hopelessly captivated | lemon - ricotta scones

Prune has the most vibrant dreams. She’ll be fast asleep but you’ll hear her growl, the unmistakable gravelly growl of a big dog. In her sleep she’ll be running, her paws moving, her claws tapping against the floor, hot pursuit, deep in the hunt. Endless grassy meadows and shallow streams under warm sunshine, dusty tracks, mazes of cornfields where she loses herself. Other dogs to chase, rabbits, mossy forests, utopia. But she reaches the end of the track and she panics, in her somnolent way. She sees it all, the fireworks, thunderstorms, and she whimpers. Out loud, in her deep sleep. We comfort her, bring her back to now, lying on her cushion in the kitchen, she sighs, stretches and seems to shrug, like it was all nothing. Like it was just a dream and we didn’t all need to be so worried.

Suzi is a hushed dreamer. She runs a little sometimes, but for the most part she sleeps deep and quiet, her head on her paws. But she lives out loud. She goes outside and she’ll run, just to run, because she’s fast and athletic and she can. She’ll take sharp curves around the cherry tree, maybe pick up a snack, throw it in the air, shake it, hunt it, subdue it. Then she’ll lie down right where she is, prick up her ears and listen. For the first sign that something is untoward in the neighborhood, a hint of something new carried in the breeze. Guarding her place and her people. Alert and watching.

Prune sometimes won’t walk when she should. She’ll make herself very heavy when she wants to, physically and emotionally. She’s considered to be very much a Labrador - solid, often hungry, gentle. But she is highly strung in her own way. Like a Thoroughbred racehorse or a very expensive sports car she’s not easy to handle, she’s confusing to understand, and is far too precious to ever be tamed. We live with her moods, her spirited independence, her wild streak. Like a painter who has moved to live high in the mountains and is hopelessly captivated by the endless winter.

If Prune is the winter then Suzi is the sun. Burning at times. She’ll seek you out, often in the evening, and she won’t let go. Because what she really wants is affection, to lay her head on your lap, black velvet. And like the sun of spring, she’s at times timid, hesitant. It’s like she’s not sure what you’re going to do to her and the clouds win. So you volley between the scorch of summer and ripple of spring sunshine, waiting for those mellow days in June. When she’s lying on her side, waiting for you to tickle her neck. But there is a beauty in the mercurial seasons, that capricious volley, that temperamental up-down that brings the purest snow days and the cascades of spring blossom. Beauty even in the deepest winter and most despondent vernal sunshine. And like the artist in his mountain cabin, entranced by the downpour and the melt, I have been boundlessly won over, infinitely. 

“She was my darling. Difficult, morose, but still my darling”     - Vladimir Nabokov 

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Hi :) Been a little while since I was here buuuut I have scones. These scones are cute triangular shafts of citrusy sunlight so they’re kind of well suited to the time of year. I have seen ricotta in a few scones recipes so wanted to try it out aaaand I was really pleased with how they turned out - the ricotta makes these scones quite sturdy but not too dry. They are also more simple to make than it may first seem and come together very fast.
Anyway. Love you xx

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lemon - ricotta scones

2/3c almond meal
2/3c oat flour
2/3c brown rice flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
1/2tsp salt 
2T coconut sugar 
Zest from one lemon
2T olive oil
1c ricotta cheese (or thicker type of yogurt could work)
3T fresh lemon juice 

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Preheat oven to 180 C, 350 F. Line a baking tray with parchment paper.
In a large bowl combine flours, baking powder, lemon zest, salt and sugar. Stir until sugar is completely mixed. In another bowl, beat together the ricotta, oil, egg and lemon juice.
Combine the wet and dry mixes until a workable dough forms. Sprinkle some flour over a work surface and tip out the dough. Using your hands, shape the dough into a circle, around 3cm (1inch-ish) thick.
Cut the circle in half, then quarters, then again so you have 8 kind of triangular pieces.
(carefully + gently) move the scones to the baking tray and bake for around 15 minutes - they will have become a little golden with some browning on the edges.
Transfer to a wire rack and cool completely. On their own the scones are not super sweet but are still great. They are equally great with honey or jam.

In an airtight container they will keep for a few days in the fridge but can also be frozen and defrosted.

my two princesses

losing my footing | lemon cloud pancakes

Prune was given a shelf life, but they weren't exactly sure what it would be. The words of the vet ran round and round my head like a batsman between the bases. Could be could be three weeks, could be three days, she might not make it at all. She had been quite happy, when I left her there, in the consultation room. Wagging her tail, tired and confused, why I was sitting on the cold tiled floor with her, with a lump in my throat and her collar in my hand. What do you say to your dog, who is more than just a dog when they've told you'll probably never see her again? What would you say to your best friend or your sister? I said nothing, but tickled her chin as I always do, she licked my face, and I left the vet. The walk out was as if I was on a mountainside road somewhere, my head all spacey, like there was no atmosphere and I was loosing my footing. Slipping, off the road, into an abyss. A dark, empty space, without her.

Drama of mountainside roads aside, that Thursday almost exactly six months ago was a nightmare. I woke up that night and thought, did I dream all this? Please tell me that Prune's asleep on her cushion. But of course she wasn't. There was only one set of tic-tac paws on wooden floors, rushing to greet me, but even to Suzi her solo footsteps sounded hollow, she kept stopping to check for Prune, her big sister, the one who incited all her craziness. We'd had a call late the night before that Prune had survived her operation. The tumour was out, the internal bleeding had stopped, she would have blood transfusions all night. As you probably know, she made it. It changed her, it changed us. If Prune isn't at my door in the morning wagging her tail and practically jumping up and down, I panic. Every time she's sleeping I stop and watch her ribs heaving up and down. I know it's crazy, but people have said that it was a miracle she survived at all. And now she's lasted 6 months! You go Prune. 

She's been in the best mood lately. All smiles. Whoever said dogs can't smile has never met Prune, because she knows how to grin. She'll lie there on her cushion in the mornings, her head propped up against the kitchen cabinet and her tail will thump, frenetically, so I'll tickle her chin, her back leg does this funny circular motion. A bit like she's playing the drums, pushing the pedal with her feet. She'll sigh a bit, snuffle a bit, snatch whatever food we've given Suzi, then leave the kitchen and plop herself down on the floor in the living room. Spirited is a good word for her. Independent. But less so than before. Before the op, she'd squirm and wriggle and wrench herself free when I tried to cuddle her but now she'll stay. Probably through gritted teeth, she lets me sit on the cushion, between her and Suzi. Pruney will heave a heavy sigh, but she likes it. Knowing that we're around.

Prune went for another scan in mid February where the vet gave her the more or less all clear. For now. We'll never know how far out of the woods we have come. A bit like living in the shadow of that mountain, with the high roads where you can't breathe, where there are gaps between the rocks that are dark and empty. But for now she's here and we hold on to that. She's still smiling every morning, still stealing all the food she can find, still digging holes and eating mud in the garden. She's still here and she's still our girl. For now, at least, the mountains just hover on the horizon.

Pruney loves pancakes. So does Suzi, actually, and my dad. We're the pancake squad over here. These pancakes are super fluffy, hence the name cloud pancakes. They are so light, airy and delicate, with a bright lemony tang. Spring pancakes, for the awkward time when citrus is still lingering but the cherry tree is starting to blossom (!!)
They do involve a whipped egg white situation which makes them a bit more effort than other pancakes, but it's totally worth it. They freeze well, too, so you could double the recipe really easily and freeze some.
Hug your pups when you can. They make our lives much richer than they'd ever think.
Hope you have a great weekend, maybe with pancakes xx

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Lemon cloud pancakes

makes 5-6 pancakes  // gluten free + easily dairy free

1/4 cup (25g) oat flour
1/4 cup (30g) brown rice flour
1 tablespoon coconut sugar
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
pinch of salt
1/2 tablespoon coconut oil, melted
1/2 cup natural yogurt (goat, regular, coconut all work)
juice + zest of 1/2 a lemon
1/4 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 free range egg, seperated

yogurt and honey,  for serving (if you like)

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Combine the flours, sugar, baking powder + soda and salt in a large bowl.

In another bowl or liquid measuring cup, whisk together the yogurt, oil, lemon juice and zest, and vanilla. If your coconut oil seizes up (from the cold other ingredients), very gently heat the mix and it will loosen up again. Beat in the egg yolk.

In the clean bowl of a stand mixer, or in a very clean glass/metal bowl, beat the egg white till stiff peaks form. 

Add the yogurt & egg yolk mix to the flour and gently combine with a flexible spatula. Very gently add the egg white, and stir to just combine - there can still be streaks of egg white, you don't want to deflate their poofiness.

Let the batter rest for 5 minutes. You can heat up your pan in this time.

After 5 minutes, ladle about 1/4 cup (4 tablespoons) of batter into the pan. Cook for about 2 minutes, till bubbles form on the surface of the pancake. Flip it gently and cook for about a minute more. I use an electric stove and most people don't, but you've made pancakes before.

Repeat with the remaining batter. If you're serving the pancakes straight away, you can keep them warm in a low oven, on a baking tray. Otherwise, let them cool completely, wrap in parchment paper and freeze.

I like them with a dollop of yogurt mixed with honey, but maple syrup, nut butter etc would also be great. Just a suggestion :)

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Everybody's number one

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the ebb and flow | lemon-blueberry loaf

It was our dad who picked us up from Heathrow the other day after our trip. He was waiting in arrivals, a smiling face in the crowd. Two weeks ago he'd been there himself. His homecoming. In three days he would be back. His departure. It's odd, in families like ours, where people keep coming and going. In families which are absence and reunion. We flow like rivers. Rivers run dry, it's a reaction to absence. Slowly, rain trickles down and the level picks up. The currents move you along as usual. There's a reunion and your river is full.

You learn to pick it up where you left off. Changing seasons, hair cuts, height. The same jokes, the same fights, the same people. Absence. Maybe it taught me things. You learn to appreciate someone's presence - waking up in the morning and knowing everyone is home. Small things. Seeing the coffee cup on the sideboard and knowing that someone's already awake and pottering around. Getting back from a cold, wet walk with the dogs and finding the lights on, fresh towels hanging in the hallway and knowing that someone is home. If people were around all the time, wouldn't I grow complacent? I know I do, because in the short periods that dad's work has been more from home, I just sort of get... meh, too used to it in a way. I wonder what it's like for those who have grandparents living in the same town; or where normality is having all your people under the same roof, a dad who works the 9 to 5 at an office. It's just not - not a concept to me, for some of us jobs are in other places, there are dusty port cities all over the world, nucleated families who are together but apart. The absence puts the every day, the ebb and flow, into perspective. Time seems to tumble down a waterfall. From above, from the outside, it seems to be barely moving. But deep in the swell, when you're swept up in the currents, things go fast. There are whirlpools of thoughts, everyday events that you only recollect when the spinning has stopped and you're on the other side, sitting on the banks with everyone and you're looking back and thinking "I can't believe that much time has passed". Because the truth is that it will rain. And your river will rise. And you don't notice it rising because you're in the water and totally taken along by the flow.

The last time dad was visiting I was still practicing for my driving test. This time, last week, I drove him to our local train station with a full license. The sky was smooth and slick, cool, monochrome gray, like tiles in a Kinfolk kitchen. The radio raved about the 4cm snow expected overnight and worse ice. Howling wind through the ribs of trees over the Broadland marshes, the landscape in muted green and brown, fields fallow and hedgerows bare. Dad and I stood on the platform, the wind eating through our clothing, looking over the tracks into the distance. A long straight path. We talked, just like normal, as if we were like the three other passengers. Just off to the city for the afternoon. Not that my dad had three trains and two planes and twenty four hours of travel ahead of him. Alone. But we talked, about trains and wood working and the London Underground, as dads and daughters do on drafty rail platforms in January. The train arrived on time. "Go", my dad said to me as he moved towards the carriage. The little station was eerily quiet. Down a country track, in the middle of the Broads, a part of that muted landscape. There was an old rickety bridge, the rail house needed painting, there were a few arbitrary tracks leading to it from the fields. I wanted to wait. To watch him and the train leave. But he didn't like to see me stand there. He wanted to see me go home. Always his little girl. That was absence, somewhere he'd missed me swim out of the shallows and into the channel. "Go now" he said again. Our rivers, running dry. By tomorrow they'd start filling again.

I went. Over the wooden bridge and his train left. I turned back to watch it, from the bridge, I waved to him and waved to the retreating train as it cut through the murky browns and greens.

My car was one of the few parked in the pebbled lot, nestled in the brambles and the naked branches. I sat for a few minutes, door locked, and listened to a blackbird, remembering all the boring day to day questions I'd forgotten to ask my dad. Never mind, I thought, there's next time, and next time, it will be spring, our rivers will be full.

So here's a lemon blueberry loaf. And a funny story about how this was the first gluten free recipe I wrote myself, and how I miscalculated and forgot a cup of flour, but it still turned out ok, albeit after three days in the oven. What I'm trying to say is that if you'd like to start baking gluten free, this loaf is ahem very forgiving and you can't go wrong because I've remembered the cup of flour. I'm calling it the 'house loaf' because I think it's the most requested recipe of mine, and I know it may seem slightly odd to pair lemon and blueberry but it's seriously so addictive. A zesty, sunny shock of citrus from the lemon and a bright sweetness from blueberries. Not to mention the vitamin C and anti-oxidants that winter loves to sap. This loaf has a very light crumb with all the yogurt and is not overly sweet, more of a breakfast or snack loaf. To keep it simple I generally do a 1-1 rice flour oat flour mix, but I see more people concerned about trace levels of arsenic in brown rice - if that's you, I've tried a new option, it's in the recipe notes. Either way, I really hope you try this. The comfy sweater of loaf cakes. Sending lots of winter brightness your way. Happy weekend xx

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Lemon - blueberry loaf

// gluten free + dairy free option // makes 1 9x5 inch loaf

1 cup (100g) oat flour, certified gf if necessary
1 (120g) cup brown rice flour OR 1/2 cup (60g) brown rice flour and 1/2 cup (60g) millet flour *
2 tablespoons flax meal
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup (150g) light muscavado sugar or coconut sugar
Zest of one lemon
1/4 cup (60ml) melted coconut oil
2 free range eggs
1 cup (240ml) plain yogurt (I used goat yogurt, use non-dairy or regular as you wish)
1/4 cup (60ml) freshly squeezed lemon juice (this was 1 1/2 medium lemons for me)
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 cup (150g) blueberries, fresh or frozen (frozen will make the batter a bit blue, but I find that so pretty)

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Preheat the oven to 175’C / 350’F and line a 9×5 inch loaf pan.

In a large bowl combine the flours, flax meal, baking powder and soda, salt. Add the cup of blueberries and toss them through so well coated in flour – this stops them sinking to the bottom. Set aside.

In another large bowl, combine the coconut oil, two eggs, sugar and lemon zest. With a whisk, beat together till smooth and dark brown. Add the vanilla and 1/4cup (60ml) lemon juice with the yogurt and beat again till smooth and pale. It always reminds me of thin tahini at this point, probably a personal thing.

Add the wet mix to the dry mix and use a flexible spatula to combine till moist and even. Pour the batter into the prepared pan and bake till the top is cracked and golden-brown and a skewer inserted into the cake comes out clean – probably about 1hr-1hr 5 minutes.

Allow the cake to cool in the tin for about 15 minutes then allow it to cool completely on a wire rack before slicing.

Being gluten free and fairly light, it will be a bit fragile but if you would like neat slices, wrap the cake in foil for a bit and refrigerate and then cut.

The cake will keep, in an airtight container in the fridge for about 5 days but freezes and defrosts very well.

notes

*There are some concerns about trace levels of arsenic in brown rice. I’ve done some research into this and found that in the UK and EU, imports of rice are very closely regulated and surveyed for arsenic. There are strict standards and that seems to make brown rice products sold through UK/EU companies very much food safe because the sources are regulated . I buy my brown rice flour from a British brand. I don’t know in the US, though, how much regulation there is and I understand the concerns came out of the US initially. Either way, I know this can be off-putting if you don’t know the sources of your flour, so I’ve tried cutting the rice flour with millet flour . For the first time tested the recipe with half the quantity (1/2 cup or 60g) millet flour which acts very similarly in baking, and it worked just as well. So you have another option if you don’t want to go with all brown rice flour, though I wouldn’t recommend going above a 1/2 cup millet flour because it can be slightly bitter and also a bit pale yellow, which works ok here for the sunshine effect but it may become too much. Hope that helps.

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