These cookies are like breakfast muffins except in cookie form… probably an attempt to trick your brain. So, if you’re looking for a crisp, chocolatey bit of sweetness, these cookies aren’t it. But they do carry their own charm if you’re willing to give them a try.
I started making these cookies about the time I tried to eliminate refined white sugar and flour from my everyday diet. I still make them today, but I added the “relatively healthy” modifier because although they’re healthier than regular cookies, I’m not sure how healthy they are when I eat them in uncontrolled quantities. 😉
Like most cookies, they’re best fresh. Make sure you serve them with milk or tea if they last for a few days.
1 1/4 c. oats
1 1/2 c. oat flour
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt
5 Tbsp. (70g) coconut oil, melted then cooled
1/4 c. honey
1/2 c. unsweetened applesauce (I peel and puree an apple. 1 apple = about 1/2 c.)
2 eggs, beaten
at least 100g chunked dark chocolate or semi-sweet chocolate chips
Mix ingredients. Chill dough for about 10 minutes. Press each dough ball before baking (see photo). The cookies hardly spread at all, so you can fit a lot on 1 cookie sheet.
Bake at 350° F. (180° C) for 15 minutes or until done. Makes about 30 cookies.
I should be in bed. But I want to hold on to today, let it linger, breathe in the sweet butter cookie smell, sip my strawberry tea, stare at my Christmas lights, and listen to my Christmas playlist.
This month was so full. Today was so full. But this is where I want to be. In right now where I can sit and let my thoughts and memories sort themselves out.
I need to buy thread.
I’m thankful for every moment I have with my family. Tonight, I’m savoring memories I have with my dad. Sometimes it takes a threat of losing someone to remind you how dear they are to you, doesn’t it?
When I passed out Christmas cookies tonight, I had a very different response from the time I passed out cookies after moving in. Ten months of rattling around in the same apartment building has shifted relationships toward friendliness, even catching me off-guard. I wasn’t expecting the invitations, especially from my Spanish neighbors.
I decorated the plates with a note: “…and they shall call his name Immanuel (which means, God with us).” (Matt. 1:23). Because Christmas cookies are a good way to catch up with neighbors but they are a means, not an end to reminding us of our desperate need of God incarnate.
I’m not even halfway done with cookie-passing-outing but sufficient for the day is the sugar thereof. I packed away the remainder to frost another day.
My family celebrated Christmas over Thanksgiving weekend when we were all together. And what a racket we make with 11 adults and 10 children (all 5 and under). Sometimes, our nerves were a bit frazzled–at least mine were–but a case of frazzled nerves is a reasonable price to pay for the wealth of being all together.
I could read another round of Tacky the Penguin if it would merit another delighted smile. Or I wouldn’t mind seeing a cloud of blond fluff cheerfully bursting into the kitchen: “Good morning!” Or cuddling a tiny baby who eventually bestowed upon me one of his first smiles. Or crashing through a dark house in search of a hiding place with littles who burst out of the spot before the seeker even gets close. I could even manage a wet shoulder that smells of drool. Or holding an exploding child during ladies’ Sunday school.
Sparkly eyes. “Yaaaaah,” from an agreeable little girl. Shy grins. Counting the number of years he’ll be next time I’ll see him.
Time to laugh, yes… And a time to cry while remembering with dear friends other dear friends who have passed away.
Coffee. Tea. Chats. Uncontrollable laughter with my mom.
Life feels full.
My finger is cramping. I should have pulled out my laptop.
The men here are definitely creepier than the U.S. Thank you to you men who respect women as beings made in God’s image. May we women not take that for granted… and may we return the favor!
I think my house is an introvert. Some houses fall apart when they’re left alone. Mine liked it. I can tell because the freezer and the washer are working better and the drain smell isn’t as invasive. And it wasn’t even that dusty. I wonder if the poor house is disappointed I came back.
If you followed my trail of thought all of the way down here, I will leave you with a nugget from Paul David Tripp’s Advent devotional Come, Let Us Adore Him (from Dec. 20): “Only when sin breaks our hearts will the coming of the Messiah excite our hearts.”
What does Christmas mean to you this year? Does it excite your heart?
This recipe is one of my winter favorites. Warm, milky, cinnamony. Mmmm. You can make it how you like it. Sometimes, I add more milk. Most times, I skimp on the sugar.
1 c. (200g) white rice
4 1/2 c. water
pinch of salt
6 c. hot milk
1 1/2 c. (320g) sugar
3 cinnamon sticks or 1 tsp. ground cinnamon (Cinnamon sticks come in varying sizes. Use 3 of the ones that fit inside spice containers. Use 1-2 of the long sticks.)
pinch of salt
6 egg yolks, beaten
ground cinnamon
Bring rice, water, and pinch of salt to a boil and then reduce heat. Cover and boil gently about 20 minutes, or until water is almost absorbed.
Add hot milk, sugar, cinnamon and second pinch of salt to cooked rice.
Cook and stir over medium heat until mixture is thick but still soft and moist. Remove from heat. Remove cinnamon sticks.
Slowly pour in egg yolks while rapidly beating them. (Note: you can use a whisk here, but I prefer using my hand-held blender which also smooths the rice and froths the milk. It’s your preference.)
A young friend dutifully praying on my guest room rug– “In the name of Allah, the Entirely Merciful, the Especially Merciful…” –while above her were frames of Jesus’ words, “I am the way, the truth, and the life.”
Visitors from the U.S., the first in several years. I love cross-cultural work, but relating to those with whom I share both culture and faith is uplifting. And, Lord willing, more visitors arrive in a few days!
A Mediterranean baptism on a beautiful–albeit chilly– November day.
Uncontrollable evening laughter.
A bowlful of ripening avocados because I had mentioned to my student that if I had one food to live on, I would choose avocados. (She said she’d choose dates.)
A neighbor who asked for my tikka masala recipe.
Weather that begs for coffee.
A young mother who thought she knew me… and didn’t, but ended up asking for my phone number anyway.
A day trip to the mountains where I sat on a hill and talked on the phone like the un-hiker that I am. It was one of those hills with loose rocks and thorns that put “brickles in my britches. But I stayed there anyway.” (For that quote, you’ll have to read “What Was I Scared Of?” by Dr. Seuss.) Afterwards, my teammate and I unintentionally had tapas in a casino.
Storekeepers who drop the price without my even asking.
A climate where fruit is in season all year round. Right now it’s the mandarins that pop between teeth and turn to sweet puddles on tongues. And the fat persimmons. And rosy pomegranates. And even the chirimoyas, which I’m not particularly fond of but can appreciate in season.
Sunshiney Mondays that dry sheets and towels in a jiffy.
Unintentional late night discussions.
A landlady who opened the second bedroom of my apartment. (I rented the apartment as a one-bedroom flat, the second bedroom designated for the landlady’s storage.) With the prospect of multiple guests at once, I worked up the nerve and asked her if I might possibly please use the extra bedroom while my guests are around. She gave me an incredulous, “Mujer, it’s your house!” Nevermind the original agreement. I’ll nevermind anyway!
Workers at the print shop, startled to discover that they had indeed made my idea come true. And they ignored the customer behind me to admire their own handiwork.
A ticket quietly waiting for me to test negative for covid. And one suitcase bulging with eager Christmas gifts.
A birthday to celebrate this week. As I valiantly blaze through my 30s, I’m starting to wonder if it’s time to consider having a midlife crisis. Although, I’m not sure that’s really the sort of thing one plans for… Maybe next year…
And the very best thing of what has been happening recently? A new nephew, Zayne Davis born November 8 to two very proud parents. And no wonder they’re proud, because he’s terribly cute.
Zayne, as you start your life in this great big world, may you find the courage to be exactly who God created you to be, nothing more, nothing less.
Photo credit for last photo goes to my brother-in-law
In the middle of a crazy week, I took a break. This time, I was was smart enough not to stay at home because staying home meant trying to relax while gritting my teeth at unfinished work. It was time to go to the beach.
I headed out before the sun (which admittedly isn’t that difficult if you live in Spain). On the dim streets of the early morning–Are people really out and about this time of day!? Who knew?— predawn workers hurried with backpacks and work clothes. With my backpack and grungy beach outfit, I felt like I fit in. No one pointed out that I was, in fact, an imposter, on holiday rather than heading to work. Plus, I was carrying a travel mug and, well, no one does that.
One street smelled like weed. Someone trying to make it through another day, I supposed as I wound through the prolonged construction. I took just a moment to fill my lungs with the pastry aroma panting through the supermarket vents. For not really liking sweets, there are these luscious braided pastries that taste like flaky pecan pie and…. well… I marched on.
At the bus stop, I waited with the crew of sullen morning people that all kind of looked alike in an Eastern European sort of way. They stood in a row in front of me, dark hair in a perfect line, round faces turned in the same direction. Trees that had all been planted the same day. And I wondered how they could tell themselves apart.
The sun rose while we waited for the late bus, eliminating some of the romance of the early morning escapade. But as we headed out of town, the sun was still just a yellow yolk resting on the bed of white plastic greenhouses. Suddenly, I was hungry for toast. I don’t even like toast.
The sea gave a glorious welcoming roar. I stretched out on my towel dug my toes in the sand and watched the handful of retirees paddling through the chilly water. I thought through my answers for a survey I needed to fill out as I sipped my coffee and ate my soggy granola. And then I read and thought– not about food prep for an event, not about who I needed to visit, not about English lesson plans, not about my dirty floors. Instead, I thought about who God created me to be and how I fit in my current world.
Really, someday I will try to write about introversion in my line of work, as long as you promise to help me out and then give me feedback. Meanwhile, don’t mind me while I disappear to the seaside for a few alone hours.
After I had chimichurri at an Argentinian restaurant in Chicago, it kept coming to mind in the same powerful way as salt and vinegar chips, which make my saliva glands pop by just thinking about them.
Then I moved overseas. But I hunted down red wine vinegar and made myself a batch. My roommate and I grew a movie night tradition that revolved more around chimichurri than the movie. We toasted it on baguette slices. Sometimes I would catch my roommate eating spoonfuls out of the blender before I could slap it on the baguette.
I will say that if you try this recipe, make sure that everyone around you is trying it too. The power is not just in the taste, but also in the lingering garlic that oozes out of your very pores.
From what I understand, this is a sauce that is typically served with grilled meat. But I will eat it here or there, say! I will eat it anywhere! Also note, a little bit goes a long way… unless you’re me.
2 c. packed fresh parsley leaves (chopped a little for your blender’s sake)
4 garlic cloves, sliced
4 tsp. dried oregano
1/4 c. red wine vinegar
1/2 tsp. red pepper flakes
1/2 tsp. salt
black pepper, to taste
1/4 – 1/2 c. olive oil
Place all of the ingredients except the olive oil in the blender. Pulse until ingredients are roughly combined. Slowly add olive oil. Blend until relatively smooth. Refrigerate for several hours before serving to allow flavors to meld.
Ready to say goodbye to the summer heat? Well, maybe we can’t say goodbye quite yet, but that gives us an excuse to pull out this recipe for bissap, or hibiscus tea.
I first fell in love with this drink in Mexico where it came under the label “jamaica.” Now in Spain, the recipe has a bit of an African flair. Do you have access to dried hibiscus? Have you even looked for it? This recipe will make it worth your while…
Note: Bissap is meant to be a powerful burst of flavor, but you can water it down to taste.
50 g (about 1 c.) dried red bissap (hibiscus)
1 1/2 liter or quarts of water (Some will evaporate and you’ll end up with a little more than 1 liter)
125 g (heaping 1/2 c.) sugar
1 8g packet of vanilla sugar
1/2 – 1 tsp. orange blossom water (Orange blossom water adds a distinct taste. If you’re not sure you’ll like it, start with 1/2 tsp. or mix with fresh squeezed orange juice instead.)
Rinse bissap flowers in cold water and drain. Bring water to a boil then add flowers. Cover and boil for 10 minutes. Remove from heat and steep for another 10 minutes. Stir in sugar and vanilla sugar. When cooled, strain and add orange blossom water. Serve chilled.
I decided it’s time to learn to cook the North African cuisine. I’ve put it off for years, learning things here and there, but always timid because of how unforgiving the culture can be with their own cuisine–“You used milk in your harcha?!” I don’t think like they do. I don’t grate my onions or peel my tomatoes. I don’t grab for the same spices. I don’t have the same cookware. But I’m trying. And my friends are delighted to train me. Although, truth be told, I still look up recipes, fusing my hands-on experience and American measurements. (Note: The photos below are of food made by friends who gave me cooking lessons.)
I finished editing Level 1, Units 1-2 of an English curriculum that I’ve been modifying for several years. I printed and bound the notebook (and now I feel positively published!), which will make for easy lesson prep in the future. Now, on to units 3-8…
One day, I asked my downstairs neighbor if I could pop in and play with her little boy. “I miss my nieces and nephews,” I explained. “Of course. Come.” Was her response. So we linked monkeys in a barrel and looked at books. He didn’t know what books were, supposing that they were just to be opened and closed. So I pulled him on my lap and pointed, “Blue hat, green hat…” Soon he was pointing too.
A teammate and I went to see a traveling pirate exhibit. It was interesting–horrifying, really. The barbarism was rooted in the understanding that a fight was a fight to the death. While eyeing the grubby wax figures, I couldn’t shake the realization that these people probably smelled worse than they looked. That oughta erase any of those romantic pirate notions for you! We topped off the day with saag and curry that is making my mouth water as I upload the picture.
We have been meeting new people as we pass out flyers in the settlements among the greenhouses. Way out there in the boonies, a man told me, “You’re from Immigrantville.” Apparently, we had both lived in the same town at one point. So maybe you can “dance like no one is watching” in the privacy of your own home, but never stroll down the street like no one is watching!
There has been much, much more that has been happening, but “time would fail me to tell” all that I could say, or what I should say on a public platform. So, I will end here and get back to work. 🙂
With the descent of summer, do you need a recipe for cold breakfasts? I’ve been faithfully using this granola recipe for the last several years. Granted, it has evolved over the last several years and feel free to keep it evolving to fit your preferences. 🙂
5 c. Old-Fashioned oats
1 c. unsweetened coconut
1 c. walnuts
1/2 c. unsalted sunflower seeds (if you use salted seeds, omit salt from the ingredient list)
1/3 c. ground flax
3 Tbsp. chia seeds
1 generous tsp. ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp. salt
Stir dry ingredients. In a separate bowl combine:
1/3-1/2 c. honey (I use 1/3 but, as a rule, I don’t like things very sweet)
1/2 c. coconut oil, melted
1 tbsp. vanilla
Stir and then pour over dry ingredients. Stir granola until well mixed. Bake on cookie sheet at 325° F. (160° C) for 40-45 minutes, stirring halfway through. Aim for golden brown. After the granola has cooled, add:
200g (approximately 1 1/2 c.) dark chocolate, chunked
We tried. Twice. And then I tried by myself a third time. I am still determined. Every time I think of mousse I had in France, I begin stockpiling chocolate and cream.
The first failure was completely my fault. My roommate and I had even purchased precious raspberries to garnish the mousse. But then I tried to whip the egg whites in the same mixer that I had just whipped the cream… without cleaning the bowl.
Yah, so I didn’t know.
We tried again. In the meantime, we watched the cream and chocolate mixture slowly sinking. What should we do? We decided to stick the chocolate mixture in the refrigerator to preserve it. Wrong choice. When we finally folded in the egg whites, we discovered that the chocolate had chilled into ribbons.
We still ate it and it was still amazing especially with luscious raspberries, but we knew we could do better.
So we tried again about two months later. This time, it would be perfect! Instead, we over-whipped the egg whites so that they settled into little pools in the bottoms of the ramekin dishes while we ate dinner. Plus, the chocolate had sat too long and so, although it was warm, it wasn’t warm enough, and beaded as we folded it into the cream. So the mousse was grainy and watery. But somehow still amazing.
But I knew we could do better. So one afternoon, I had a guest and decided to try a third time. I felt fairly confident even though I was on my own this time. I would whip the whites into perfect elf hats and whisk the yolks into the chocolate while the chocolate was still warm enough.
Instead, the chocolate stiffened when I whisked in the egg yolks. I tried heating it again, but you probably know how that goes. In the meantime, the egg whites began to sink.
With nothing to lose because it all was a failure anyway and I would just have to serve my guest snack mix and pretend I had never tried, I whisked the globby chocolate mixture into the cream until it was 100% incorporated (forget the 10 folds limit!). Then I folded the sagging whites into the chocolate and cream, poured rather than spooned it into ramekin dishes, grated some chocolate on the top and stuck it in the fridge for time out.
I pulled it out before my guest arrived, just to sample it. Heavy instead of fluffy. A little like mousse meets fudge. Before I realized it, I had eaten the entire dish, but don’t worry, there were 3 more dishes to share with my guest. 😉
If anyone has a mousse au chocolat recipe that is easier than what I’ve tried, I would love to have it! (Note: none of the chocolate pudding and cool whip stuff. I love that too, but it will never transport my taste buds to France.)
My Thoughts From Afar | 