Retro Recipes and Traditional Fare

There is food that sustains us and then there are foods that make us happy, content and "primally" nourished. I don't eat food that has any labels or tags to read. I just eat the raw ingredient that has a little story to tell me quietly about how I should best cook it.

Whether it be vegetable or fish or meat or grain looking at it inspires me to figure out how best to prepare it in this moment. Recipes are only a guideline. It is the cook's choice to have a little fun or a burst of creativity and I guess that depends on the ingredients in front of you and how deeply you react to them.

I have to admit I am a veal chop junkie and I am verbalizing it to the world! I LOVE VEAL CHOPS, HOPELESSLY!!!  Whenever I say that, which is rarely I look around like I was talking about George W. Bush because everyone has a reaction to veal and I am sure that it isn't fifty fifty.

When I was growing up in England in the fifties and sixties, there was a snack called a flapjack that could be occasionally bought at bakeries but was more often found in homes, served up by diligent housewives. It was never found at my home: the only time my mother turned on the stove was to light a cigarette. But some of my friends’ mothers did make them, and the sweet, buttery smell of freshly baked flapjacks is one of those childhood aromas that still haunt me today.

Now, for the American reader a point of clarification is required. British flapjacks bear absolutely no resemblance to American ‘flapjacks’, which seems to be just another word for pancakes. The British flapjack is a unique item unto itself, but if a comparison is required, I suppose a granola bar would come closest in look and texture. But it is simpler, more elemental, only requiring four ingredients (long before Michael Pollan came up with his five ingredient mantra): oats, sugar, butter and golden syrup.

I'm still rolling through my office, trying to organize every inch of it, with the help of my friend, the professional organizer. We're making great progress. Tops of my desks have stayed mostly clear. My files are filling up. I'm finally seeing blank space on the shelves in my storage closet, the result of some purging.

There is much more to do before the job is done. My organizer strongly suggests I get my cookbook collection all in one place and that place should be my office. Cookbooks live on shelves in the storage closet in my office, on shelves and in a bookcase in an extra bedroom, in a pile next to my bed and a few on the ottoman in the living room. I shudder when I think of consolidating this enormous number of books into one space in my office. I fear the "organizer" will tell me to start choosing cookbooks to put in a "give-away box."

My house has been overrun with hungry kids lately (and I like it that way). I don’t mind it at all but there better be something coming out of the oven at all times. Can you imagine the look on a gaggle of teen’s faces when you pull out a tray of freshly baked doughnuts? Yep, it’s as priceless as you can imagine.

Also, have I mentioned my town does NOT have a doughnut shop? It must be some kind of joke. It’s a totally unmet demand as far as I’m concerned and I think someone could get rich quick if they put one in. Anyone, anyone? Now, there are doughnuts in the bakeries of all the grocery stores, but they are not the same as a doughnut shop doughnut. You understand what I’m saying. 

Therefore, I started making my own doughnuts. We love the cake-like ones as you see here. And they are so easy to make…so easy.