For Christmas my parents gave everyone in the family a bag or tub (depending on family size) of homemade granola. They used the same recipe my Mom worked with when I was growing up. I remember eating Mom’s granola from cereal-boxed shaped Tupperware containers alternately atop a bowlful of yogurt or served with milk. Having received my granola in a bag, I decided I needed such a container for ours too. I didn’t go as far as to have a Tupperware party, but one of the first things I did after returning home from Christmas was to purchase a Sistema cereal box from the Container Store to house my granola. Since then I’ve been enjoying breakfasts of granola with homemade yogurt (thanks to Tom). Yesterday I noticed we were almost out of granola, so I called home for the recipe and decided to dive in and learn to make it myself.

With only a minor variation or two, the recipe comes from The More with Less Cookbook by Doris Janzen Longacre (1976). The book is (still!) available and is described (on Amazon.com) as a gathering of:

500 recipes from Mennonite kitchens that tell us how to eat better and consume less of the world’s limited food resources. All recipes have been tested by professional home economists. This cookbook is written for those who care about their own health and the food needs of others in the world.

The recipe makes about 2–3 quarts of granola. The recipe is very basic (measure, mix, bake), but I’m going to have to train my nose to sense the granola’s doneness. The batch I put together today has the right taste and texture, but there’s a little burn in there too. The hardest part for some, depending on your access to high-quality bulk foods, may be sourcing the ingredients. Unsweetened coconut, if not available at your standard supermarket, can be found in health food stores. Wheat germ will be in the refrigerated section if it’s available in your grocery’s bulk foods and can otherwise be found sold by Bob’s Red Mill or jarred in the cereal or baking section. (The Wedge was out of bulk wheat germ, so I went with a bag from Bob’s Red Mill which I am now storing in a Ball jar in the fridge. I plan to start secretly adding it to everything.) Be sure to look for raw nuts and seeds in all cases.

Set the oven to 325º

Mix in Large bowl:

• 1/2 to 1 cup shredded, unsweetened coconut
• 4 cups old fashioned oatmeal (ideally not quickoats)
• 1 cup hulled, raw sunflower seeds
• 1 cup wheat germ
• 1/4 to 1/2 cup sesame seeds
• 1 cup slivered almonds
• 1 Tablespoon cinnamon

Bring to a boil:

• 1 cup honey
• 1/2 cup canola oil

Pour honey mixture over dry ingredients and mix thoroughly.

Grease two cookie sheets and, dividing the mixture in half, spread the granola evenly across the sheets. Jelly roll pans will work best as you’ll avoid spilling any of the grains when stirring the mixture in the oven.

Bake for a total of 30 minutes, stirring every 10 minutes and watching carefully in the last 10 minutes to avoid any burning (as I said I may have caused a bit of burning today, but no matter!).

The abundance of the summer season can be quite exciting, but also daunting. I try my best to make a plan each week after my trip to the farmers’ market about what I am going to do with all my produce, but given the quantities sold at the farmers’ market and life rearing its ugly head, a few vegetables slip through the cracks: a half pound of green beans here, some cucumbers there, you know what I mean. Maybe you’ve even had to face the shame of discovering rotting vegetables at the bottom of your crisper drawer. Those vegetables gave up their lives for you and you’re just going to throw them out?!

One solution is to cook all this stuff before it gets old but—and I’m sure I’ll be disavowing these words come February—a person can only eat so many steamed fresh green beans. For me, when nature’s bounty becomes a little too much to handle, I turn to pickling.

Maybe you’re thinking, “whoa,  pickling is too much to handle!” I’m not talking about your grandma hauling out the canning jars and putting up the whole winter larder (not that there’s anything wrong with that!). Given the limitations of my stove and storage space there’s no way I could sterilize or properly seal a bunch of jars. But with refrigerator pickles, quick pickles that need to be stored cold, there’s no need to sterilize the containers or vacuum seal them: it’s just produce, spices, vinegar and you’re all set.

I had three particular overabundances to address: a bag of green and yellow beans that was two weeks old, a large bag of cucumbers that I had no chance of finishing, and the rest of the summer slaw from earlier in the week (which, obviously, was not dressed).

With all those vegetables stuffed into clean jars it was time to add spices. I don’t believe in using a recipe when making pickles; instead, I just put together a collection of what I vaguely consider pickling spices. With the beans I put in a few sprigs of fresh dill, a split jalapeño, a few crushed garlic cloves, coriander seeds, mustard seeds and peppercorns. Same drill with the cucumbers, except instead of mustard seeds I used caraway. For the cabbage I put in chinese five spice along with garlic and peppercorns. I usually prefer to use whole spices for pickling but my five-spice was ground; I don’t think it will be a problem, though those seeds floating around the jar are pretty.

At this point the pickles are ready to be, well, pickled. For this, pickling solution is required. I usually do a combination of two parts vinegar to one part water, with about two tablespoons of salt and ¼ cup of brown sugar if I’m looking for sweet pickles, as was the case with the cabbage. Vinegar choice definitely makes a difference here: I have had some excellent pickles made with champagne vinegar and I bet balsamic would give interesting results. Being economically minded above all, I usually just use pure white vinegar, a gallon of which can be obtained for less than a dollar. It tastes fine.

After a quick boil to dissolve the salt and sugar, the solution can be poured in the jars to cover the produce. With a short cooling they are ready to be lidded and put in the refrigerator. 24 hours later and the pickles are ready to eat. I think food safety experts might say pickles last refrigerated up to a month, but I have eaten pickled rutabaga that was over 3 months old and did not die, so proceed at your own risk. It probably won’t be an issue anyway, because after you try the first of your homemade pickles (trying my pickled cucumbers on a burger, for example, sent me into a fit of joyous expletives) they won’t last much longer at all.

Could a Vitamin Water lover and homemade food and drink lover bring himself to make his own “vitamin” water? Maybe. Maybe not. Has anyone tried the homemade sport drink recipe from Tuesday’s Well section of the New York Times? For me, looking at this recipe just makes me want to make lemonade instead. Then again, if given the choice between an actual Vitamin Water and a glass of lemonade I’d choose the lemonade, too. Here’s the recipe below.

Sports drink recipe from “Nancy Clark’s Sports Nutrition Guidebook”

• 1/4 cup sugar
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 1/4 cup orange juice
• 1/4 cup hot water
• 2 tablespoons lemon juice
• 3 1/2 cups cold water

In a quart pitcher, dissolve the sugar and salt in the hot water. Add the remaining ingredients and the cold water. The drink contains about 50 calories and 110 mg of sodium per 8 ounces, approximately the same as for most sports drinks.

Amy Thielen has an article in the The Star Tribune today entitled “MYOB {make your own butter}” that is very much worth looking over, even if it may seem like a far-out idea for some. It’s true: Tom is now making all of our bread, all of our yogurt, pickles of all kinds, and has attempted cheese on a few occasions. However crazily I may sometimes view these mysteries of home cooking and creation, Amy’s piece makes me want to MMOB (that’s make-my-own-butter). I especially like how she recounts the differences between winter butter and summer butter here in Minnesota:

Excepting the green months (May to October), your homemade butter made from Minnesota cream will be stone-white, which is a bit of a shock if you’re used to yellow butter, as most of us are. I thought immediately of Ma Ingalls in “Little House in the Big Woods,” and how she would color the winter cream by grating a carrot into a fluffy mass and squeezing its juice into the cream before churning…. Ma was a genius. Not only does the carrot juice tint the butter so it looks like it came from July’s prairie-grazing cows, but it also lends it a faint sweetness.

We are in the green months! There’s no better time to try… For the Strib’s recipes, try here. Have any of you done this before?

As projects go, what else is on the horizon? This is, of course, pure speculation as I can’t speak for Tom… Maybe beer, but with our hot water heat it’s hard to know if that’s a good idea. Canned goods fresh from the market to keep for winter’s un-bounty are a must (I look forward to learning more about this and helping as well), perhaps home distilled fruits concoctions? Our recent visit with my Aunt Martha and her husband Peter has inspired us down this road at some point for sure. My only (food) contribution of late has been sprouts, glorious sprouts grown right on my countertop. Once my day by day photo series is complete I will happily share how fun sprouts can be.

photo: http://belladia.typepad.com

Since the bánh mì is the sandwich of the moment—with a New York Times article and plenty of blog coverage—I thought I’d add my voice to the chorus.

My relationship with the venerable Vietnamese sandwich started well before I knew its name, when Emeril Lagasse (a man who I am not ashamed to admit inspired me to cook in a big way) featured a recipe for “Vietnamese-style Poor Boys” on one of his many Food Network shows. Emeril was taking a bit of liberty with his nomenclature, but I recognized a good thing when I saw it and made this sandwich several times over the years. My other bánh mì breakthrough was when I began working as a cook at Blackbird Café in Minneapolis, which features a pretty excellent version on its menu. Nothing like making a sandwich a hundred times to come to appreciate its nuances.

So there are my two big influences in banh mi-making: a creole TV chef and a South Minneapolis neighborhood restaurant. I’ve never been to Vietnam. But, great food knows no borders—earlier this week I set out to make my banh mi from scratch.

As with any sandwich this popular and widespread, or any sandwich at all for that matter, there is no exact consensus on what ingredients go in it. But from my experience eating the sandwiches, I knew what I wanted: liver pâté, roast and pulled pork, pickled carrots and daikon, sliced cucumber, cilantro, jalapeño and mayo all on a baguette-style roll.

Just as every house needs a foundation, every great sandwich needs to be built from a strong, tasty base; the first thing to tackle was the bread. Because it works very well for me, I used my standard sourdough bread recipe, which consists of mostly white flour with a little wheat flour thrown in and is hydrated to about 68%. This produces a nicely airy crumb while not being so wet as to be unworkable. After the initial rise I cut off 8 0z pieces and shaped them into rough bâtards. After a rest, a slash and 20 minutes on a 450° baking stone, I had respectable rolls on which to build my sandwich.

Although some restaurants omit it, in my mind liver pâté is essential to a great bánh mì—something about its rich fattiness and that funky liver flavor. Ever since finding an old copy of Terrines, Pâtés and Galantines in an antique store in Red Wing, MN I have been thoroughly immersed in the world of potted meats. Since it was going to be a spread for my sandwich, I needed to make a smooth pâté, rather than my usual chunky, rustic terrines. A food processor made this really easy: chunks of lamb liver, chunks of pork fat, spices are pureed in a matter of seconds. (Not really a process for the squeamish, you’re basically making liquid meat). If I were really anal retentive (ok, more anal retentive) I would have passed the resulting puree through a drum sieve to make sure it was perfectly smooth. To cook the pâté, without overcooking it, I utilized a double boiler. I cooked the ruby mixture until it had become more beige and granular and looked done. Pâté!

With the pâté resting in the refrigerator developing its wonderful flavors, it was time to tackle what is in some ways the star of the show: the pork. The question of the preparation of the pork is another area where pretty much everybody differs, but I fell back to experience. For one thing, I know that I prefer tender pulled pork to pork cooked more quickly.  Many of the bánh mì I have tried seem to use some kind of hoisin barbecue sauce, but I just rubbed the meat with salt, pepper and chinese five-spice. The warm, sweet spices are already somewhat present in the pâté and complement the heat of jalapeños.

Since the chunks of pork form a craggy, uneven layer, for a level sandwich you need something to build up while filling the cracks. This is where I like to bring in the pickled carrots. Since there was daikon at the farmers’ market, I used that as well (apparently this is traditional), shredding both.

I fell in love with making quick pickles at Blackbird. It’s as easy as taking a vegetable, cutting it into small pieces (or shredding), tossing it with a hot pepper, a garlic clove, whole peppercorns, coriander seed, and/or whatever other pickling spices call to you, and pouring boiling vinegar, water, salt and sugar over it all, then letting it sit in the refrigerator over night. I put a lot of sugar in to make a sweet pickle, since pork loves sweet things.

With a solid level built up by my pickled roots, I was ready to stack on the fresh vegetables. This was the only part of the process that felt like cheating since I didn’t have to do anything except for clean and cut the vegetables—it felt like it would have been more “from scratch” to have grown them myself. But since I won’t be growing hot peppers in my northern-exposed apartment windows anytime soon, store vegetables would have to do. It’s not like I raised the pig.

Thick slices of cucumber are essential to cool your tongue from the punishment meted out by thin slices of jalapeño. If you are one of those unfortunate individuals to have been cursed by God with a distaste for cilantro,that’s too bad, because the best bánh mìs pile it on, both the fragrant leaves and the crunchy stems.

With the sandwich elements perfectly balanced structurally, there remained only to add the finishing touch to top it all off and bind it all together: mayonnaise.

Mayonnaise can be put together from scratch really easily and can taste a bit richer and have a silkier texture than the heavily processed stuff from the jar (but honestly, if it weren’t for the ‘from-scratch’ gimmick behind this post, I probably would have whipped out the Hellmann’s). It’s just a matter of whisking an egg yolk with some lemon juice, salt, pepper and sugar and then slowly whisking in olive oil until you have mayonnaise.

And so, applying the top piece of bread, I had the scratch bánh mì: built from the ground up, each element custom designed to my exacting specifications. Was it worth it? Well besides the fact that it was more like fun than work to build each element of the sandwich, the sandwich itself was very good; I wouldn’t to call it “the ultimate bánh mì” because I have yet to meet a bánh mì I didn’t like. With pork, pâté, cool cucumbers, jalapeños, fragrant cilantro, sweet pickled carrots and rich mayonnaise on good bread you can’t go wrong. So while I instinctively bristle at all the hype, there is scarcely a sandwich that deserves it more than the bánh mì.