Imperfect
I’m not sure which one of us came up with the idea, but at some point in the past couple months, my best friend and I landed the ambitious plan to make our own Christmas cards. While not all of our questionable schemes come to life – thankfully – this one wasn’t going to be quashed.
Last Friday night, driven by the promise of margaritas and queso fundito, we bought out The Paper Place’s seasonal stock to prepare. And on Sunday, we sorted our wares by colour and got to work at my kitchen island, fueled by red wine and residual carbohydrates from that morning’s waffle party with Mere and Julian.
Though we’re not going into business anytime soon, the results were pretty good. I’ll leave Sameer’s cards a secret for those of you who may receive them, but mine are a happy amalgam of garish colours, patchwork and evergreens. They are imperfect. When we started cutting paper that afternoon, my card-making partner will attest that I was a nervous mess, rearranging the same ten triangles of sparkly paper a thousand times.
It’s tricky, when what’s in your head isn’t something that your hands can translate. This is common to all types of making. Crafting for me, unlike cooking, is territory where I have no control over the results. It’s imperfect in a way that I don’t have the skill to fix. For someone who thrives on order and perfection and being able to do things well, accepting average is hard.
We all gravitate toward what is easy for us. There’s a reason why my kitchen island typically plays host to vegetables and knives, not paper and scissors. I know how to cook. I know that usually, I’ll be pleased with the results. And when I’m not, I’ll figure out where I went wrong and how to fix my mistakes – with salt or some stock or a longer braise or a pat of butter.
Cardmaking has inspired a new tradition for the holiday: to seek out what isn’t comfortable and accept my imperfect results. To go after my many unexplored fears – like baking bread from scratch, and dancing in a public space, and saying hello first – without worrying about the result and if it meets my expectations.
Like this recipe for salted chocolate spelt shortbread. I’m not by nature a cookie-baker (like other folks), so I don’t bake cookies. But I’m so glad I made these cookies because they’re snappy and buttery and toasty with bits of salt. They were inspired by Heidi Swanson’s Quinoa Cloud Cookies, and solely because we have the same cloud-shaped cookie cutters, I’ll admit.
On my best days, I’m not a card-maker or a cookie-baker, but now I’ve tackled the both. So I ask the same of you: what doesn’t come naturally – and when are you going after it?
Salted Chocolate Spelt Shortbread
Adapted from Heidi Swanson’s recipe, makes about 30 medium cookies
The cloud cookie cutter is from Toronto’s own Herriott Grace but any small-to-medium sized cutter or glass will work.
These cookies are a sort-of-shortbread, with a butter base and a crumbly texture. You’ll want to bake on parchment or a Silpat to prevent the bottoms from burning. While it adds time to the process, chilling the dough overnight allows the chocolate to mingle with the dough as one. I’ve used spelt flour because I like its nutty taste and fine texture, and Heidi uses quinoa flour, which I suspect yields a crunchier cookie.
Ingredients
3/4 cup plus two tablespoons spelt flour
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon fine grain sea salt
1 cup/8 oz unsalted butter at room temperature
1 cup light brown sugar
1/2 cup/2.5 oz dark chocolate, very finely chopped
plus additional flour for dusting work surface
Sift the flours into a bowl and add salt.
Cream the butter by hand or with a mixer, then add sugar, continuing until emulsified and light brown. Gently stir in the flour until just mixed. Fold in the chopped chocolate.
Press the dough into a ball, flatten into a patty (see recipe photo above), wrap with cling film and refrigerate for an hour up to overnight. The longer the better, in my experience.
When ready to bake, preheat oven to 350 degrees Farenheit. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.
Roll the chilled dough on a floured surface to 1/4 inch thickness. This will take a bit of patience and patching as the dry dough has a tendency to split. Just patch with your fingers and keep rolling.
Cut dough with your desired shapes, and arrange on your lined pan, with good room for spreading (see photo at top). Chill unbaked cookies in freezer for 5 minutes, then bake at centre rack for about 12 minutes, until the dough stops bubbling and the cookies are golden. Reform and roll dough until all your cookies are baked – if the dough becomes too soft, just freeze for a couple minutes between rolling rounds.
Remove and let cool before consuming and/or storing in an airtight container, up to a week.
Unloved
Blame my premature Christmas spirit, but I have become this season’s tireless Champion of Unloved Foods. Anchovies, for one. Cabbages, too, which I have been eating slawed and braised and stewed and sautéed and pickled and sliced like an apple. Plus fruit cakes, a genetic inheritance from my mom that only recently surfaced (and I’m so glad it did).
And now? Prunes.
Max winced on Sunday night as a 1.36 kilogram bag of California pitted prunes landed in our grocery cart. I believe his verbal reaction was something like you are disgusting. And then he asked: how would I possibly eat them all? A better question: how would I possibly not eat them all?
I don’t hold a grudge against my otherwise liberal-minded housemate. He, like many of us, was conditioned from early days to dislike prunes. I mean, strained prunes – what an unfortunate name for anything, let alone a sticky brownish puree fed to toddlers. And they are not much prettier pre-blending. Plus, no one wants to admit she likes a fruit that’s celebrated by grandmas everywhere for its laxative properties. My digestion-happy naturopath aside, we just don’t talk about poop.
(Too much information? I’m sorry.)
But eat a “dried plum” and try not to melt into a puddle of prune-induced happiness. Don’t waste your time on a dusty chew-toy prune dug in a clump from the bulk bin – eat a proper, silky, moist prune. A good prune is complex. Open a fresh bag, stick your nose in deep and you’re met with a range of heady scents – mulling spice, jam, cedar, leather, port. It’s the closest thing I know to a beautiful red wine in food form.
If it’s still too much to enjoy the goods straight up, then make these truffles. You read that right. Hardly a traditional truffle, but I’m not getting fussed over technicalities. They’re made with a versatile base of prunes, rolled oats and nut butter. For those familiar with Larabars, prune truffles are their moodier, smarter, rounder cousin. Swapping in prunes for a standard date base makes the truffles more assertive, and rolled oats lend a smooth, dense texture. I like them best bare, but dipped in dark chocolate and wrapped with a pretty bow, they’re a holiday present for your naturopath, your large intestine, and everyone else.
Prune Truffles
Makes 12 truffles, 20g each
A note on add-ins: the basic formula for the base is oats + prunes + nut butter, but so many additions are possible. Think of these as actual truffles and combine: chia seeds, ground nuts, coconut, chopped chocolate, cocoa nibs, coffee, dried cherries, cinnamon, cardamom, citrus zest, mint extract, etc. Use about a tablespoon dried add-ins and no more than a tablespoon wet so as not to affect the texture. Spices and zests should be used to taste.
For the holidays, these are delicious a little boozy, which pairs well with the prune’s natural wine notes. Add a tablespoon of whiskey, bourbon or a liqueur like Kahlua or Frangelico.
Ingredients
1/2 cup rolled oats
1/2 cup soft dried prunes – they should be pliable, black and shiny
3 Tbsp crunchy nut butter - e.g. peanut, almond, cashew
1/4 tsp fine sea/kosher salt – if nut butter is already salted, omit
In a food processor, gently pulse rolled oats and prunes until the batter sticks together in a big clump. Transfer to a mixing bowl and incorporate nut butter by pressing in with a spatula until evenly combined. The batter will be slightly glossy and firm. Form into balls about one-inch in diameter and place on a parchment-lined cookie sheet. Freeze until set, about 2 hours, then transfer to a container for freezer storage. Enjoy straight from the freezer, or bring up to room temperature for serving.
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