The Weekend & Maple Pecan Cream Scones

Napkin. Napkin. Plate. Plate. Glass. Glass. Pour. Pour. Forks. Spoons. Knives. Vitamins.

Milk. Sugar.

Coffee mug. Coffee mug. Plug in toaster oven. Coffee mugs on toaster oven.

Bread. Slice. Slice. Bread in toaster oven.

Butter on table.

Orange. Orange. Knife. Cutting board. Slice. Slice. Bowl.

Bowl on table.

Apple cake. Slice. Slice. Plate.

Plate on table.

Wait. Wait.

Stir? Stir...

Coffee maker. Go.

Toaster oven. Toast.

Coffee mugs on toaster oven. Warm. Warm.

Good morning.

Haricots Verts

Cremini

Blanched Haricots Verts and cremini, butter sautéed.

Soup au Pistou, a la Daniel Boulud and maple pecan cream scones, a la moi.

Nestled beneath the fleece my mind buzzed a million miles a minute. Maple pecan scones. I'll toast the pecans. Use up the last of the cream. Create my very own recipe.

Maple Pecan Cream Scones

Whisk together in a large bowl:

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder

1/4 teaspoon salt

2 tablespoons raw sugar

3/4 cup toasted/chopped pecans

Add wet ingredients to dry:

1 cup cream

2 tablespoons grade B maple syrup

Stir until just combined and turn out onto lightly floured surface. Knead gently (about 8 to 10 times). Pat dough down until roughly 1/2 inch thick (square it up or leave it free-form—it's your call).

If you square it up, quarter and then halve quarters (you'll get about eight pieces). If you leave it free-form, cut out using 2" round cutter (you'll get about 9 rounds).

Transfer to parchment lined baking sheet.

Brush tops with cream and sprinkle heavily with more raw sugar.

Bake for 20 minutes at 400 degrees.

The Garden of Eden

The Garden of Eden

On this morning there was brioche and red raspberry preserve and the eggs were boiled and there was a pat of butter that melted as they stirred them and salted them lightly and ground pepper over them in the cups. They were big eggs and fresh and the girl's were not cooked quite as long as the young man's. He remembered that easily and he was happy with his which he diced up with the spoon and ate with only the flow of the butter to moisten them and the fresh early morning texture and the bite of the coarsely ground pepper grains and the hot coffee and the chickory-fragrant bowl of café au lait.

– Ernest Hemingway, The Garden of Eden, Book One

At the cafe he found the morning paper and the Paris papers of the day before and had his coffee and milk and the Bayonne ham with a big beautifully fresh egg that he ground coarse pepper over sparsely and spread a little mustard on before he broke the yolk. When Catherine had not come and her egg was in danger of getting cold he ate it too, swabbing the flat dish clean with a piece of the fresh baked bread.

– Ernest Hemingway, The Garden of Eden, Book Two

It was very large firm gray caviar and Catherine dipped it onto the pieces of thin toast.

– Ernest Hemingway, The Garden of Eden, Book Three

Marita took a handful of radishes and ate them slowly and drank some wine. The radishes were young and crisp and sharp with flavor.

– Ernest Hemmingway, The Garden of Eden, Book Four

Poached Egg Over Lentil Soup (french green)

Poached Egg Over Lentil Soup (french green)

The Soup

...

Sunday seemed like a good day to contemplate soup. Lentil soup (french green). I gave it everything it needed. Everything I had. It rewarded me with fork tender vegetables, beans with just enough bite, and a deliciously murky broth.

...

The Egg

...

Tuesday seemed like a good day to contemplate a poached egg. A poached egg over lentil soup (french green). I drew from Joy (of Cooking) because she hasn't failed me yet. A brush with nostalgia kept a smile on my face (mom and her poached eggs with toasted white bread spread with salted Land O'Lakes).

I brought the pot of water to a boil. Dispensed the vinegar and salt. Retrieved the slotted spoon. I cracked an egg into a bowl. The yolk broke. Damn it! I cracked another egg.

The lid began to rattle. The toaster oven ticked. The steam wafted from the lentil soup (french green).

I swirled. I think you're supposed to swirl the water (Joy didn't say anything about swirling). Gently, the egg slid over the lip of the bowl. It twirled into itself (oh my goodness—it's working). I set the timer for 3 minutes.

...

Lunch

...

I stared at the egg nestled in the slotted spoon with disbelief. You didn't stick. You didn't break.

Gently, I slid the egg over the lip of the spoon into the bowl of lentil soup (french green).

Subject: Tuesday

Subject: Tuesday

Easy Peasy Lemon Squeezy

...

To: Roberto

Tuesday

I have an idea for dinner. While you make an egg scramble with potatoes, I'll whip up a batch of Parmesan-Black Pepper Scones (the resulting scone is round—looks like a biscuit). They're made with cream.

To: Tracy

RE: Tuesday

Okay...that sounds good.

...

Hustle and Bustle

...

The sheet pan, lined with parchment, held eight squat rounds of dough brushed with heavy cream and finished with cracked black pepper.

"How many eggs do you think we should use?" He asked.

I pondered. "Five?"

I carefully opened the oven door, slid the pan inside, and dialed up 20 minutes.

I would have to turn my back and give full attention to a salad while Roberto peeled and chopped in preparation for the scramble.

"Do we have any parsley?" He asked.

"A little bit. I was going to buy a bunch today, but it looked so anemic at the store." I pulled what little bit of parsley left, from the refrigerator, and set it on the counter. "Use it up." I said.

...

Are you ready?

...

"I was born ready." He said.

"How many eggs did you use?" I asked.

"Six." He said.

I took a bite of the scramble and sunk into my plate. Happy. Sated. "This is so good."

I took a bite from a biscuit. Happy. Sated. "It tastes like Goldfish." I chewed. I swallowed. I took a second bite. "You know, those little orange, goldfish-shaped crackers. It tastes just like that."

"It does. A little." Roberto conceded.

...

Sated

...

"I'm getting full." He said.

I pushed my chair back from the table, slightly. "Me too."

"How many did you make?" He asked.

"Eight." I said.

"How many did we eat?" He asked.

"Six." I said

Comfort in Repetition

Comfort in Repetition

Clementines

...

I am hooked. It has been this way for quite some time.

The spray of oil as my fingernail punctures the dappled orange skin. A peel. A pile. Strands of pith. Segments made for sharing.

While the water boils and the sauce reheats, I pull two orbs from the bowl. So small, they fit within one delicate grasp.

Two less. At this rate the bowl will be empty by mid-week. A conservative estimate.

...

Sauce

...

Another iteration.

"I used chicken stock and red wine." I said.

It dressed the penne rigate nicely.

I couldn't taste the difference.

...

12 minute eggs

...

The water boiled for just a minute before I pulled the pan from the heat. Covered, the eggs rested for 12 minutes.

I wondered if I was making too much noise. Too much kitchen noise, as I shoveled ice into a bowl and placed it into the sink.

...

Resolve

...

It's not like the old camera. I will have to learn all over again.