Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Pickled Blueberries w/ Rosemary Sprigs // Phish at Randall's Island (Weeks 47 & 48)


Our farmers' market is pretty much giving away blueberries. Last week, I popped by to pick up some greens for dinner and happened upon the deal of the summer: six pints of locally grown berries for three bucks. Naturally, I bought twelve. The problem, however, was not that I bought a dozen pints of fresh berries. The problem was that I foolishly did so just one day before we headed out of town.



Okay, so we weren't exactly out of town. Rather, we headed out early Friday morning to pack up all our food and equipment at the shop and then zipped it over to Randall's Island, where we were scheduled to serve as food vendors at Phish's three-day show.

I've fallen in love a bit with both Governor's and Randall's Islands this summer -- two tiny specks of land that float just off the coast of Manhattan. Although they're both just a five-minute ferry ride from the city (and are still technically a part of the city), they feel like a reprieve. There is a ton of green space (almost all green space, come to think of it), sweeping views of the East River and the city's skyline just across the water, and perhaps the best part: with the exception of food vendors and emergency vehicles, cars are not permitted on either island. Umm…bliss.



The concert itself felt like such a treat. In college, I was a pretty serious Phish fan. Throughout the school year I'd save all my money from my work study gig so that in the summer I could pack up my Jeep with friends and tents and cases of beer and hit the road to go watch them play up and down the East coast. It was such a carefree time. None of us were worried yet about careers or paying bills or starting families or any of that grown-up stuff that bogs us all down today. The only thing we cared about was getting drunk and listening to music and falling asleep under the stars next to cute tie-dye clad boys. 

On Friday morning, after our crew set up our pop-up booth, I had an opportunity to hang out in front of the stage and listen to Phish warm up during their soundcheck. It felt like a private show. As a stood alone, listening to all the familiar chords, it brought back so many memories and made me feel (just for an instant) like I was that free and easy twenty-one year old girl again for a brief sliver of time. 



When I returned to our booth, all smiles and nostalgia, Jay just kind of shook his head and then reminded me that I was no longer "on tour" with the band. There was work to be done, he reminded me, and then handed me a box of bread and a knife. 

Each night of the weekend, as Phish took the stage and our line of customers slowed down until after the show, Jay and I lingered just outside of our booth to listen to the band play and to engage in a little harmless people watching. There was a lot of inebriated dancing, to say the least. It was funny to watch all those college kids in their teensy belly shirts and their flower crowns moving and shaking and smiling and drinking like it was the very best night of their lives. Who knows? Maybe for some of them, it was. 

For us, it was just another night of work (but with a much better musical backdrop). On Friday and Saturday, we were all sort of revved up by the energy of the band and the crowd. But after three days of waking up early and heading back to the shop to clean up until very late at night, by Sunday I felt completely wiped. During Phish's second set, I was sort of over my own nostalgia and was instead starting to get annoyed by the humidity and the constant smell of cigarettes and the gross port-a-potty situation and the slew of drunk kids who kept returning to our booth to beg for free food. While Jay and our staff started to clean up, I snuck off to a quiet, secure spot behind the booth, situated myself on a large rock at the water's edge and cracked open a beer. Nearby, a few other food vendors huddled on the rocks to sneak a joint, but I didn't mind. I had a clear view of the illuminated NYC skyline and the gentle currents of the East River that lapped against the shore. It was my own private space to sit and sip my beer and quietly listen while Phish performed their final song. While I still love Phish's music, I'm no longer that carefree girl I was way back when. After all, we still had a long night of work ahead of us back at the shop after the show. 



Monday morning, I returned home to discover a dozen pints of on-the-way out blueberries. Pretty poor planning on my part, but I had only myself to blame. Some of the berries were whipped into muffin batter. Some made their way into a summery crisp. About a pints-worth was eaten fresh while I mopped the kitchen floor. As for the rest of them? Well, they found their final fate inside a Mason jar. 

The rosemary-infused brine for these quick-pickled blueberries is as easy as, well (wait for it), pie. You should note that the recipe calls for a fair amount of sugar. However, if your berries are particularly sweet, you can certainly scale the sugar back to your liking. The final result is a jar full of very sweet, pleasantly tart, plump little berries, which you can enjoy on salads, serve alongside cheese spreads, scoop onto some seasonal crostini or use as a substitute for fresh berries in your favorite summer desserts. Enjoy, friends. 


Pickled Blueberries w/ Rosemary

- 1 cup white wine vinegar
- 1/4 cup sugar
- 1 3/4 tablespoons kosher salt
- 1 teaspoon black peppercorns
- 3-4 springs fresh rosemary
- 1 pint fresh blueberries

Add the vinegar, sugar, salt, peppercorns and rosemary to a small saucepan and bring to a boil. Meanwhile, rinse the blueberries and add them to a clean glass jar. Remove the saucepan from the heat and allow to slightly cool, about five minutes. Pour the brine over the blueberries, being sure to cover the fruit entirely. Allow to cool to room temperature. When kept covered and stored in the refrigerator, the blueberries will keep will for about 1 week. 

Friday, July 11, 2014

Herby French Potato Salad w/ Thai Basil & Garlic Scapes // The Art of Doing Nothing (Week 45 & 46)


Last summer, our lives were preoccupied with goals and to-do lists. Exactly one year ago this week, we were one month away from opening our sandwich shop, and we were surviving on too many iced coffees and take-out salads from a bad chain restaurant up the street. No matter how much of our renovation to-do list we tackled every day, by the time we finally made it to our bed we both felt like we'd accomplished nothing at all. There was so much to do -- ALWAYS -- and no time to slow down and enjoy the simple things that you are supposed to enjoy throughout the summer season.



My goal for this season was to do the exact opposite of what I did last summer. That is to say, my goal has been to avoid having a to-do list or annoying reminder messages constantly popping-up on my phone. I just want to enjoy the simplicity of the season: the beauty of a long, quiet morning spent outside reading a book, the pleasure of a guilt-free afternoon at the beach, an afternoon browsing the farmers' market and then stockpiling the freezer with homemade sorbets and popsicles just because…


So I've been doing a lot of that recently, which you already know if you follow me on Instagram (I can't help it…there is no end to my beach pics!). I think that in business, as in all areas of life, it is really important to allow yourself permission to step away now and again. Back in the spring, during a particularly stressful period, Jay and I spent some time talking about just this. We were out to dinner at our favorite Afghan restaurant, and despite the amazing rose-scented rice, candied orange peels and pistachio encrusted meats in front of us, we found ourselves going on and on (and on) about the shop. One of us, I don't remember which, put an end to the conversation and basically said, "This is insane. We're out for a nice dinner, the shop is okay, and we're still here droning on about it and worrying about it when it is totally fine. We need to mentally step away."



That week, we picked up a new meditation CD to listen to in our bedroom in the evenings and we made a rule: from that point forward, unless something catastrophic was about to go down, we were no longer allowed to talk about the shop when out to eat. Or out for drinks. Or out with friends. Or out generally doing something together that qualifies as "enjoying life." It's a good rule, one we admittedly break from time to time. However, I think the most important thing comes from the general root of the rule: the idea that we've granted ourselves permission to periodically step away, to mentally check out and to just enjoy life like a normal, non business-owning couple.


I've permitted myself a similar sense of "mental check out" for this summer. Originally, I had big plans to pump out a ton of freelance work, to get a head start on a bunch of new projects for the shop, and to do about a million and a half things around our apartment. However, instead, I've decided to put it all on hold until after Labor Day. I've given myself permission to spend the fleeting summer season reading books and drinking wine in the daytime and spending as many days as possible in the sun without allowing myself to feel an ounce of guilt. And I have to say, it's been pretty great.


Last week, I woke up on a Saturday morning and realized I had nothing -- glorious NOTHING -- to do. Ahh. Ma. Zing. Rather than call up friends or family and lock myself into time slots and plans, I decided to spend the day alone. I walked downtown to pick up a coffee and sat on a bench to leisurely drink it beneath the morning sun (such a rare treat). I popped by the farmers' market, had a long talk with the woman working at my favorite stand, and then filled my tote bag with an absurd amount of new potatoes and garlic scapes. And then I headed home to an empty house to do whatever I wanted for the rest of the afternoon.


Potato salad is not the type of thing one makes for oneself. That is, typically, one makes potato salad for an event, a gathering, perhaps a summer picnic or a casual dinner with friends. And yet, my tote full of new potatoes looked so lovely that I simply could not resist. I'm not a fan of mayo-based potato salads (or really, mayo-based anything); however, I love the tangy flavor of a mustard-based salad. If you maintain a summer herb garden, this is a great recipe to help you clear out some of your overgrown stash, since you can toss nearly any combination of fresh herbs into the mix -- it's pretty hard to go wrong in fact. This time around, I mixed in a heaping handful of Thai basil leaves, which added a sweet, mildly licorice flavor that worked wonderfully with the subtle garlic notes from the sautéed scapes. You can absolutely make this recipe sans lentils; however, the added protein made me feel a bit more like I was eating a proper lunch and less like I was a girl…alone…eating a giant bowl of potato salad for one.  


Herby French Potato Salad w/ Thai Basil & Garlic Scapes

- 1/2 pound new potatoes
- 1/2 pound red potatoes
- 2/3 cup olive oil, plus one tablespoon
- 1 bunch garlic scapes, roughly chopped into 1/2-inch pieces
- 3 tablespoons chicken stock
- 2 tablespoons white wine vinegar
- 2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
- 2 cloves garlic, minced
- 1/2 teaspoon whole grain mustard
- 2 teaspoons kosher salt, plus more to taste
- 1/2 onion, thinly sliced
- 1/4 cup basil, roughly chopped
- 1/4 cup Thai basil, roughly chopped
- 4-5 thyme stems, leaves removed and lightly chopped
- 1/2 cup cooked brown lentils
- 3/4 teaspoon freshly cracked black pepper

Add the potatoes to a large pot of boiling salted water and cook for 30 minutes. Meanwhile, in a small skillet, heat one tablespoon of the olive oil over medium heat. Add the garlic scapes and sauté for about 5-8 minutes, or until the scapes are tender and gently charred. Remove the pan from the heat and set aside. Drain the potatoes and allow them to cool to the point where they are still very warm but you can comfortably handle them. Slice the potatoes into quarters and add to a medium-sized bowl. Pour the stock into the bowl and gently toss.

In a small bowl, whisk the vinegar, lemon juice, garlic, mustard, salt and the remaining oil in order to make an emulsion. Pour the vinaigrette over the potatoes and gently toss. Add the onion, basil, Thai basil, thyme and lentils. Add the cooled garlic scapes and any remaining oil from the pan. Add the freshly cracked black pepper. Gently mix all ingredients to incorporate.

Friday, July 4, 2014

Friday Roundup


Is it just me or does July ALWAYS come as a surprise? It's as though I have no idea whatsoever that, yes, June will inevitably end. For me, July 1st is like the universe's way of grabbing my shoulders, giving me a good, hard shake and encouraging me to get out there and log as many picnics, beach days, irresponsible nights and glasses of rosé as are humanly possible before Labor Day. And yet, here we are at mid-summer and at another Friday round-up...

Monday, June 30, 2014

Simple Iced Mint & Green Tea // Planting Our Roots (Week 44)


I spent this morning pruning our garden, something I should have done two weeks ago but just got around to today. Even though I've neglected it, miraculously, it has continued to thrive. Our arugula has transformed into a wild bush accented by delicate pastel flowers. Our basil plants are a gorgeous, healthy green -- a true accomplishment since most years mine tend to yellow by mid-summer. Our Thai basil plants are nearly a foot high, and are total garden show-offs, what with all those deep, high-reaching plum-colored flowers and tie-dyed looking leaves.




For most of my adult life, I've created a home garden that consists entirely of fleeting annuals. However, the summer we were married I made a deal with myself to experiment with the perennial game. At the end of that summer (and at the end of each summer since) I've planted at least one edible perennial in the hopes that our harsh winters would not kill them and that they'd return with vigor the following season.


At the time that I began this tradition, I was still high on wedding bliss, so the idea felt very poetic: I would literally plant some roots all along the perimeter of our home, which I would then tend to over the years and which would physically nourish us each summer season.


Though I haven't had luck with everything, both my peppermint and my lemon balm plants have found the beauty in my original gesture, and have returned each season as bigger, bushier versions of their former selves. Because of this, I force way too much mint onto our plates throughout the season. It makes a guest appearance in everything, from salads and spring rolls to creative pestos and galettes and once (in a brutally failed attempt) into a simmering pot of otherwise perfectly decent tomato sauce (I've made up for that minor disaster by becoming a bit of a self-proclaimed master of homemade Mint Chocolate Chip Ice Cream).



Luckily, we (and our cholesterol) have been saved by a collection of pretty green Spanish glass pitchers. Anyone who comes to our home regularly knows that one of these pitchers pretty much always hangs out on the corner of our butcher block island, tempting guests with something refreshing to drink. Some days, it is an easy, fruit-infused water. Other days, it is a fresh-squeezed juice or lemonade. This summer, the drink-of-choice has been a foolishly simple Iced Mint and Green Tea. Though you can certainly add more green tea to suit your tastes, I prefer to keep it subtle so that the fresh mint takes center stage (side note: though I regularly make this recipe with peppermint leaves, any minty leaves work fine, as do lemon balm leaves). Though this feels too easy to really serve as a suitable recipe (simply bruise the leaves, add some piping hot water, dip in some green tea bags and finish her off with a spoonful of honey), it is the perfect cool drink to stir up on warm summer days.


P.S.: if you're so inclined, please feel free to drop by Eat Boutique -- I recently wrote a two-part series for them about owning a small food business titled "Owning a NYC Food Business is Grand, and Other Lies Pinterest Told Me."


Simple Iced Mint & Green Tea

- 1 cup fresh mint leaves, thoroughly rinsed
- 6 cups near boiling water
- 2 green tea bags
- 2 tablespoons honey

In a small bowl, muddle the mint leaves to release their oils. In a medium-sized pot, add the muddled leaves and the near boiling water. When the leaves are submerged in the water, carefully muddle them for another minute or so, being careful not to splash the hot water. Steep for 8 minutes. Add the tea bags to the mixture and steep for an additional 2 minutes. Meanwhile, fill a medium-sized pitcher with ice cubes and set aside. At the end of the 2 minutes, promptly remove the tea bags to avoid a bitter flavor. Using a fine mesh sieve to ensure that no leaves end up in the tea, pour the liquid into the pitcher. Add the honey and stir. Allow the tea to cool to room temperature before serving. When kept covered and refrigerated, the tea will keep well for about 3-4 days.

Friday, June 27, 2014

Friday Roundup


Hi all! I hope you are DEEP into summer mode! I've logged a few solid beach days, floored it through some excellent summer reads (like this, this and also this), enjoyed multiple dinners with friends, engaged in (count em) FIVE picnics, attended a concert, consumed at least a case of summer beers, and finally sipped on my first fruity cocktail of the season (a Cucumber and Basil Gimlet, in case you were wondering). My hair is covered with blonde streaks, my skin is already golden tan, and my face is covered in freckles. This is my happiness people!

Friday, June 20, 2014

Tomato & Peach Salad // Summer Nights (Week 43)



Every now and again, the shop allows us to do some really amazing things. Because of the shop, we’ve been invited to seriously cool events around the city that we otherwise would have zero access to. We’ve been afforded the chance to meet a whole slew of talented chefs, artists, editors and other individuals who otherwise likely never would have crossed our paths. A few weekends back, we were granted access to another of these opportunities, right at the start of the summer. Though exhausting, it proved to be the perfect way to begin the season.



If you’ve ever watched a (bad) chick flick about Manhattan, then you’re familiar with the scene: two young, very attractive lovers set sail on a picturesque ferry ride, the scenic New York City skyline standing tall just behind them as they travel to, well, who knows where? Likely, they’re onboard a ferry heading toward one of the small islands that speckle the waters just beyond Manhattan’s shoreline.

In early June, Jay and I and our crew headed to one such island – Randall’s Island – to serve as food vendors for a popular three-day music festival known as the Governor’s Ball.


Going into the event, we anticipated that it would be one of our two most hectic weekends of the summer season. In addition to the festival, we would also have to make sure things were set and ready to go at our shop, as well as at several other pop-up markets we’d have in operation around the city. If we were still twenty-one, I have no doubt that Jay and I would have spent all our hard earned dollars to attend the festival. However, at thirty-two, it just seemed like it was going to be loooong: in total, the festival would ultimately require our team’s attention for more than eighteen-hours per day for three days straight. In short, Jay and I would need to be up at 3:30 a.m. on Friday, work until 2:00 a.m., be up again at 6:00 a.m. and then repeat the whole schedule for the next two days.


But despite this knowledge, at the time of our (very early) wake up call on Friday, we were in great spirits. Sure, we would need to work at the festival, but our booth would also be situated in between two stages, meaning we could comfortably perch beneath our shaded awning, surrounded by food and coolers filled with cold water, while we listened to the bands. It would be busy, but it would also be fun, right?


However, it was on Saturday morning, while I lugged a wobbly hand truck stacked with cases of those soon-to-be-ice-cold bottles of water and ten-pound bags of ice up a muddy hill, weaving it between scantily-clad college kids and balancing my phone on my shoulder while Jay freaked out about a missing menu sign that the whole thing sort of lost its appeal. I was hot. I was sweaty. I was sleep deprived. Jay already had a giant bruise on his face after a mishap unloading our van, and neither of us had yet to have a bite to eat. I just knew that hidden somewhere in the crowds of young concertgoers some manifestation of my twenty-one year old self was surely six beers deep, dancing on one of the vast lawns and shaking her head in disappointment. Sigh…



After three super intense days, by about seven o’clock on Sunday night, things slowly began to wind down. When I finally sat down to catch my breath for a moment, it occurred to me that, during the last three days, I’d had hardly anything to eat save for a few bottles of water, a piece of fruit, and one bowl of very good sticky rice.



While I’m known for always having a pretty serious appetite, after three days of working in the hot sun, despite my hunger, all I wanted was a few bites of something cool and fresh. This Tomato and Peach Salad, which we served at the festival in addition to our slow braised meat sandwiches, completely revived me. I’m from the school of thought that a ripe tomato can pretty much serve as a meal (I have a tendency to consume them like apples after plucking them fresh from the vine in the summer), and after a long, hot weekend, a bowl of meaty tomatoes paired with oh-so-familiar fresh basil leaves felt like the perfect source of nourishment. However, the unexpected addition of super sweet, sugary slices of stone fruit cooled my whole body down and gave me the energy to muster up a short-lived second wind. After eating a giant bowl of this crazy easy-to-make summer salad and downing about a half dozen bottles of water, Jay and I decided to ditch our booth for a bit so we could go enjoy a few beers together and check out one of our favorite bands, Vampire Weekend. While we were both exhausted, our bodies sore from being on our feet, as we stood on the outskirts of the crowd down near the front of the stage, I couldn’t help but feel satisfied. Before us, swarms of college kids guzzled beers and twirled one another in the warm early summer night air, a sprawling view of the illuminated New York City skyline just above their heads. Though the weekend was long and we both craved the comfort of our bed, for a fleeting moment, as I finished my beer and listened as the band sang their familiar lyrics, my husband standing beside me, I couldn’t help but think how fortunate we were to be there.



Tomato & Peach Salad 

- 4-5 large, ripe tomatoes
- 2 tablespoons kosher salt
- 3-4 large, ripe peaches
- 1 cup fresh basil leaves

Throughly rinse the tomatoes, peaches and basil. Dice tomatoes and add to a large bowl. Pour the salt onto the diced tomatoes and give them a good mix. Allow the tomatoes to sit, uncovered, for about ten minutes, or until their juices begin to fill the bottom of the bowl. Next, dice the peaches and add them to the bowl. Thinly slice or chiffonade the basil leaves, add them to the fruit mixture, and throughly mix the salad. Add more salt to taste. The salad can be eaten immediately, though when covered and stored in the fridge, it tastes even better the next day. 

Thursday, June 12, 2014

Strawberry Preserves Sorbet & Oat Ginger Crisps // A Birthday Treat (Weeks 41 & 42)


Tomorrow is Jay's birthday. He'll be thirty two. Thirty feels like a big deal in the birthday department, as does thirty five, though thirty two just sort of comfortably hovers between these two milestones. Thirty two feels like an age when we're still close enough to our twenties to occasionally make ill decisions, yet close enough to mid-life that we know we need to keep them far and few between.



Although Jay and I are both suckers for traditions and holidays and the like, neither of us are big birthday people. You know the type. Those people who spend multiple weekends celebrating their birthdays with a million groups of friends, the type who purchase special outfits to wear on their special day and who expect a million gifts in celebration of the fact that they've made it another year. Around here, birthdays usually begin with a card and a thoughtfully written note. At some point during the day, we'll share a special meal and a few rounds of drinks. Some years there will be gifts; others there will not (there is really no rhyme or reason to this decision to tell you the truth…). The only real constant is that, every year, each of our birthdays always includes a special dessert.


Although I might not be able to tell you every gift Jay has ever purchased me for my birthday (or vice versa), I feel strongly that I could tell you every dessert we've shared on one another's special days. We still reminisce about Jay's twenty fifth birthday -- the first we spent together -- when we walked through Times Square late one humid June night after attending a comedy show and rushed the first Mister Softee truck we could find, vanilla and chocolate swirls dripping down our hands as we stood on a curb and devoured them. I guess the tradition started there and hasn't really stopped since.


Last year, we opened the shop on my thirty first birthday. Although Jay and I keep birthdays simple, we always do something to recognize them so that the day does not simply pass us by. But last year, it was the very first time in my life when I honestly forgot my own birthday. For the days leading up to it, we were so painfully overwhelmed with last minute tasks and to-do lists to get our doors open on time that the thought of a birthday was quite literally the furthest thing from either of our minds.


The night before we opened was one of the longest nights of my life. At 11:30 p.m., we realized we did not have the right hardware to install one of our dining counters, none of the custom made table tops were connected to their bases, boxes of trash were still all over the dining area, our electricity was inexplicably not working on one whole side of the shop and our large menu sign was still in the back of my mother's car in New Jersey. At exactly 12:01 a.m., the first official minute of my birthday, I was in the back of the kitchen running a shop-vac across every surface and periodically pausing to rub a copper scrubber across the tile floor. It was very glamourous.


I don't know what made Jay look at the clock at that precise moment, but for whatever reason he did. Before I even realized he left the shop, he was back inside of it and standing at our recently painted service counter, a defeated look spread across his face. "I'm so sorry," he said. "With everything going on, I just completely forgot. This was the best I could do on such short notice." In front of him rest a double chocolate muffin and a pint of Haagen Dazs ice cream purchased from the bodega next door, each dessert adorned with a thin pastel birthday candle. I turned off the shop-vac and moved toward the service counter in silence. "It's my birthday, isn't it?" I asked, stunned that I had completely forgotten the date. We both had a lot to wish for at that moment, though when I blew out the two candles I was so physically tired I think I simply wished for sleep. When the candles were extinguished, we devoured the ice cream and the muffin, which ended up being the only things we ate until nearly twenty-four hours later, after we closed the doors to the shop at the end of her very first day.


This year, we both have a bit more clarity. Though we don't have anything special planned for tomorrow -- likely just work, a quiet dinner and then maybe a few drinks with family or friends -- what we do have, as always, is dessert. Jay's favorite summer dessert is fruity sorbet. We've experimented making sorbets a lot together over the years, though we rarely follow a recipe. Usually, we just blend some fruit, a bit of citrus, and a splash of whatever alcohol we happen to have on hand. However, this Strawberry Preserves Sorbet has completely made me rethink the way we make sorbet at home. The recipe is simple -- blend berries, ginger, and water, then freeze -- though the addition of fruit preserves (as opposed to sugar) creates a smooth and creamy sorbet packed with serious berry flavor. To accompany it, I've also made a small batch of super thin, incredibly crispy ginger and oat cookies, which are surprisingly easy to make (and no mixer required!). While I plan to nestle them into giant scoops of sorbet, they'd also serve as perfect vehicles for simple, strawberry sorbet sandwiches. I hope you'll like them, and I hope the birthday boy will too. Here's to another year!


Strawberry Preserves Sorbet & Oat Ginger Crisps
from Food 52 and Green Kitchen Stories, respectively

Strawberry Preserves Sorbet

- 4 cups strawberries, rinsed and hulled
- pinch of salt
- 1/4 cup strawberry preserves
- 1/4 cup apricot preserves
- 2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
- 1 tablespoon fresh lemon zest
- 1 heaping teaspoon fresh grated ginger
- 1/3 cup water
- 1 cup ice cubes

Add the berries, the salt and the preserves to a blender or a food processor. Puree until smooth. Add the lemon juice, the lemon zest, the ginger and the water and blend until all ingredients are incorporated. Add the ice cubes and blend until the ice is broken up and no large pieces remain in the puree. Add the puree to an ice cream maker and mix for 2-3 hours, or until the sorbet becomes thick and creamy.


Oat Ginger Crisps

- 4 tablespoons butter, room temperature
- 3 tablespoons maple syrup
- 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
- 2 tablespoons almond milk
- 2/3 cup rolled oats
- 1 tablespoon fresh grated ginger
- 1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
- pinch of salt

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Stir together all ingredients in a medium sized bowl (you can use an electric mixer, though I prefer to use a wooden spoon for this recipe). When mixed, it will look like you have very little dough -- do not worry. This is right.

Shape the dough into small rounds (you should end up with 10-12 rounds total) and drop onto a baking sheet. Using your fingers, flatten out the rounds until they become very thin. Bake for 15 minutes, or until the edges of the cookies are a nice, golden brown (the centers will still be soft, though this is okay, as they will continue to crisp up as they cool down). Store in an airtight container for 1-2 days.