By the way, while I’m not the subject, I have to break one of blog rules right now, which is “Don’t Bore Your Readers with Cloying Stories about How Sweet Your Husband Is.” He has been amazing lately–cooking dinner, asking for Honey-Do lists, being Super Dad, and cheering me on with all his might as I work on building my consulting practice. Lately, more than ever, I really feel we are partners, in synch with one another and working hard.

Okay. Back to regularly scheduled programming. If your life has been anything like mine lately, you might appreciate this healthy, (relatively) quick, and thrifty meal. I have often roasted ratatouille in a deeper pan, which causes the veggies to steam. Still delicious, but this is my new thing. I’d love it if it became your new thing.

Rapid Rataouille
Preheat oven to 425. Cut 4 medium zucchini, 1 large yellow onion, 2 yellow bell peppers, and 6 roma tomatoes into uniform large-ish pieces and put onto a baking sheet. Add one pound of baby red potatoes, halved. Take a whole head of garlic and separate it into peeled cloves. Scatter the cloves over vegetables. Pour 1/4 c. best-quality olive oil over the whole thing and add very generous pinches of kosher salt and grindings of pepper. Gently stir. Roast for about 45 minutes, stirring once, until veggies have crisped up around the edges and everything is all olive-oily-oozy. Chop up some fresh rosemary or parsley, finely grate a little parmesan, zest a lemon, and mix these up together. Sprinkle over your hot ratatouille.

I found this recipe in a magazine at the gym, and now I can’t remember if it was Family Circle, Woman’s Day…one of those free subscriptions that show up in all gyms and doctors’ offices. I get a gut “I-know-that’s-a-good-recipe” feeling sometimes. I had that feeling about these cookies and couldn’t wait to see if I was right.

Loretta and I needed a project yesterday. She’d put up with my working, my distraction, and being hauled around town. For both our sakes, I needed to focus on her for a bit. She measured, stirred, and industriously spread flour from one end of the kitchen to the other. When Wyatt and Loretta ate these cookies after dinner last night, they literally started dancing. Wyatt said, “If I had a bigger thumb, I’d use it for a thumbs up right now.” I had considered spicing these up with cardamom, lemon zest, or almond extract. In the end, I opted for a big thumbs up instead. Kids always want plain, uncomplicated things. In this case, they’re on to something.

These are moist little cookie cakes, and almost look like drop biscuits when they’re baking up, toasty crags on top. The ricotta acts like sour cream or yogurt might, giving a slight tartness, softness, and body. And I love dipping them in the icing rather than spreading it. Genius. If you dip the center of the barely warm cookies into the icing, the icing sticks perfectly and spreads just enough down the sides of the cake.

“Simpler is better” is a message I’m hearing in many forms lately, from clients, friends, kids, from my husband who’s always telling me to relax. The other day he made a list. One one side was “Yancey’s Stressors.” Two things. My column went all the way down the page. Thank God there’s only one of me. And it’s too bad simpler is sometimes harder. If you’re feeling that way, drop everything and make these cookies.

Ricotta Mini Cakes
Makes 2 dozen. Even though I just gave a sermonette on simplicity, don’t let that stop you. I’m not the last word (don’t tell my kids that). I imagine Meyer lemon with these. Or so many other things.

2 1/4 c. flour
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. baking powder
1/8 tsp. salt
1/2 c. unsalted butter, softened
1 c. granulated sugar
1 c. ricotta cheese
1 egg
1 tsp vanilla
2 c. powdered sugar
3 Tb. milk

Preheat oven to 350 and lightly grease two baking sheets (or line with parchment).

Whisk flour, baking soda, baking powder, and salt.

Beat butter and granulated sugar together until blended. Add ricotta, egg, and vanilla and beat until blended. On low speed, add flour mixture. Drop by tablespoonfuls onto cookie sheets and bake until golden brown around the edges, about 14 minutes. Let cool on sheets for a few minutes, then place them on a cooling rack to cool completely.

For glaze, whisk powdered sugar and milk until smooth. Dip centers of cookies in–glaze will slowly spread down the sides. Let glaze harden.

We’re in a retro phase around here. Turns out, meat is easy. Steaks? Throw them in a cast iron skillet with a little butter, turn them after five minutes, and not even the most laboriously layered lasagna can hold a candle. I haven’t always felt this way about steaks. Ask my friends–they’ll testify to my constantly changing (and loudly pronounced) opinions. I used to say things like, “Steak is so boring. And not even that good. I don’t see what the big deal is.” Do-over. Big time. I see what the big deal is, and Bob’s Quality Meats wraps up a mean tri-tip.

Chicken and rice fits nicely into the retro phase.  Take your BFF Dutch oven down. Brown some boneless, skinless thighs, throw in thinly sliced onions and lots of garlic.  Add rice and chicken stock, cover it, and be Super Mom in 35 minutes.

I’m not one to idealize the past (the days before washing machines and cute maternity clothes? No thanks.), but I could go for a few other retro things. Jerry Seinfeld doesn’t use his cell phone in the car anymore. He said, “What’s so wrong with 1985?” Indeed. Stirrup pants, Cosby Show, friendship pins, chicken and rice. I am up for that.

Inner Child Chicken with Rice
From Greg Atkinson’s West Coast Cooking, which I’m borrowing from my Mom and really like. No photos, but great, straightforward recipes, local ingredients, and interesting narrative. I find I’m often attracted to no-photo cookbooks. Takes the pressure off. He titles this “Mom’s Chicken with Rice,” and uses 1 c. white wine and 3 c. chicken stock. I didn’t have any white wine, so only used chicken stock. Still delicious, but wine wouldn’t hurt.

6 large boneless chicken thighs (or 8 small ones)
1 Tb. kosher salt
1 tsp. freshly ground pepper
1/4 c. olive oil
1 medium onion, peeled and thinly sliced
2 cups long-grain white rice (like basmati)
4 cloves minced garlic
1 bay leaf
1 Tb. fresh thyme plus more for top
1 c. white wine
3 c. chicken stock

Sprinkle chicken with salt and pepper. In a Dutch oven over medium-high heat, brown the chicken pieces in the oil, turning them several times to brown on all sides, about 7 minutes in all.

Pull the chicken out of the pan and set aside. In the oil, saute the onion until it is soft and slightly browned. Stir in the rie, garlic, bay leaf, and thyme, then pour in the white wine and chicken stock and bring the liquid to a boil.

Put the chicken pieces back in the pot, reduce the heat to low, and cover. Simmer until the rice has absorbed the cooking liquid and the chicken is cooked through, about 35 minutes. Serve hot, sprinkled with more fresh thyme.

One necessary evil lately is having to work in the morning while the kids watch cartoons. (If you care about me, please don’t send any links to stories about screen time.) And they’ve been getting toast and fruit for breakfast while I drink my coffee standing up. This morning, though–Sunday morning, kids coming down with colds, Yancey at the station–I put down my work to make doughnuts. I don’t want them to feel entirely neglected. And nothing says, “Your mother loves you more than she loves her iPhone” like deep-frying. Deep-frying and rolling in sugar, no less.

One of our favorite rituals is getting the hot cinnamon-y doughnuts at Pike Place Market. These days, the secret is out, and there’s often a line snaking down the center of the market. I don’t think I can beat those, but you won’t have to get on the train or pay for parking when you make these. And they don’t have ginger ones.

I could really take up your day by stopping to talk about ginger–fresh, candied, dried. And its limitless, delicious uses in smoothies, cookies, cakes, curries, soups, tea. I always have a few big knobs in my produce drawer and a bag of crystallized ginger in the pantry. Unfortunately, my children aren’t quite as keen on it. Sugar all over his face, Wyatt said, “Mom, thanks for the awesome breakfast. Minus the ginger.” It didn’t stop them, though.

Gingered Doughnuts
Adapted from my green Gourmet cookbook. This recipe makes about 40 small doughnuts. I halved it. I used my cast iron skillet for deep frying and a candy thermometer to make sure the oil was hot enough. When you test it, make the sure the tip doesn’t rest on the bottom of the pan. It will melt (not that I’ve learned the hard way or anything). You can certainly make these doughnuts without the candied and dried ginger. Or roll them in sugar and cinnamon instead of sugar and dried ginger. This dough is easy to make and easy to work with. The hardest part about these is making sure the oil doesn’t get too hot or too cool and making sure you don’t eat the entire batch.

4 cups all-purpose flour plus additional for dusting
4 teaspoons baking powder
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
1 1/2 teaspoons ground ginger
1 3/4 cups sugar
2 oz crystalized ginger, finely chopped (1/3 cup)
3/4 cup well-shaken buttermilk
1/2 stick (1/4 cup) unsalted butter, melted and cooled slightly
2 large eggs
10 cups vegetable oil

For dredging mixture, whisk together 1 cup sugar and  3/4 teaspoon ground ginger in a shallow bowl.

Whisk together flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, 3/4 c sugar, and 3/4 teaspoon ground ginger in a large bowl.

Whisk buttermilk, butter, and eggs until smooth, then buttermilk mixture to flour mixture and stir until a dough forms (dough will be sticky).

Turn out dough onto a well-floured surface and knead gently just until it comes together, 10 to 12 times, then form into a ball. Lightly dust work surface and dough with flour, then roll out dough into a 13-inch round (about 1/3 inch thick) with a floured rolling pin. Cut out 3/4″ rounds with floured cutter and transfer to a lightly floured baking sheet. Gather scraps and reroll, then cut out additional rounds. (Reroll only once.)

Heat oil in a wide 5-quart heavy pot until thermometer registers 375°F. Working in batches of 7 or 8 (or 4 or 5 if you’re using a cast iron skillet), carefully add rounds, 1 at a time, to oil and fry, turning over once, until golden brown, 1 1/2 to 2 minutes total per batch. (Return oil to 375°F between batches.) Transfer to paper towels to drain. Cool slightly, then dredge in ginger sugar.

Here’s the sort of thing I cook on those nights. Some chopping, a tiny bit of cooking, a lot of nourishment. Made possible by a trip to the produce stand last weekend where I stocked up on several random things without a plan.

P.S. Loved all your tips and cautions about counting calories. I ran into a reader at the gym this morning. She said, “So, will you be all about diet recipes now?” An emphatic “NO!” My philosophy and style isn’t changing, and I don’t plan on counting calories forever. It has been very instructive, though, to start recognizing the mindless morsels that end up in my mouth throughout the day.

Weeknight Couscous Bowl
Scrounge in your fridge for anything that might taste good atop a bowl of warm couscous. I did julienned yellow peppers, crumbled feta, sunflower seeds, red jalapéno rings, zucchini quickly sauteed in garlic and olive oil, baked tofu, shredded carrots, green onions, and lemon slices. Then I mixed up a little yogurt dressing–1 c. plain yogurt, 1 minced garlic clove, a squeeze of lemon, salt, red pepper flakes. You could also add some tahini if you have it. Put all the toppings in the middle of the table and give everyone a bowl of couscous. (For 4 people, boil 3 c. water with a bit of salt and butter. Once water has boiled, take off heat. Add 3 c. whole wheat couscous, stir, cover, and let sit for 5 minutes. Take lid off, fluff with a fork.)

I am grateful for my body and have a good relationship with it. I’ve talked several times here before about exercise, healthy eating, and how it’s possible to still be food-obsessed at the same time. But I’m realizing all over again is that this mindfulness business isn’t something I can do for a few months and then back off. It never ends!

My Fitness Pal (I love to hate that name) tells me that exercise gives me more calories to spend. That’s incentive. Big time. A two-hour walk might earn me a small piece of this pie. And I could listen to food podcasts along the way, which isn’t a half-bad proposition.

I tore this recipe out of Better Homes and Gardens at the gym last week. I’ve stopped trying to mute the deafening shredding sound. No one around me seems to mind. They’re too busy watching The Food Network. And have you noticed? Even magazines like Better Homes and Gardens often have good or interesting recipes these days. This is a case where a rising tide really does lift all boats. Our collective food consciousness has evolved even if our practice hasn’t. That’s a topic for another day. In the meantime, I’m wild about this concoction, and it will give Priya more uses for all that chocolate she’s been buying. We won’t let My Fitness Pal in on this little secret.

Rustic Chocolate Pie
Adapted from Better Homes and Gardens. I considered using one of my own crust recipes, but ended up with this one. It gave me zero problems and turned out beautifully flaky and was just the right size for the amount of filling. I used Guittard 60% chocolate–don’t use the super super dark stuff, as it doesn’t turn out as smooth. These days, I’m into the Ghiradelli 60% chips, too. Available at almost all grocery stores, affordable, and melt easily. This really does serve 10-12 people, as you only need a small slice (And don’t share any with My Fitness Pal. Though well-intentioned, she’s kind of a *&*$# ).

So I’ve been surprised at how much I’ve been enjoying teaching Wyatt’s little 6-8 year-old Sunday school class. We light a candle when they first come in, and I ask them how their week was. They are always bursting with news. Irene went to her Grandma’s house. Nora got in a fight with her brother, and Annie got a new stuffed animal for Valentine’s Day. Wyatt eagerly pumped is hand in the air, dying for me to call on him. His news:  ”My mom got a new iPhone.”

It’s true. Wyatt and Yancey have been making fun of my obsessed ineptness all weekend. I couldn’t sleep last night, and I truly think it was due to iPhone Excitement. I got up at midnight and went back to bed at 2:00. I prepped for Wyatt’s class; cleaned the kitchen; started these muffins; and yes–browsed the App Store.

The Sunday School curriculum says things like , “Supplies needed for February 21: 6 indsustrial-strength crab pots; bandsaw; live bait; 12 yards of baling wire; and 400 rounded popsicle sticks.” Good Lord. I’m not that committed to my child’s learning. So last night at 1:00 a.m., cutting 20 footprints out of construction paper (don’t ask), I was surprised to feel so content. The house was quiet, my newborn iPhone was happily sleeping, and I felt for a moment how precious those six kids were that would be coming to my class in the morning. Sunday School isn’t about morals or getting indoctrinated. If you’re in my class at my church, it’s about growing up together, about looking past the answers to the amazing questions that children will ask if they’re not surrounded by know-it-alls.

And it’s about muffins. Last time, I scrounged a snack last-minute–a bag of tangerines and oatmeal raisin granola bars.Wyatt hates that variety, and was mortified we didn’t have chocolate chip ones to bring. Remember that feeling? That you’re the kid without the cool snacks? He felt much better about the snack situation this morning, helping pass them out and distribute seconds. I didn’t tell them about the oat bran and zucchini.

Sunday School Muffins
These are a riff on Morning Glory Muffins. I guess I’ve been Muffin Queen lately. I suppose there are worse things to be.

2 cups flour
1/4 c. oat bran
2 ts. baking soda
2 ts. cinnamon
1 ts. salt
1 c. sugar
1/4 c. brown sugar
4 large carrots, peeled and coarsely grated
1 medium zucchini, coarsely grated
1 c. vegetable oil
3 eggs

Preheat oven to 350 and butter 15 muffin cups or line with cupcake liners.

Mix dry ingredient together in medium bowl and set aside.

In large bowl, combine grated carrots and zucchini. Add flour mixture and mix with your hands to coat. Add vegetable oil and eggs, stirring to combine.

Fill muffin cups to the top, and bake for about 25 minutes, until an inserted toothpick comes out clean and tops spring back a bit. Let cool for 5 minutes in pan, then remove.

I haven’t gone on strike or decided this blog sucks too much of my time (though, if I were sane, I would certainly come to that conclusion). Rather, I’ve been away with my family at our friend’s cabin in LaConner. We slept in; ate cheese and crackers for most our meals; spent hours on the beach; played games; had friends and family down. Just one work phone call for me, no internet, no food blogging or facebooking. As it turns out, that’s just what the doctor ordered.

I’m an extrovert (surprise). I’ve come to the conclusion that Western culture favors extroverts–promotes them, humors them, values the way they “share everything” with everyone. So it’s easy for extroverts to come out thinking they’re pretty darn engaging. I’ll never not be an extrovert, but I needed some time away from all the input and output in my life, some time to remember who I am apart from postings, comments, feedback, calendars, some time to engage with this self that’s gotten distracted by the chatter.

You’ll notice I’m back with the sharing. Please. I haven’t gone that far. And I’m going to share this with you, this lovely quote from the mystic Diadochus of Photiki. It’s cropped up many times in my life:

When the door of the steambath is continually left open, the heat inside rapidly escapes through it; likewise the soul, in its desire to say many things, dissipates the remembrance of God through the door of speech, even though everything it says may be good…Timely silence, then, is precious, for it is nothing less than the mother of the wisest thoughts.

I had a lot of time-stopping moments this week– podcasts, books, poems, conversations, a concert, lying in bed with Yancey in the morning and listening to the kids pouring themselves cereal. I could write a whole post on each of them, but I’m not going to. I missed you, but I want to keep the warmth in for awhile longer. Humor me, will you?  You know those extroverts–they’re high maintenance, and there will be plenty of time to listen to them when they can’t abide the silence any longer.

My Mom used to make these “French Breakfast Muffins” for special occasions growing up. They were from a Junior League cookbook of hers. I can still see that recipe on the page–green font, butter stains around the edges. And there were lots of special occasion breakfasts in our house. Birthdays, of course, but also St. Patrick’s and Valentines Day, first day of school, May Day. She is a master ambiance creator.  I don’t share that talent, but at least I clear the clutter off the table (you’re welcome, Yancey).

This morning when Yancey got off shift, the kids had been waiting by the door for an hour, anxious to open their gifts. Wyatt got a graphic novel, and Loretta, a ladybug umbrella. I started reminiscing about past Valentines Days, which precipitated a string of storytelling. The kids were enthralled.

In third or fourth grade, I was smitten with a pair of shoes at Hilton’s Shoes. Most our clothes came from thrift stores or KMart (pity mothers 30 years ago who didn’t have Target!), so these shoes were out of my league. They were varsity.  Rainbow canvas, covered toe and heel, with ties up the ankle. I drew them, imagined myself making an appearance at school, and was certain they would make me feel beautiful forever. Unbeknownst to me, my mom saved up some extra money and rode her bike downtown to make the purchase. When she got to Hiltons, the cash had fallen out of her pocket somewhere along the way, and I never got my shoes. I teared up recounting it, and Yancey said, “Why did your Mom even tell you that story if you never got the shoes?” I said I didn’t know, but that I had always been glad she did. It’s one of the many, many things in my life that’s told me I’m loved.

Emily always says that Valentine’s Day is a time to celebrate love in all its forms. Though she’s been single for much of the time I’ve known her, she’s always the one sending pink cards or calling to say she loves me. I’m soaking it up today, from every little nook and cranny. I hope you are, too.

P.S. Soaking it up from my sweetheart, too. Sarah Murphy, Yancey Kangas, Junior Prom, 1991. If it’s true that all you need is love, we’ve been very rich for a very long time.

Snickerdoodle Muffins
I got so carried away with nostalgia that I’ve forgotten to talk these up properly. Every mother should have these up her sleeve. One bowl, pedestrian ingredients, but a child’s delight. I almost made a cranberry Irish soda bread this morning, but remembered that my goal was so see the kids wolf something down. If your children are anything like mine, they’re not big on texture. These are buttery, sweet, yielding pillows–nothing to get in the way of appreciative grunts. This recipe makes only 8 muffins, which I like. If you’re serving a crowd, though, you’ll want to double it.

1 1/2 c. + 2 Tb. flour
3/4 c. sugar
2 ts. baking powder
1/4 ts. salt
1/4 ts. nutmeg (freshly ground, if possible)
1/2 c. milk
1 beaten egg
1/3 c. melted butter

For topping:
1 ts. cinnamon
1/2 c. sugar
1/3 c. melted butter

Preheat oven to 400.

Combine first five ingredients.  Add milk, egg, and 1/3 c. melted butter, mix gently to combine. Butter a muffin tin, and fill muffin cups 1/2 full and bake for 15-20 minutes, until tops are light brown and springy to the touch.

While muffins are still warm, dip in butter and roll in cinnamon and sugar.  Serve warm.

So I’m hoping you’ll be gracious with me–I’m not posting creative valentine treats or musings about romantic dinners.  Every ounce of energy this week has gone other places–helping Yancey caretake two sick children (though Yancey did most of it); mediating a workplace conflict; facilitating a bunch of interesting meetings (which are more exhausting than boring ones); hearing from a friend about how I screwed up (and agreeing); conversations with a few friends who are sad; tumbling into bed at night exhausted.

Downtown on Monday, between obligations, I stopped at a deli for an egg salad sandwich.  I ate in in my car with inhuman speed. Nothing ever tasted so good as those mealy tomatoes on whole wheat, each cube of egg perfectly coated in mayo.  Today, home with the kids and listening to the rain, I pulled some chicken out of the freezer and made this.  It’s kind of summery–the sort of thing I’d pack in a tupperware and take to the park while I watch the kids play in the sun.  I vaguely remember an enthusiastic welcome for Fall on this blog. I take it back.  Bring on the chicken salad sandwiches.  (Especially if they are these ones.)

Curried Chicken Salad with Mango and Almonds
I have really been the Queen of Dried Fruit this winter.  Here I go again.  If you’ve got some perfect fresh mangos around (ripe, but still firm), you could certainly use those.  Diced canned or fresh pineapple would be delicious as well.  You could sub roasted peanuts for the almonds, and add finely chopped green onion or jalapenos, too.

2 chicken breasts, cooked and shredded or cubed
1/2 c. toasted slivered almonds
1/4 c. finely chopped dried mango
3 Tb. fresh cilantro, finely chopped
2 Tb. finely chopped red onion
3/4 c. plain Greek yogurt (has to be the thick kind.  If you don’t have it, use mayo before you use regular, unstrained yogurt)
salt (plenty)
1 Tb. sugar
2 tsp. curry powder

Combine yogurt, salt, sugar, and curry powder, mixing thoroughly.  It should taste on the salty side.

Combine chicken, mango, cilantro, and red onion in a bowl.  Add yogurt mixture and gently mix.  Add almonds and fold in until just incorporated.  Serve on crackers, in pita or lettuce cups, or between bread with savoy cabbage, like I’ve done here.