoy!

Salmon En Croûte

6 sheets Phyllo dough (also spelled Fillo and Fyllo on packages)
2 (4oz) Alaskan salmon filets
6 small, fresh mushrooms
1 tbsp finely chopped onion
4 cloves garlic, finely chopped or pressed
1 tbsp olive oil or butter
Fresh baby spinach leaves

Remoulade Sauce

2 Tbsp mayonnaise (can use fat-free)
1/8 tsp paprika
1/2 tsp Worcestershire Sauce
Pinch of celery seed
1 tsp finely chopped onion
1/8 tsp lemon juice
2 tsp ketchup
1 tsp Grey Poupon mustard
1/2 tsp horseradish
Mix ingredients together with a spoon and set aside

Slice and chop mushrooms and onion

Press or chop garlic

Sauté mushrooms, onion and garlic and a pinch of salt in 1 tbsp olive oil until liquid is boiled out. Set aside. This is my favorite sauté pan. It is very old and very worn, but I love it.

Unroll a package of Phyllo dough, and cover with a wet paper towel to keep from drying out. Separate three sheets and brush between the sheets with olive oil. You can use the spray olive oil if you prefer.

Place salmon fillet about three inches from the outside edge of the short end of the dough. Using kitchen scissors, cut the dough to three inches on the opposite side. Sprinkle fish with a pinch of salt and pepper.

Place 1/2 mushroom mix on top of the salmon.

Fold the long sides of the Phyllo dough over the fish. Brush olive oil on the remaining ends of the dough so that they will fold and stay attached to the rest of the dough.

022, 026

Turn pockets seam side down and place on a cookie sheet lined with parchment paper. Using remaining dough, wad up into a “flower” and place on top of the Phyllo envelopes as decoration. Drizzle or spray a little olive oil on the flowers to help slow their cooking. Place in preheated 350º oven and bake for approximately 30 minutes or until golden brown.

Place spinach leaves as a bed on serving plate and top with piping hot salmon pocket. Serve immediately with a dollop of Remoulade Sauce on top of the flower. The spinach leaves will wilt to warm and crunchy. Here, I’ve added a slice of fresh pineapple with a strawberry and steamed asparagus.

This serves two people and can be increased for any number. It’s a great dish for a dinner party because you can make the salmon pockets ahead of time and cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate until ready to bake. Your guests will think that you spent the whole day in the kitchen!! This is one of my hubby’s favorites.

Happy Cooking!!

Tags: ghosts, oklahoma restaurants, salmon recipe
Posted in A Day In the Life Of An Okie, Humorous, Let's Cook!, Meats and Main Dishes | 2 Comments »

Homemade Noodles and Noodlin’
Saturday, February 27th, 2010

♪♪ Come Noodlin’
With Me ♪♪
(Yes, there IS a
recipe in
here somewhere!)

Noodle:
1.noun: dough rolled into thin, flat strips; pasta
2.verb: “to noodle”; a primative method of putting food on the table, specifically catfish, involving a hapless fish, a soaked human, no fishing pole and two brains of equal size. Also known as “grabblin”, “hoggin”, “doggin”, “gravelin’ or “ticklin”.

Ever heard of “noodling”?
From the National Geographic:
“Some people call it the Mount Everest of fishing. But most everyone else describes “noodling” or handfishing, as just plain crazy”

The Oxford English Dictionary defines “noodling” as “a stupid person”. Hmmm. Think about that. The sport with the same name requires walking along a riverbank, in the water – no – sometimes under the water, feeling for a fish in places where beavers, snakes and snapping turtles are just as likely to hide and then putting one’s hand into the fish’s mouth where tender skin is no match for razor-like teeth. I might call that less than brilliant!

While noodling is carried out in most parts of the South, here in Oklahoma, we are proud of those who noodle and we hold up Pauls Valley as the home of the Olympics of noodling – the annual Okie Noodling Tournament. Bob’s Pig Shop is the sponsor, with live entertainment and fried catfish making for a fun festival atmosphere. This year’s gathering of the bold and the brave happens on July 10th.

I grew up with stories about my father’s, my grandfather’s and my great-grandfather’s “noodlin’ ” adventures. My dad shares in his book, Sailing Down the River of Memories, his noodling expertise which was handed down through the generations to him. We are very big on passing on traditions in my family, however, somehow this tradition of risking life and limb and appendages seems to have stopped with my father. Go figure.

On page 17 Dad shares:
“I learned to noodle or to fish with my hands. Now, that was an adventure! I’d go into the water and feel along the bank until I found a hole. Then, I’d slowly reach in to see if there might be a fish. Interestingly enough, by moving slowly and being gentle, you can stroke a fish under water and it won’t swim off. I’d carefully put a finger in the mouth and the thumb in the gill and bring the fish up close to my body. Then I put my other hand on the body of the fish so it couldn’t get away and I’d walk out of the water. The adventure was the chance of getting a turtle or a snake – but I never did. You had to be careful with catfish because the whiskers could stick in your skin and really hurt.”

Dad also tells about his granddad, my great-granddad – Robert Hightower, who taught him how to finesse a catfish.

“One of the largest fish he noodled was a 28-pound catfish on Spring River at Galesburg. [Missouri] Since that was not a legal way of fishing, Bob told everyone he had landed it with a cane pole. His description of the battle was so vivid no one doubted his word, but the scratches on his arms and fingers told another tale. He told son-in-law, Charlie [my granddad], he threaded a cord through the catfish’s mouth and gill and after tying the other end around his arm, he started for the bank. Something startled the fish and it went downstream pulling him with it. He had quite a battle getting to shore and landing the fish. When he put the fish on a 300 lb cake of ice, its head was at one end with the tail hanging over the other end nearly touching the ground.”

Robert Hightower is featured in the Then and Now Cookbook

I hope you enjoy this video that shows that men “ain’t got nuthin’ on us females” when it comes to noodlin’……………

OK, so that same side of my family, in spite of the obvious quirky side passed down through the generations to me, I was handed down another kind of “noodlin'”- the homemade kind. I was raised on Sunday lunch that included either chuck roast cooked to perfection, shredding to moist strips, or chicken equally moist and falling off the bone. Both were accompanied by homemade noodles gently boiled in the broth from the meats. Before we would leave for church, Mom would put the meat, onions and salt and pepper into a dutch oven with water and would leave it to bake slowly while we were gone. When we walked into the house after a morning of worship, the aroma would be so permeating that the saliva glands had an immediate Pavlovian response.

Dad always made the noodles and he did it just as his mother had taught him. His great-aunt Myrtle, Grandmother’s sister, taught Grandmother how to make them and then, my father taught me. Dad can cut those noodles so thin that the result is delicate and tender. He still makes them when we go home and now, the next generation has taken its place as my children are now making the noodles in their homes.

Below is the photo recipe for one of our favorite family traditions. I hope you enjoy them as well. Since I never learned to practice the other “noodlin'”, I’m satisfied with my efforts at the pasta variety. However, if you want to take up the sport, more power to you – and to the fish.

Hightower Noodles

1 cup flour
1 large egg
Approximately 3 tbsp water
6 cups broth – either chicken or beef

PRINTABLE RECIPE

Put flour into a bowl and make a well in the center. Break the egg into the center and scramble. Add enough water to make a sticky dough. My dad always said that Grandmother taught to use a large egg, broken at the small end toward the top and then use the larger end filled with water. However, it is my opinion that chickens must have been larger back in those days and so I use 2-3 egg shell measures of water. (about 3 tbsp)

Pour the dough out onto a floured Oklahoma Pastry Cloth™ and knead in just enough flour so that it can be handled easily

Gently flour the outside of the dough and roll it around until it forms a ball

Divide the dough into 4-6 pieces and roll them into smaller balls.

Using one dough ball at a time, pat into a circle with your hand.

Using a rolling pin, roll the circle out to very, very thin, turning frequently and sprinkling with flour to avoid sticking. Always keep plenty of flour on the pastry cloth. Gently lift flattened circles, as they are completed, and place them on a cookie rack or floured surface such as a counter top, cutting board, a second pastry cloth or a tea towel for drying. Allow to dry at least 30 minutes on each side. If the air is moist, it can take longer. Repeat the process on remaining dough balls.

When the circles of dough are dry, but still very pliable, roll each one into a very loose jelly roll. Before rolling, you can flour the surface lightly to keep from sticking

With a good, sharp knife, slice noodles thinly and then run fingers through them to loosen, unroll and separate. Be careful not to pinch the dough as you are cutting, just holding it lightly between thumb and finger

The noodles can sit in the open air while you prepare your broth. Bring broth to a boil. Reduce heat slightly and gently drop noodles in a handful at a time, stirring lightly with a fork. Cook approximately 15 minutes until tender. You can add canned broth if more broth is needed. Serve immediately over meat (baked or boiled chicken or beef) or mashed potatoes or as a side.

Now that’s the way to use the ol’ noodle!!

Happy Cooking!

MB

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Posted in A Day In the Life Of An Okie, Humorous, Let's Cook!, So You Have To Make It Educational!!, Vegetables and Side Dishes | 12 Comments »

All You Ever Wanted To Know About Valentine’s Day – A Recipe!
Monday, February 1st, 2010

It is February 1st and aside from the fact that two of my sisters, my husband and two of our presidents’ birthdays are celebrated this month, we do have a holiday coming of all things lovey-dovey – Valentine’s Day.

♥

Now, here in Oklahoma, we consider Valentine’s Day the next best excuse for eating chocolate since the previous excuse comes nearly two months earlier at Christmas and the next one isn’t until the Easter season. After that, it is every man – or woman – for himself in the rationalization department! If you are looking for some unique and exquisite chocolates that have a real story, Google Bedré Chocolates which are owned and produced by the Chickasaw Tribe right here in Oklahoma. They are the only chocolates produced by an American Indian tribe. They are delicious!!

♥

Being a retired home school parent, I know the unwritten law in the unwritten book of home schooling that states, “Make every opportunity the opportunity for a teachable moment.” I shall do so now. Hence, follows all you ever wanted to know about Valentine’s Day:

♥

According to the World Book Encyclopedia – that bright red number copyrighted in 1989 (yes, I still have it on our book shelves) – there are different theories about how Valentine’s Day came to be. Some trace it to an ancient Roman festival called Lupercalia. Others insist that it involves a certain saint in the Christian church and others equate it with an old English belief that birds mate on February 14. The ancient Romans held the festival of Lupercalia on February 15 to ensure protection from wolves. This appears to be an appropriate celebration, today, for most young women who find themselves chased by “wolves” on a continual basis. In Rome, the celebration was marked by young men hitting people with strips of animal hide. Even back then, they recognized that the real wolves walk on two feet! The women took the blows because they thought that getting struck made them more likely to have children. It is my informed opinion that this practice was then passed down to those very children, using switches from a nearby tree and women have been blessing their children with such switches ever since.

♥

The Christian church disputes this origin because it is known that within the Church, there were two saints named Valentine. According to one story, young men were forbidden, under Roman Empire law, to marry because they made better soldiers if they weren’t tied to a family. A priest named Valentine took it upon himself to secretly marry star-crossed lovers who didn’t care a whit about the law and who had all read Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. Yet another story says that the other Valentine made friends with many children as HE knew the story of the Pied Piper. This made the Romans mad and they imprisoned Valentine (Of course, it is possible that the fact that he refused to worship their gods might have had something to do with this). The children missed him so much that they tossed loving notes, produced by Hallmark Cards, to him through his jail cell window. We have been giving Hallmark Cards on Valentine’s Day ever since.

♥
So there you have the history of Valentine’s Day in an abbreviated form. I am including the recipe for an original, wonderful, simple and fail-safe breakfast treat that you can make for your Valentine or Valentines to start the day off right. Happy Valentine’s Day!!!

Breakfast “Soufflés”

1 whole egg, separated
2 egg whites
1/4 cup Kraft sharp cheddar Easy Cheese in a can (yep!) or any other brand of sharp cheese in a can
2 tbsp shredded asiago cheese
4 small cocktail croissants (about 1 oz each)
1 slice bacon
3 tbsp Hormel Real Crumbled Bacon with Picnic Bacon
1/2 cup skim milk or 1/2 and 1/2 if you want to get dangerous
1 pat butter
1 cup fresh spinach chopped
1/4 tsp onion powder
1/4 tsp salt
2 mini springform pans or medium ramekins

PRINT RECIPE

Place springform pans or ramekins onto a cookie sheet. Slice croissants in half lengthwise. With a rolling pin, roll 5 of the halves flat. In the two springform pans or ramekins that have been sprayed with Pam, press two croissant halves into each bottom, filling any gaps with pieces of the extra half.

In a blender, put egg yolk, Kraft Easy Cheese, milk, one of the whole croissants, onion powder, and salt and blend until smooth.

Place egg whites into a bowl and beat with mixer until fluffy and white.

Add Hormel ham and bacon bits and spinach to whipped egg whites, folding them in gently, without stirring.

Pour 1/2 mixture into each pan and sprinkle with asiago cheese and place
1/2 of the final croissant half and 1/2 slice of cooked bacon on top with
1/2 pat of butter.

Bake at 350 degrees for approximately 25-30 minutes until set.

Add whatever fruits and garnishes you choose to say, “I love you!”

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

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Posted in Breakfast, Humorous, Let's Cook! | 4 Comments »

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