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Spelt, Chia, Almond and Chocolate


I wanted to try a new recipe for muffins from At Home in the Whole Food Kitchen  by Amy Chaplin.  I had spelt flour, eggs, and butter, but all I needed, it turned out, was the spelt.  So into a bowl went chia seeds (had that) with almond milk (expired) so I substituted milk.  While that thickened, I mixed the flour and corn meal (not opting to grind my own, because, you know, I already messed up with the almond milk) with almond flour and baking powder.  Did not have a juicy orange which the recipe called for but I had…carrot juice/lemon/ginger/tumeric juice in a bottle, so used that.  Did not have blackberries, so I used raisons.  Added maple syrup, but had to top it off with agave, and instead of coconut oil (rancid?) I used olive.  Hmm.  The muffins seemed lacking, so I added chocolate chips, nixed the muffin tray, and dumped it all into a loaf pan.  The batter tasted bitter, but it’s baking now. Maybe it needed butter.  Better batter, etc.

It tastes crunchy ( chia) and a tad dry ( lack of oj?). Not bad, but needs, um, almond mik, coconut oil, and blackberries. Lacking blackberries, a link to Galway Kinnell’s poem. 

 
 

 

What to eat while waiting

-coriander-from-laos

 

Like Living in the Treetops

From my balcony, two floors up, I can see the tops of the spring flowery trees, all white and cloud-like.  Some have bright green leaves and others are reddish bronze.  I want to reach out and snap a few of these candy tufts to place in a vase at my desk as I write.  Why?  Because they are so abundant and joyeous, and oh so temporary.  I can’t reach out and grab them, for they are out of reach, and these trees are much further away than my eye believes.  

The checkered fritillaria are blooming, and the snow drops are tiny, smaller than previous years where the blooms were heavy like hanging jewels.  A scattering of muscarii, peeps of stray tulips. I rescued a rununculus from Shop Rite–wouldn’t you?  Potting it up in recyled soil, I uncovered two intact dahlia bulbs from last summer.  All in all, the garden is waking up, stretching.  And this morning, a thoughtful neighbor anonymously left a tulip on everyone’s car.  Mine is a pale pink, happily resting in a milk bottle filling up with the afternoon rain. 

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