Les Bonnes Choses

This one thematically goes out to my nephew Elli, who loves the cookie monster.

I had enough of a hankering for peanut butter cookies this evening that I went to the grocery store to pick up some key ingredients (namely, peanut butter). This is very uncharacteristic of me. For one thing, I hate grocery shopping. For another thing, I don't bake. In my house, Rebecca handles all the baking requirements because we have a nice little ecosystem in our family wherein she tends to like (or at least not despise) the activities that I hate. Like shopping, baking, and folding laundry. I'd like to hear C-3PO call the odds on my behaviour this evening. Then I'd turn him off again, because that character always annoyed the hell out of me.

But wait, isn't this a blog where I routinely (okay, disproportionately) post recipe sketches? Yes, it is. That's cooking. Some people cook; some people bake. The personalities required for each activity are completely different. Cooking is a slap-dash affair. Sure, you need an idea of what ingredients to combine, and maybe some general proportions. But really, anyone who rigorously follows a cookbook doesn't want to be cooking. They want to be baking.

Baking is an entirely different beast. My friend John and I learned that first hand when we joined the Regina Mundi baking club in our senior year of high school so that we could bake -- jeez, what was it? I know it was something chocolate. A mousse or something like that. Anyways, for whatever reason one afternoon we felt like we should plan to eat a chocolate dessert that week using as much of the school's resources as possible. So we joined the baking club that day, which allowed us to use the school ovens, mixing bowls, et cetera.

The ensuing dessert event probably turned out better than it might have, had we made it on our own. But that's only because the home economics teacher who supervised the baking club was a task-master. Flour, she said, needs to be spooned into the measuring cup (so as not to compact it), and then leveled off with a knife. Clearly, I learned something that afternoon, but learning something certainly didn't cause me to roll my eyes any less.

With our mission accomplished, we didn't go back to the school kitchens again. And I really haven't been much of a baker since then, either. Instead, I walk the world, doomed, to have my precisely-measured flour-based preparations fail miserably.

But that reminds me: I had promised a recipe sketch a couple weeks back. This one is a two-parter.

Part 1: spiced simple syrup.
This is a spin on a basic heavy simple syrup, which is dead easy.
In a large saucepan, combine equal parts sugar and water (say, 2 cups of each).
Measure out some amount of mulling spices (you can buy this online, or just mix up some bits of whole cinnamon, cloves, allspice, dried orange peel and anything else that smells like Christmas that isn't a pine tree). Put the mulling spices in a tea ball or a cheesecloth pouch. Drop your mulling spices in your saucepan.
Bring to a boil, whisking occasionally to get the sugar good and dissolved. Remove from heat. Let cool. Store in an appropriate vessel.
I use this stuff when I make apple chips. I also decided to use this in ...

Part 2: Fennel Salad
Finely slice up a fennel bulb (fennel is also called anise - it smells faintly of black licorice). I used a mandoline to do this. If you're creative, find a use for the stalks and fronds, but they don't go in the salad. Next, finely slice a Granny Smith apple or two. All these ingredients go in your salad bowl, by the way. Now try celery. You like celery? Good. Add it to your salad. How much? I don't know, how much do you like celery? Same goes for some dried cranberries and for some pecans, which I kind of crushed up a bit first.

Here's where the awesome happens. In a lidded jar, combine 1 parts cider vinegar, 2 parts canola oil, 1 part of that spiced simple syrup, salt and pepper to taste and maybe some lemon juice. I also find that adding a nice dollop of dijon mustard (an emulsifier) is good if  you don't want your dressing to separate. Shake to combine and pour over your salad. Toss to coat. Be amazing. Ask someone else to bring the dessert because baking is a hassle.

By the way, don't let the black licorice thing throw you off. Many people hate black licorice. I get that. I happen to love it, but Rebecca hates the stuff and loves fennel salad. And she's going to love it even more when I make it with this dressing.