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For Valentine’s Day, I wanted to give some friends chocolate chip cookies. My plan was to make the classic Toll House cookie using the recipe that’s been on the back of the Nestle chocolate chip bag for decades. Then it occurred to me: why not ask the AI for the perfect chocolate chip cookie recipe? After all, I’ve used the AI before and been quite awe struck about the great recipes it spits out. Once, after giving me a recipe for black bean soup, it said it liked black beans. You do?

I typed in my question and was informed it had a recipe for a chocolate chip cookie that would have crisp edges, a chewy center, pools of molten chocolate, and a complex caramel flavor with a butterscotch undertone ‒ “guaranteed to make people go quiet when they take their first bite”. Wow, count me in! It also claimed there was a secret to achieving this perfection.

The secret? Brown the butter! Someone had told me this before – maybe it was Jennifer Mortimore ‒ but I had proceeded to forget about it, until now when the AI jogged my memory. Instead of creaming softened butter with the sugar, you melt the butter, let it brown, cool it slightly then whisk in the sugars. After another cool down, you add the eggs and vanilla then fold that into the flour mixture. Once the dough is made, it rests in the fridge for 24 hours. Sometimes the smallest, simplest tweak can change everything.

I hovered over the pan because butter can so easily burn. While it browned, it made a lot of crackling noises as the moisture evaporated. The moment the noise stopped, the butter turned a lovely deep amber color and released a lovely nutty aroma.  I love how cooking engages all the senses, even hearing. Melting butter and stirring in sugar was much easier than blending sugar into butter. I imagine this little browned butter secret would probably improve almost any cookie.

The AI offered other secrets: chop up chocolate bars into big chunks instead of using chips, use dark brown sugar and sprinkle a pinch of coarse sea salt on the tops just as they come out of the oven.

The batch I whipped up was indeed delicious. But they didn’t quite match the AI’s promised texture with crisp edges, a chewy center and no hush fell over the room as people took their first bite. So I will soon have a talk with the AI to figure out where I went wrong. I’ll let you know what it says. If the AI likes black beans, maybe it will like these chocolate chip cookies too!

The flu hit hard last December and almost everyone I knew came down with it, including me. As usual, I did the Zen thing and didn’t resist the fact I was sick, so I could enjoy what the experience had to offer. I liked being warm and cozy in my bed and having the opportunity to do nothing, just be.

When Theresa called and I told her I was under the weather, she mentioned a traditional folk remedy said to help with colds and flu. Since I’m somewhat of a kitchen witch, I jumped at the chance to concoct a healing elixir, especially one that had no exact recipe.

I gathered the ingredients ‒ garlic, ginger, lemon, honey, cayenne ‒ and made a batch. To my surprise, this pungent potion had a magically soothing effect, as if my body said a loud and resounding YES. The next day, I turned a corner and started to feel better. Of course, I’ll never know for sure if I would have improved anyway, but there was certainly no harm in trying this.

To make the elixir, I peeled and chopped the cloves from a whole head of garlic. Then I peeled a ginger root and cut it into small chunks. I put the garlic, ginger, lemon juice and raw honey in my Vitamix blender along with three of cups of spring water and gave it a whirl. I let the mixture sit on the counter overnight, then poured it into ice cube trays and froze it. The next day, I transferred the frozen cubes to a quart mason jar. This way, I will always have some on hand. For those who like measurements, I used around ⅓ cup each of garlic, ginger, lemon juice and honey.

A couple of tips: soaking the garlic in water for an hour makes the skins slip off easily. I read that letting the chopped garlic sit for ten minutes before adding the water helps activate its beneficial compounds.

When it came time to drink the elixir, I gently warmed a couple of cubes and added a pinch of cayenne. Don’t heat it over 104⁰ ‒ that can destroy the enzymes in the raw honey.

I was curious about this age-old folk remedy, so I looked it up. It’s been used all over the world for aeons. Some people add raw apple cider vinegar. I even read an analysis that speculated why the remedy worked. This elixir is often called “fire cider”.

The next time you feel a cold or flu coming on, you might give this folk remedy a try. And if you do, please drop me a line—I’d love to hear how it went.

I usually write about ingredients that are easily found at local grocery stores. But this time, I’m making an exception to write about an unusual pantry staple that’s worth tracking down. What is it? Smoked basmati rice, grown in the Himalaya Mountains. It’s been called the Cadillac of rice and I definitely agree.

How did I learn about it? A couple of years ago, I was shopping at Barbur World Foods, a specialty store in Portland that sells Indo-European foods (that’s a fancy way of saying European and Middle Eastern). I can’t remember how exactly I stumbled across this rice. Maybe a shopkeeper pointed it out, or perhaps another customer did. Regardless, I splurged for a ten pound bag and lugged it home.

My senses lit up and filled with delight when I cooked my first pot. A heavenly smoky aroma escaped from the bag the moment I opened it and when it bubbled away on the stove, the intense, complex scent filled every corner of the kitchen. This rice was unlike any other rice I had ever eaten. The texture was slightly chewy, yet tender. The grains were long and plump and some stuck together in little clumps which felt good when I chewed them. It was fluffy yet substantial, earthy with a quiet sweetness. This rice tasted happy! In my imagination, I saw the rice growing on hillsides beneath majestic snow-capped peaks. I remember standing at the stove and eating it straight from the pot, not wanting to stop, like it was satisfying some weird craving.

It didn’t take long to use up that ten-pound bag because I gave a lot of it to friends. One time I ran out for a few months and my pantry felt like a piano with a flat middle C.

I was curious about this rice so I read up on it. The rice is grown on hand-cut terraces carved into the steep Himalayan hills. The terraces create shallow paddies that follow the contours of the land. Irrigation is gravity fed from mineral-rich snow melt and mountain streams that flow from one terrace to the next. Nothing is large scale; fields are small, irregular and intimate. The rice grows slowly which concentrates the flavors, a huge contrast to the high-yield lowland rice that is pushed to hurry up and grow.

The brand I buy is Khazana, available on-line and surprisingly affordable. I store mine in a half-gallon mason jar. If your container is 100% airtight, it will easily last a year. Sometimes, I make a big batch and freeze it in quart Ziploc bags. Once you try this humble yet regal pantry ingredient, you may never want to run out.

Tina Adams of Fossil is my baking soul sister and her baked goods always win first place at the Wheeler County fair. If I could make pies, cakes and muffins half as good as hers, I would be twice as happy! Some people just seem to have a knack.

So I was delighted when she offered to teach me how to bake perfect buttermilk biscuits. Tina and her husband, Greg, lived in the South years ago. And this is so funny – the folks down there scorn “Yankee biscuits”, those made with Gold Medal flour. To make a truly Southern buttermilk biscuit, I had to have the right flour. And that flour is White Lily self-rising flour made from 100% soft winter wheat.

When I arrived for my lesson, Tina handed me a bag of White Lily. The recipe is printed on the back – just add buttermilk and vegetable shortening (Tina uses butter). The leavening is already mixed into the flour.

She put the flour in a mixing bowl, cut in butter until it was the size of peas, poured in the buttermilk, and added a splash more when the dough seemed a bit too stiff. She blended it with a special fork that had been in her family since she was a little girl.

If you don’t have buttermilk, you can add white or apple cider vinegar or lemon juice to plain milk and let it sit for ten minutes. Or, if you have some buttermilk but not quite enough, you can top it off with plain milk and let it sit at room temperature for an hour or so.

Tina rolled the dough out on a vintage Tupperware pastry mat, cut them with a biscuit cutter and brushed the tops with melted butter. She says the secret to perfect biscuits is to bake them on cast iron. Her oblong cast iron griddle has been in her family for decades and she slid it into the oven while it was preheating.

I could hardly wait to eat hot biscuits smeared with butter and Tina’s homemade strawberry jam and apple butter. I just knew they’d be crunchy on the outside and soft, tender and flaky on the inside. We sat down to a table set with two plates and knives, a platter of biscuits, butter and jam. Ah, the joy of simple pleasures.

Later, I found myself thinking it would be fun to do a Yankee versus Southerner biscuit bake-off. Tina can use White Lily flour and I’ll use Gold Medal. Maybe we’ll enter our biscuits in the county fair and let the judges decide on the winner. Now that’s something fun to look forward to!

I take that back. In my last column, I wrote about Carla Hornbrook’s fool-proof, tried and true, decades old pie crust recipe. But when I said “fool-proof”, I forgot that meant fool-proof for other people. I have a complex about making pies – no matter how hard I try, they usually don’t turn out right.

I had frozen two of those never-fail pie crusts, thinking I’d use them for Jerry’s annual birthday cherry pie. I gathered up everything I needed and headed over to his house. The cherries had been sitting in the freezer for a good long while but still looked good. I thawed and strained them, made a roux, and added the cherry juice to make a sauce that was so wickedly good I had to stop myself from eating it all.

I sprinkled flour on parchment paper and on top of the dough and rolled it out. But as I rolled, it split in several places and turned mushy. Oh no! What to do? Frustrated, my mind replayed every failed pie I had ever made. In a fit of “I quit”, I was almost ready to wad the whole thing up and toss it in the garbage and just go buy a pie. As if by magic, Theresa suddenly appeared.

I showed her the mess and aired my frustration. She put on an apron and assumed a supervisory role. She watched me try to straighten out the crust, then informed me I was man-handling the dough and told me to be more careful. I tried to gingerly roll it out but it kept sticking to the rolling pin. Frustrated once again, I resigned and asked her to take over. I went back to tasting the cherry sauce.

She patiently worked the dough, patting it like a baby’s bottom. She folded the dough in half and placed it in the pie pan. We added the cherries and what was left of the cherry sauce, put the top crust on, and into the oven it went. An hour later, we pulled the pie out and let it cool.

The pie was utterly delicious – the crust was flaky and tender, the filling sweet and juicy. There was some left over pie dough so we put it on parchment paper, rolled it out, sprinkled it with cinnamon and sugar, cut it into strips and baked it. That was such a lovey treat to eat with a cup of coffee while we waited for the pie to cool.

I’m going to try hard to get over my pie-making block. I may call Carla and ask her if she’d consider giving a well-intended fool a pie-making lesson. I hope she says yes! Maybe pies aren’t fool-proof, but friendship sure is.

I’ve never been able to master the perfect pie crust – one that’s flaky, tender, crisp and crunchy, no matter how hard I try. For years, I’ve used Julia Child’s classic recipe: just flour, butter, sugar, salt and water. I’ve followed every tip – freezing the butter, chilling the water, and even the flour. Yet, for reasons still unknown (perhaps the moon phase?), my dough was always stiff and uncooperative, like rolling out cardboard.

I marvel when I go to a pie contest and see perfect crusts. So I was thrilled to get Carla Hornbrook’s recipe for a foolproof pie crust. I first tasted this amazing crust at the community lunch in Fossil, where she served a pumpkin pie she had made. She too had past problems with butter pie crusts, especially when important guests were coming for dinner. She’s used this recipe for decades and it’s never let her down, not even once.

I have never seen a pie crust recipe that called for an egg and apple cider vinegar but there’s a first time for everything. I bought some Crisco and followed Carla’s instructions to the letter. The dough was much easier to work with than a butter crust. It was pliable, soft, elastic, springy to the touch and . . . fun! Blending in the shortening was easy and so was rolling it out. I made a pumpkin pie, and the crust was heavenly.

Perfect Pie Crust

4 cups all-purpose flour
1¾ cup shortening
1 tbsp sugar
2 tsp salt
1 egg
½ cup cold water
1 tbsp vinegar (Carla uses cider vinegar)

Mix the dry ingredients together. Then use a pastry blender to blend in the shortening. In a separate bowl, mix the liquid ingredients then add them to the flour mixture. Combine (I used my hands), form into a ball, and chill for 15 minutes before rolling out. Store in the fridge for up to three days or freeze. Makes enough for two nine-inch pies.

I weighed the dough and it was just over 36 ounces. I divided it into four equal portions of nine ounces each. The dough was a bit too thin, so next time, I’ll divide it into three 12 ounce portions. That should be perfect for one pumpkin pie and a cherry or berry pie with a nicely fluted crust. I’m planning to try butter-flavored Crisco and experiment to see what happens when I use softened butter, or lard. For a savory pie, you can omit the sugar and add a pinch of dried thyme or cracked pepper to the flour mixture. It’s a great base for quiche or pot pie.

Thank you, Carla for sharing your dependable pie crust recipe with all of us!

I vividly remember the first time I cooked a turkey. I was probably 24 years old and had invited a few friends over for a Thanks-mas dinner—a hybrid holiday gathering that falls somewhere between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Growing up, I’d seen many perfectly roasted, golden-brown turkeys come out of the oven with much celebratory fanfare. It looked easy enough, or so I thought.

Back then, I bought a turkey with a pop-up timer, calculated how long the bird would take, and placed it in the oven. As the finish line drew near, I opened the oven and the timer still hadn’t sprung. Every fifteen minutes or so, I’d check again and the timer still hadn’t popped. Of course, every time I opened the oven door, some hot air escaped which prolonged the cooking time. After six hours, I concluded the timer was broken and pulled out the bird. Carving it was like cutting up an old shoe. Eating it was about the same. It would be several decades before I had the courage to roast a turkey again.

I cooked my second turkey just a few years ago. But this time, I’d wised up. I bought an internal probe thermometer and when the turkey reached the right temperature, it beeped. The gadget eliminated all the guesswork and my anxiety vanished. The bird came out juicy and tender and I felt so accomplished. I couldn’t believe how easy it was to cook a turkey.

Along the way, I also learned that a turkey’s internal temperature can rise by five to ten degrees after it comes out of the oven. If you don’t know that, it’s easy to overcook it. The ideal internal temperature is 165⁰ which means you pull it out of the oven at around 155⁰-160⁰. Tent it with foil and let it rest for about half an hour.

So many recipes call for brining or fancy herb and spice rubs, but I keep it simple – I stuff the bird with Stovetop stuffing, rub with olive oil, sprinkle with salt, and roast it. I use a foil pan too, because that eliminates a big pan to wash.

Technology has come a long way. These days, some probe thermometers are “smart” and use Bluetooth that pairs with an app; the alarm goes off on your phone when the target temperature is reached. I bought my probe thermometer on Amazon for only $14.00. It’s not smart, but it’s smart enough, and it’s accurate for a small home turkey.

Now that you know how to roast a turkey the no-stress way, you can relax and go about your day. There’s a first time for everything, even using a probe thermometer.

Oh wow—what a wild ride the action-packed EBT Circus has been! Up, down, sideways, and even backwards! The fallout from the political gridlock was heartbreaking and likely kept many people awake at night with worry. But while Congress was locked in a stubborn stalemate last week, hundreds of folks in Oregon mobilized to make food available for those who needed it.

So, what happened?

First of all, our governor made sure that all EBT recipients received their food stamps on Friday, November 7. This required some immediate and nimble action when EBT administrators saw trouble coming down the pike. Undoubtedly there were several intense 24/7 days as IT professionals and others managed an emergency situation with no precedent to draw on. Thank you, Tina!

Then, my friend Geoffrey Brownell of Fossil and I headed to Redmond for the Central Oregon Fill Your Pantry event, a bulk-buying farmer’s market. The beautiful displays of locally grown food piled high on tables were breathtaking against the backdrop of the Sisters Mountains on a sun-shiny day.

I wandered over to the Bend Farmer’s Market booth and learned that even if an EBT recipient had only one dollar left on their card, they could receive $120 worth of tokens to spend. This was made possible with a grant from the Oregon-based Farmer’s Market Fund.

Geoff and I scouted around the perimeter before buying anything, and as we finished our rounds, we realized we hadn’t gone down the center aisle. It was loaded with boxes and bins full of fruits, vegetables, bread, jelly, and meat. As we meandered along, a volunteer handed me a bright blue bag and said “Please help yourself, this food has been donated”. As her words registered, I felt goosebumps then burst into tears. Then she said “This is what community feels like.” 

This generosity was made possible by a community-sourced “Fill All Pantries” fundraiser spearheaded by the Bend Farmer’s Market, Central Oregon Fill Your Pantry and the High Desert Food and Farm Alliance. Sweet!

When Geoff and I got back to his house, we unloaded the car which didn’t have an inch of room to spare and spread everything out on the kitchen table and counters. Oh the incredible bounty! We put two empty boxes on chairs for friends who were on EBT and filled them with pears, apples, potatoes, carrots, leeks, shallots, kale, winter squash, parsnips and pumpkins. Sharing the excess was truly heartwarming. Jerry stopped by to witness the whole thing.

All this love and food flowing around makes it hard to see our politicians with Luciferian eyes when the outcomes are Big Beautiful Blessings like this. Yes, God does indeed bless America. And that’s . . . awesome!

My last column was about a simple vinaigrette recipe I found printed inside a packet of lettuce seeds. If you like vinaigrettes, this five-ingredient recipe might be the only salad dressing recipe you’ll ever need. It’s easy to make, but the ingredients must be top-notch.

I use Pommery mustard —Pommery Moutarde de Meaux —made since 1682 in Meaux, a little town northeast of Paris. My friend Janet, a talented gourmet cook, introduced me to it decades ago. You won’t find the mustard at your usual grocery store; it’s available online or in specialty food shops. You have to hear about it from someone who already knows —this mustard travels via word-of-mouth! I’ve given jars to people who are difficult to shop for because they already have everything they need.

The 343 year old recipe, created by Catholic monks, is a closely guarded secret and the way it’s made is secret, too. Locally grown seeds give the mustard a distinct flavor thanks to the region’s unique combination of soil, water and climate. The seeds are ground on limestone mills and blended with vinegar from local vineyards. The mustard has a lovely coarse and crunchy texture and a robust, tangy and nutty flavor. It’s hot but not too hot.

I was going to say it must be the best mustard in the world, but since I have not tried them all that probably wouldn’t be true. However, when I looked into its history, I discovered it won the Grand Champion award at the World Mustard Competition in 2019. The contest was held at the World Mustard Museum in Middletown, Wisconsin. Now there’s a piece of trivia for you!

The presentation is as charming as the flavor; it comes in a stoneware jar with a bright red lid. I can never throw away an empty jar and often pass them along to friends. The jar gives it a long shelf life; open jars can last a couple of years in the fridge without losing flavor.

I call exceptional condiments and flavorings “flavor bursts”. One little pinch or scoop can take food from good to great. My collection of flavor bursts includes pomegranate syrup, porcini powder, Maldon sea salt flakes, and more. Pommery mustard had definitely earned its place on that shelf.

Pommery is available on Amazon for $14.54 for a 17.6 ounce jar. Trevor, guess what you will be getting for Christmas

You probably know by now that I am a big fan of simplicity. Sometimes I wonder if I am lazy, but it’s really not that. I just like things to be easy and uncomplicated. When I read long, involved recipes that have many ingredients and steps, I get tired just reading them! Why go to all that trouble when, with minimal effort, you can whip up something extraordinary?

That being said, simplicity in the kitchen only works if the ingredients are top-notch. When the quality is there, food doesn’t need much “do” to prepare.

Last spring, I opened a packet of lettuce seed from Botanical Interests and found a simple five-ingredient salad dressing recipe on the inside. It takes just minutes to make, and I’ve whipped it up at least a dozen times since then, it’s that good. The recipe can be easily doubled.

I always make my own dressings. Store-bought versions tend to be made with low-quality ingredients but they sell for premium prices. I’d rather spend the money the good stuff and make something healthful and delicious.

Simple Salad Dressing

1½ tbsp Dijon mustard
1 tbsp honey
¼ cup white wine vinegar
¾ cup extra virgin olive oil
1 small shallot
Salt and pepper to taste

You can tweak the ingredients to suit your mood. For example, I used my favorite stone ground mustard, Pommery, made by the same French winery that produces champagne (I really must do a column on Pommery mustard soon). Recently I made it with Sierra Nevada ale mustard and it was delicious.

I’ve tried different vinegars but my favorite is Pompeian Organic White Wine Vinegar. It’s surprisingly good for the price and made in Italy (the Italians know their wines). I bought six bottles on Amazon for $21; they will probably last me a couple of years. A full-bodied extra virgin olive oil is mandatory. We are fortunate to have local honey here. Use a neutral one like wildflower or clover.

I don’t always add the shallot but if I do have one on hand, I toss it in then blend with my immersion blender; it gives the dressing a lovely creamy consistency. You can make this into an Italian version by adding a half teaspoon of Italian herbs; I use Tone’s Italian Spaghetti Seasoning Blend, it’s the best! Add a couple of tablespoons of blue cheese crumbles and poof! — instant blue cheese vinaigrette. Sometimes I add a few tablespoons of spring water and then it has fewer calories.

A good recipe is truly worth its weight in gold. If you love vinaigrettes, this might be the only salad dressing recipe you’ll ever need. Simple is best!