I did a lot of baking this weekend – I made cinnamon-carrot quinoa flake bars for The Baby (and they were quite good and covered in a thick caramel icing. But I just invented them and I didn’t write down the recipe, sadly.), I made a baked tangerine pudding cake (again, my own recipe! and I even wrote this one down!), and vanilla cinnamon buns and OH MY GOSH they were good. So good that I spent all of yesterday eating them and I completely fell off my virtuous diet. Whoops. I need a new hobby that doesn’t make me fat.
I LOVE baking, though – there’s nothing more serene and centering than cheerfully creaming butter and sugar, the mindless contented handwork of kneading breaddough. And then there’s the triumphant feeling of making something good for The Baby out of the unpromising gluten-free ingredients. Autumn is past its pretty stage here and now it’s cold and bare and there’s something lovely about coming into the house a bit shivery and frosty and the kitchen is warm and there’s cinnamon and chocolate in the air, something that says home.
I won’t be baking for a FEW days, though. I ate FIVE cinnamon buns yesterday and I am feeling rather sick.
In between stuffing our faces this weekend, we ran errands. The menfolk had their hair cut at their traditional barber shop – my husband had his hair cut there as a child, as did his father and his grandfather used to go in there for his pragmatic working-man’s shearing. The barber is RATHER old – maybe 120 – and his hand isn’t as steady as it used to be, but what is a symmetrical haircut compared to sitting in the same barber chair as your long gone great-grandfather? It’s always so strange seeing The Boy after his haircut – he always looks so new and different and yet has such a family face, my handsome, soft-hearted child suddenly looking like this unknown man that he will someday be.
I walked the kids to school today and we were SLIGHTLY late – we got there as the bell was ringing, so I escorted The Boy into the school, planning on walking him down the long, busy hallway to his classroom. He would have none of it though, and politely told me that I didn’t have to, that he could go by himself. I stopped and watched him walking away, this boy out in the world, this straight-backed boy who will someday be a man to be very proud of, my son.
It was rainy and cold on the evening that we ate this pudding, which my handsome young son declared "tasted just like Christmas":
Tangerine Pudding
3/4 cup granulated sugar
2 tbsp potato flour
1/4 tsp salt
1 1/2 tsp grated Tangerine Rind
1/4 cup Tangerine Juice (about one tangerine)
2 tbsp vegetable oil
2 eggs, separated
1 cup milk
Combine sugar, potato flour and salt. Stir in tangerine rind, tangerine juice and vegetable oil. In a separate bowl, beat egg yolk and add milk. Add to tangerine mixture and mix well.
Beat egg whites until stiff peaks form. Fold into the tangerine mixture. Pour into 1 quart baking dish.
Place baking dish in a larger pan containing 1 inch hot water.
Bake at 350 for about 45 minutes or until cake is tender. Two layers will form – cake and pudding. Serve warm or cooled.
Makes 4 to 6 servings.