Weekend Roving: Alligator Hill Trail (midwinter)

We’d only been on the trail for a few minutes when I stopped to take the first picture. It was not a very colorful picture — the sky overcast, the trees bare, the ground forlorn, covered with lifeless leaves from the distant autumn. It wasn’t the scenery beckoning me to stop, it was the sensation I felt… being there amongst those trees in that quiet place. There was a distinct sense of anticipation, perhaps even longing. The forest crying out for winter to come and cover its dormant deadness, to mask its saddened face.

It has been a winter without much snow in Leelanau County. Though it’s normally the time of year we’d like to be out snow shoeing, the light dusting of would-be snow all around meant James and I were taking our first hike rather than snowy jaunt down the Alligator Hill Trail in Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore.

I selected this trail because we’d always heard about the two scenic vistas that are signposted along the route, but mostly I chose this trail because — if you combine enough of the optional loops, you can build quite a bit of mileage into your hike. Since part of my 2012 goals is to finish taking off my excess poundage, I figured we’d get our outdoor time fix and my exercise fix all in one shot. So, for our route, I chose the easy trail, built in a round trip to the Big Glen Lookout, and then a hike down the advanced trail to get us back to the trailhead (a 6.2mi hike).

We’d only been on the trail for about a mile and a half when we came to the first scenic vista: Islands Lookout.

What a view! Michigan’s entire western coastline is full of scenic wonders, but this is especially true in Northwest Michigan, where glacial sand dunes offer you views from over 1000 ft above sea level. Here, you ramble through the forest on a steady climb until the forest parts on a ridge where you can see far out over the lake. Immediately below you, the treetops of the forest stretch out before you, drawing your eyes to the lake, where you can see both the North and South Manitou Islands. (We actually took a hike on South Manitou, last summer.)

Alligator Hill is known more as a skiing trail than a hiking trail since it really only offers two marked scenic vistas which are relatively close to the trailhead. The remainder of the trail is geared toward the skiers and their need for up and down. Still, the forest is a blissful place to be, and we were happy to be there surrounded by it.

After a little less than another mile, we reached the Big Glen Lookout, which — especially with the wintry, naked trees — offered a sweeping view of Big Glen Lake.

On a clearer day, the waters of Big Glen are usually crystalline and unimaginably blue, effortlessly attracting your gaze and amazement. On this day, though, with the persistent clouds and grey, I was more enchanted with the beautiful evergreens and birches on the ridge and the way they towered above us. The evergreens with their reassuringly colorful boughs, reminding us that the forest is alive, merely sleeping. The birches with their solemn, silver-white parchment bark on which the secrets of this fickle winter and every season before it have been kept. Every once in a while, a fleck of golden light emerged from a divide in the clouds and enlivened all of these colors in front of us. It’s amazing how the stark scenery of winter can sharpen your awareness of even the smallest of changes.

That’s what winter’s good for, I think. It forces quiet on our over-stimulated, multi-tasking minds. We stare out at a sea of white, brown, grey, and pewter until our eyes see something more. Maybe it isn’t some grand epiphany we find, but it’s something we would have missed if we had not stopped to find it.

Once we made it to the advanced trail, the forest had completely surrounded us and there were no more posted scenic vistas. Still, there was a lot to see and hear. On this sheltered side of the massive hill, the forest’s shade had carefully preserved what little snow had fallen, so far this winter. While stopping for a breather, we found ourselves being observed by a pair of Red-Breasted Nuthatches.

About halfway down the last leg of the trail, we began a fairly steep climb that instinctively caused us to grow quiet, concentrating on each step. I marveled that anyone would attempt going up such a hill on skis. My thighs burned at the very thought!

Finally, we reached the path to the trailhead, and made our way back to our car. Winter isn’t necessarily the happiest of seasons, but it is miraculous in its own way, I feel. Somehow, if you dare to step outside of your warm and safe confines and walk among its chilly splendor, you somehow feel at one with it — even if only briefly. You can see it as a wise, old visitor who comes to entertain you with his long, drawn-out fables and anecdotes rather than an oppressive invader who steals away summer’s glory.

Cinnamon-Raisin Bread

Surely you’ve been there before. You’ve innocently made out a grocery list and have pledged to stick to your guns and only buy what you’ve listed there on that saddening scrap of notebook paper. Suddenly, you turn down an aisle and you’re nearly blown over by an irresistible smell. What is that?! You’re down the bread aisle… all those pre-packaged breads. Where’s that intoxicating smell coming from?

Just when you think you’re losing your mind, you see the culprit: cinnamon-raisin bread. What tragedy! It’s not on your list. You turn your head, but when you look back, it has somehow migrated into your shopping cart on its own — call security!

It’s too late. The sirens have sung and you are sunk. Everything is smooth sailing from there. You pay for the smallish loaf and make your way homeward. At first you kid yourself by promising to wait until breakfast, tomorrow, to have a slice as part of a nutritious, balanced breakfast. Yet, the moment your key turns in the door, your heart has already eaten the first slice. How divine! In fact, everything about this scenario has been utterly pleasurable… until that first disappointing taste.

Over-sugared, over-priced, under-flavored, undersized… this is what most store-bought cinnamon-raisin bread amounts to and it’s everything that cinnamon-raisin bread shouldn’t be. How could such a sensational idea go so wrong? To make a long, complicated story shorter: raisins and natural, fruity sweetness have been replaced with sugar and corn syrup — and most of the whole grains have been replaced with fillers and additives.

Today’s recipe is my answer to those tempting but disappointing store-bought loaves. To get to the heart of what cinnamon-raisin bread should be, I went back to the basics of why we normally like it: raisins!

Method to the Madness

There are some cinnamon-raisin breads which are really nothing more than a cinnamon roll disguised as a loaf of bread — perhaps with the addition of a negligible amount of raisins thrown in for name’s sake. Far be it from me to say disparaging things about cinnamon rolls, but there’s a time and place for everything! Cinnamon rolls are for those carefree mornings when you’ll be hopefully doing enough strenuous exercise to work off all those calories from the thick cinnamon-sugar layer inside those babies. No, my cinnamon-raisin bread needed to be built on the natural sweetness of the raisins themselves rather than a decadent, sugary swirl.

Many recipes for raisin bread have you plump the raisins in boiling water, but — for some reason — they then have you throw the soaking water away. As it turns out, the soaking water is chock full of sweet, raisiny goodness that you might as well put into your bread. More sweetness from the raisins, of course, means you can use less added sugar in the recipe and carries the added bonus of a deeper raisin flavor.

After trial and error, I noticed I missed that little kick of extra something inside the loaf — something reminiscent of those cinnamon roll-type loaves. That’s when I decided to do a healthy and more flavorful spin on that theme. I flattened out the dough, drizzled on a bit of honey (which always brings out the fruity sweetness of things rather than the flatness of granulated sugar) and sprinkled on a bit more cinnamon to send things over the top.

Cinnamon-Raisin Bread
A Tales of Thyme & Place Original
Makes 1 loaf (about 14 slices)

2/3 cup raisins
2 cups bread flour – divided
1 1/2 cups whole wheat flour
1/4 cup sucanat (or brown sugar)
4 teaspoons ground cinnamon – divided
3/4 teaspoon salt
1 package dry yeast – (about 2 1/4 teaspoons)
1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons low-fat milk
2 1/2 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 large eggs – lightly beaten
1 tablespoon honey

Place raisins in a small bowl; add enough boiling water to cover the raisins about a half inch. Let the raisins soak for 15-30 minutes; drain raisins well, reserving 1/2 cup of the soaking water.

Combine 1 1/2 cups of the bread flour, the whole wheat flour, sucanat, 3 teaspoons of the cinnamon, salt, and yeast in a large bowl.

Combine reserved raisin water, milk and butter in a small, heavy saucepan. Heat over low heat until mixture reaches 100°-110°; remove from heat, continuing to stir until butter melts.

Add warm milk mixture to flour mixture; stirring a few strokes. Add eggs and stir until a soft dough forms; stir in the plumped raisins. Leaving dough in the bowl, place in a warm location and let rest for 10-12 minutes. Turn dough out onto a lightly floured surface. Knead until smooth and elastic (about 8 minutes); add enough of the remaining bread flour, 1 tablespoon at a time, to prevent dough from sticking to hands (dough will still feel slightly tacky even when enough flour is added; don’t add too much).

Place dough in a large bowl coated with oil or cooking spray, turning to coat top. Cover and let rise in a warm location, 1 hour or until doubled in size. (Gently press two fingers into dough. If indentation remains, dough has risen enough.) Punch dough down; cover and let rest 5 minutes.

On a lightly floured surface, gently roll or press dough into a 14 x 7-inch rectangle. Drizzle honey evenly over dough, leaving a 1/2-inch border on all sides. Sprinkle remaining teaspoon of cinnamon over honey. Beginning with a short side, roll the dough up jelly-roll style. While rolling, stretch the dough slightly into the roll and press gently to eliminate air pockets; pinch seam and ends to seal loaf. Place loaf, seam side down, in a 9 x 5-inch loaf pan coated with cooking spray. Cover lightly with a damp kitchen towel; let rise in a warm location for 30-45 minutes or until doubled in size.

Preheat oven to 450-degrees. Place loaf in the oven and immediately spritz the sides of the oven with water to create steam. Lower the oven to 350 degrees and continue to spritz the sides of the oven with water ever few minutes for the first 10 minutes. Bake for a total of 25-30 minutes or until loaf is browned on bottom and sounds hollow when tapped. Remove from pan; cool completely on a wire rack before slicing.

I think the hardest part about this recipe is waiting until the loaf completely cools before slicing into it. In truth, I don’t think I’ve ever managed to do that! I usually slice a thin piece while the bread’s still pretty warm to the touch. The longer you allow it to cool before slicing, however, the more steamy moisture will remain inside the loaf… so fight the good fight!

The honey-cinnamon layer that’s rolled into the loaf does wonders for the overall flavor — so much that you probably won’t mind that it doesn’t have the striking visual effect of that sugary swirl you normally see.

One of our favorite ways to enjoy this bread is lightly toasted with a thin smearing of peanut butter… or nutella. For an extra special breakfast treat, you could use it to make french toast!

Need some pointers about yeast breads and kneading? Practice is the biggest part, but try this post for some helpful how-to.

Transplanted

It’s something that I’m still not able to wrap my mind around, honestly; how less than two months ago our lives were completely contained in a 900-square foot apartment and now we inhabit more than 10 acres of land. That’s more than 2 million square feet… if you’re keeping track. Our house, of course, occupies only a small percentage of that unimaginable square footage, but it’s still a drastic change.

I suppose this must be what it feels like to be one of my herb seedlings. You grow and grow until you fill your allotted space — your roots firmly crammed against the container walls. Then, suddenly, you’re yanked up by your hair and dropped into a totally new universe. Instantly, your perspective is changed. You thought the world was small and you needed more space, now the world is endless and you find yourself scrambling to put up walls to contain yourself. Once large and learned, you’re now small and ignorant.

Sitting here on what remains of our apartment’s furniture, I’m struck by the realization that our lives (like our furniture) will now have to expand to fill this large space. Somehow I know — just like those seedlings — within a season or two, we’ll be contented and growing again.

With our home offices set up, the kitchen fully stocked, and the holidays nearing an end, we’ve begun exploring our property in greater detail. On Christmas Eve, in particular, when we finally had a bit of snow to confirm winter’s arrival, the sun came out and beckoned us to go exploring.

Living on a peninsula means a never-ending parade of colorful clouds and interesting weather dialogues… I don’t think I’ll ever grow tired of it.

Looking out into the giant clearing with its hills and valleys, I try not to be overwhelmed by the task ahead — deciding how to best use the land while also keeping it beautiful. In the meantime, James and I enjoy exploring the different regions within our 10-acre kingdom. Within minutes, I’m easily brought back to childhood when exploring the two-and-a-half acres our house sat on filled my imagination with all sorts of ideas and made-up locales. In honor of childhood me, I decided we should make up names.

In our eastern woods, winter’s stark landscape of silver and brown naked trees has made very obvious our only evergreens. They’re a handsome group of eastern hemlocks. Standing beneath these giants, watching a muted winter sun shining through their needles, I dubbed the hill “Evergreen Grove”. I’m trying to imagine what Evergreen Grove will look like in summer when the maples, ash, birch, and beech will make a dense, emerald canopy and the forest will be teeming with life. It’ll be a magnificent place!

Another exciting place on our property, we named “Orchard Hill”. Right now, it isn’t very deserving of that name except for the “hill” part. It’s the tallest hill on our property and affords some very scenic views. The “orchard” part will come in time, of course. Right now, it’s overrun with a dense population of sumac running up, down, and all around, fighting each other for light and soil. Sumac are very stubborn opponents and — with their beautiful autumn foliage and red fruits in winter — are hard to hate. Someday, this hill will be alive with apple, pear, and cherry trees — enough to keep our freezer happy!

My most favorite place in our little 10-acre kingdom has yet to be named. It’s a narrow ridge that stands above a startlingly steep ravine. Standing there, between two large junipers, you can see for miles out into the valley and hills beyond. On this spot, the sunsets are especially breathtaking. I enjoy staring out over the valley, letting my mind wander off far into the distance in daydreams while being surrounded by the peaceful quiet that swaddles me like a warm blanket even when it’s chilly out.

We began 2011 knowing it was to be a year of change for us — knowing that it would likely mean “the big move” would finally happen. Now that 2011 is ending, I find myself standing on the highest ridge of December, looking back over a year full of ups and downs. Even in the darkest days of winter, when life’s failures and shortcomings can look bleakest, I believe it’s possible to see the beauty and blessing of it all. That’s my New Year’s wish for all of you: may your new year be filled with the ups and downs that create beauty and blessing.

The Voyage Home

Recently, there was an autumn sunrise that took me completely by surprise. Granted, the sun comes up every morning whether or not I’m there to see it, but there was something in the way the light played across the few clouds drifting in the half-lit morning sky that struck a chord in me. No… maybe it’d be more fitting to say those fingers of dawn graced across the strings of my consciousness, slowly but surely awakening all of them into sympathetic vibration — reverberating a familiar sound, a harmony bringing me back to a simpler place and time.

There I was, maybe about nine years old, standing on the hand-made dock beside my grandfather as he prepared the boat, overlooking the darkened waters of the canal as an autumn morning slowly arrived. The canal, dark and murky, was slowly changing from mirrored, silvery shimmers of half-light to reflected golden ripples of morning.

I remember this day, now. Paw Paw and I had planned it for some time. It all began when the two of us were talking about the rivers and where each led. South Louisiana — streaked by an extensive network of rivers and canals — nearly resembles a map of the human nervous system, countless intersections and pathways going here and there in a seemingly random fashion. He happened to mention that the canal in front of his house could lead you to the creek behind my family’s home. Never one to disagree with my grandfather (at least not openly), I must’ve at least worn a skeptical expression. My skepticism immediately got his wheels to turning — he was drawing the map in his head.

Paw Paw, though a very practical man, was always willing to indulge me and my brothers’ curiosities when it came to subjects that interested him personally. For instance, when I wanted to build a “cable swing” (basically a big basket with a seat that moved via a pulley system along a cable strung between two distant trees). He was intrigued by my idea since he’d worked for years in the construction business, building highways along the bayous. Instead of poo-pooing my idea (which I’d sloppily drawn for him on a sheet of notebook paper — right down to the necessary detail of a stick man riding inside the little basket), he brought me to the shed where he kept his tools and we discussed how to “invent” my drawing. In one weekend’s time, my creation was birthed and my brothers and I were the envy of the neighborhood kids — gliding from one end of the property to the other on a suspended cable car. Such high-tech fun!

But, I digress. This was to be yet another of those adventurous days. He was going to pile me and my brothers into the boat and show us that his house on Owl Bayou was connected to our house on Lizard Creek by water. A voyage!

I should tell you that this particular trip over land would take about 35 minutes, the roads dodging and crossing rivers, lakes, and swamp in a meandering fashion. By boat at a slower pace, it was going to take about 4 hours! We’d stocked the boat with an extra fuel tank and Maw Maw had given us all sorts of rations to snack on along the way. Even though we were going home — a place we’d been hundreds of times — it felt like we were explorers embarking on a grand expedition.

To this day, I’m not sure how Paw Paw navigated that route. Many of those connecting “rivers” and bayous are not mapped — there’d be no need to since they’re scarcely populated or even traveled (at least by humans). The route was likely all from his memory — he’d memorized this vast network of swampland over decades of living and working in it. We rode along, the sound of the motor quietly rumbling behind us, knowing that we were seeing things you could only see by water. Eventually, we’d come to a divide in the bank, shrouded by trees and overgrowth. He’d unexpectedly slow down, turn our boat toward it, and we’d venture down a narrow, watery path I was certain no one could’ve known existed.

Our voyage was full of moments just like that — each turn a secret passage only he knew. There were no signposts, no warnings or advisories… just waterways leading to waterways, muddy banks lined with cypress trees and knobby cypress knees eventually giving way to sandy banks dotted with oak, pine, and maple. Eventually, we passed under a bridge that looked vaguely familiar to me (it was the bridge we crossed over on the school bus every morning). I gasped! Then, just a few minutes later, we rounded a bend in the river and I saw a very familiar hill rising up from the bank. Could it be? Paw Paw chuckled.

My brothers and I had never seen home from this angle before. Years of standing on the banks and looking out over the still waters of Lizard Creek did nothing to prepare us for the sight of the same bank from the water. He tied the boat to a tree and we piled out onto dry land. Home at last.

I often wonder if my grandfather knew that this one day would have such an effect on me. When I went to bed that night, I was still reeling from the sights and events of the day. I was so excited to get to school the next day to tell my classmates about our voyage. As memory serves, they found it much less fascinating than I’d hoped. Any story about journeying to faraway, exotic places surely outshone mine. All we had done was find our way home. Big deal!

And so, just recently, as I saw the autumn sun casting that familiar light across the sky above our familiar, old apartment building, I felt that inexplicable rush of excitement. Standing on the balcony that I’ve called home for the past four years, I was again seeing home as if for the first time. I was seeing it, trying to pull it in with all of my senses, trying to memorize it since it will soon be changing. James and I have finally found a new home.

Instead of finding home by steering our boat down uncharted rivers and bayous, James and I found home a different way: by dreaming of it together — though it could be argued both ways are similar. But this time, instead of arriving at the old, familiar home and seeing it in a new light, the autumn dawn is shining on a new home — one that has yet to be filled with our memories, hopes, and love. A new home… same thyme, different place.

I’ll be living in those landscape portraits I used to daydream over. I’ll have the apple trees I used to tell Maw Maw Patsy I wanted when she sliced up a golden delicious apple for me. I’ll have a few pear trees for Paw Paw Bryant, remembering how he climbed them like a monkey to pick ripe pears. I’ll have a vegetable garden for Paw Paw Willie. I’ll have a pantry full of canned goodies that would make all of my great-grandparents proud. We’ll have woods — deep, dark, and hilly — where I’ll make trails to thrill my little nieces and to give James and I a place to walk every morning before starting work. My life will be the four seasons right outside our windows rather than dreams of faraway places. I’ll live every part of every one of them… and maybe then I’ll feel I’ve come close to being grateful enough. — October 28, 2011

My Fall From the Balcony

Spring and autumn remind us to dream of better things — things that we remember and love, things that we hope for. Summer and winter remind us of reality — our real place in the extremes of time and space. We live in summer and winter, but we long for an address in spring or autumn. Dream on… — June 22, 2009

After my last post about the balcony garden, I finally decided to go ahead and uproot some of the tired plants that had been flowering and prospering since spring. It was, admittedly, a difficult decision that was made infinitely easier by first picking out new plants at the garden center. Surrounded by rows and rows of colorful chrysanthemums, asters, and pansies, the tables turned. Loyalty went out the window as I piled several plants into our shopping cart and began making mental note of which plants were going to get the “axe” as soon as I got home!

My final surprise guest on the balcony, this year, is a small crop of red radishes. They’re a surprise guest because they took a very interesting route to get here. We bought them from the produce section of the grocery store. I cut off all of their greens to make one of our favorite salads, and I sliced a few of them to go into that salad. But, the rest of them, I put in the vegetable crisper for use later. By and by, I’d managed to forget about them. So, you can imagine my surprise when I opened the crisper, one day, and saw brave little sprouts coming from these formerly beheaded radishes! Brave little sprouts, growing so diligently there in the cold, dark of the refrigerator, reaching for sunlight, completely unaware of the futility of their quest.

My tendency to anthropomorphize almost anything I come into contact with compelled me to have mercy on these four radishes. I decided to rescue them by planting them in one of the larger containers. Within a day or so, they’d sprouted strong, healthy greens. We’re looking forward to eating them soon!

Now that the riffraff has been mostly cleared out and the balcony is now adorned in a new palette of colors and blossoms, I find myself lingering outside a bit more, just staring at the plants and taking it all in. The wind blowing through the chimes takes my thoughts in a lot of directions as I watch autumn coming in steadily.

Autumn has an eerie resemblance to spring, in many ways. Both bring crisp morning air, interesting changes in outdoor colors, fun changes in your wardrobe — all similarities that I find perplexing since both seasons serve two completely different purposes. Spring is all about new life emerging as a season of stark quiet and rest passes away. Autumn is about harvesting the labors of summer, celebrating bounty and beauty, and about… well, about the end of things.

Appropriate, then, that this will likely be our last autumn on this little balcony. Our last glimpse of the dumpster covered with leaves of crimson, ochre, and all of those other colors impossible to describe. The last time I’ll gaze down and think of what a tiny miracle it is that we’ve been privileged to enjoy this bit of sky, this bit of earth that we had to drag piece by piece up three flights of unforgiving stairs.

Thankfully, it’s been a great growing season, all told. The plans I made of the balcony garden came true almost exactly as I’d portrayed them in my little colored pencil sketch. Granted, nature has its own pace and way. So, there were definitely days that looked less presentable than others. But, as I pulled out plants to put in the ones that will see us into the first frost, I remembered that there were beautiful spring and summer days out here. There were a few days when the petunias looked like colorful fountains flowing out of their hanging baskets — just like I’d scribbled in on the graph paper. There was, in fact, a giant forest of basil on the west end of the balcony — emerald green just like the hurriedly drawn lines from the tip of my green pencil — fragrant every time the breeze blew through. And there were definitely many coveted cosmos.

In just a few weeks, a frost will come through to completely wipe out these colorful annuals and put to bed our perennials. Anthropomorphizing again, I wonder if the perennials realize that they’re likely to fall asleep on the balcony only to wake up in a different thyme & place.

Blueberry Multigrain Pancakes

Most weekday mornings find us rushing around getting ready for work, taking care of the whining furry beasts (some people might call them cats), watering the balcony garden, etc. Breakfast on a weekday is something we take seriously, mind you, but we probably have only a few minutes to devote to both the cooking and the eating of it.

On the weekends, though, I usually like to enjoy a morning with a decidedly more laid-back pace. Maybe sleeping in an extra hour or two, letting the sun wake me up rather than the alarm clock! Instead of those nutritious but snappy standby recipes with maybe 2-3 ingredients involved that we’ve nearly worn out Monday through Friday, I like to break out and have a nice sit-down breakfast at the table — no TV, no commercials, no news, no itinerary, maybe some soft music in the background. It’s amazing the things you can discover in a conversation with your family and friends over a nice breakfast and a steaming mug of fresh coffee.

Today’s recipe is one I developed to help us use up some of last year’s frozen blueberries. I can’t begin to describe to you how much I love blueberries, but suffice it to say that we freeze pounds and pounds of them so that I can enjoy them throughout the year and so they’ll last at least until we can pick more the next summer! Naturally, then, I wanted to create a pancake recipe that would let their flavors shine through while incorporating hearty whole grains.

Let’s Talk Ingredients

Whole Wheat Pastry Flour — If you follow this blog with any regularity, you’re probably already familiar with this ingredient because I add to it almost any baking recipe that allows it. If you’re not familiar with it already, whole wheat pastry flour is whole wheat flour that is ground extra finely so it doesn’t weigh down soda-leavened baked goods the way regular whole wheat flour might. If you don’t mind a slightly denser texture, though, and you can’t find whole wheat pastry flour, feel free to substitute regular whole wheat flour.

Oat Bran — Oat bran is the hard, outer layer from oats – usually removed – which contains high amounts of dietary fiber. You can usually find it in the bulk grains section or somewhere amidst the baking aisle. Bob’s Red Mill, a widely-distributed brand, is usually easy to come by. If you aren’t able to find oat bran, however, you can easily substitute quick oats (also known as quick-cooking oats) and get nearly the same effect, though with less fiber.

Flaxseed Meal — You have probably heard of flax seeds whether you’ve brought them into your kitchen or not. These nutrient-rich seeds are high in both Omega-3 fatty acids and dietary fiber. Whether kept whole for a hearty crunch or ground into meal (as in this recipe), they’re a sneaky way to boost the nutrition value of almost any baked good. Bob’s Red Mill is my go-to brand for flax seeds ground or whole. You usually find all of their products near one another down the baking aisle and sometimes down the cereal aisle.

Cardamom — In my opinion, blueberries and cardamom are a quintessential duo. Cardamom is a very potent spice that adds dimension to the blueberry flavor and goes beyond the usual cinnamon flavor. It can be found in almost any grocery store’s spice aisle and is at home in many savory or sweet recipes. Once you try it, you’ll want to start sneaking it into some of your favorites.

Buttermilk — A lot of modern home cooks knock buttermilk for some reason, relegating it to other forms of “granny voodoo”. I happen to love it. It makes baked goods tender, adds an unbeatable flavor, and there’s no substitute for it, in my opinion. That being said, you can approximate its role in this recipe by adding 2 tablespoons of vinegar to two cups of regular milk and letting it sit at room temperature for about 10 minutes. You won’t get the flavor but you will match the acidity. Personally, I vote that you pick up some buttermilk and keep it in the fridge. Even when it has gone beyond its expiration date by 1-2 weeks, it’s still quite flavorful and useful and you can’t beat it when making impromptu pancakes or biscuits.

Method to the Madness

Making moist yet fluffy pancakes can sometimes be challenging even though the recipe itself is easy to throw together. The key is to not overmix the batter and to allow the batter to sit for about 5 minutes after you’ve mixed in the wet ingredients before you begin to cook the pancakes. This sitting period allows the baking soda and baking powder to go to work. Baking powder, in particular, does two risings: the first begins when you add the liquid ingredients to the dry mixture, the second rising is when the batter is cooked. If you simply mix together the batter and start heaving it onto your griddle or skillet, you cheat yourself out of the double rising and your pancakes will likely be flat and maybe even a bit tough or gummy. Your goal of keeping the air bubbles in the batter is achieved by letting the batter rest and by not stirring it constantly while you’re cooking the pancakes.

Rather than mixing the blueberries into the batter and winding up with a few pancakes loaded with berries and other pancakes sadly devoid of blueberries, it works far better to drop the blueberries onto the pancakes as they’re cooking, before you flip them. No need to defrost the berries, either; the berries will defrost and cook along with the pancakes.

You can tell that pancakes are ready to be flipped when they appear dry along the outside and bubbles are surfacing all over. Attempting to flip them too soon will result in pancakes splattering all over the skillet or breaking apart. James will tell you firsthand, by the way, that I always put him in charge of flipping because I’m capable of throwing pancakes all over the kitchen! Though pancakes need to cook at a relatively high heat setting, if you’re finding that the pancakes are scorching before they’re ready to flip, this simply means that the heat is too high. It takes a little bit of practice and back-and-forth to learn which heat setting works best for your skillet.

To help get breakfast on the table hot and fast, I recommend putting a large sheet pan in your oven and turning the oven to a very low setting; 200-degrees or less. As your pancakes are cooked, slip them into the oven while you cook the rest of the batches.

Blueberry Multigrain Pancakes

A Tales of Thyme & Place Original
Serves 4-5

3/4 cup whole wheat pastry flour
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 cup oat bran
1/4 cup cornmeal
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1 tablespoon flaxseed meal
2 1/4 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon ground cardamom
1/8 teaspoon ground cinnamon
2 large eggs
2 cups low fat buttermilk
1/4 cup unsalted butter, melted
1-2 cups blueberries (fresh or frozen)

In a large bowl, sift together the first 11 ingredients (whole wheat pastry flour through ground cinnamon).

In a medium bowl, whisk together the eggs, buttermilk, and melted butter. Pour the buttermilk mixture into the flour mixture; stir just until combined. Allow mixture to sit for 5-7 minutes. Meanwhile, preheat the griddle or non-stick skillet.

Pour batter onto preheated griddle or skillet by 1/4-cups. Sprinkle a few blueberries over the tops of each pancake; press lightly into the batter. When sides of pancakes look slightly dry and bubbles have traveled through the pancake all over, flip each pancake with a spatula and cook an additional minute or more until evenly browned. Keep finished pancakes in a low oven on a sheet pan, if desired.

Serve piping hot with butter and maple syrup.

We usually serve these with a simple cheese or cheese-and-veggie omelet and maybe a few strips of lean bacon or sausage to round out the meal.These pancakes come together in a snap and are a hearty, summery breakfast treat — perfect for a lazy weekend morning when you’ll want to linger over the breakfast table savoring the blueberries and the conversation.

(Approximate nutrition data: 1 serving [3-4 pancakes] = 375 calories, 14g total fat [7g sat., 4g mono., 1g poly.], 113mg cholesterol, 6g fiber, 712mg sodium.)

Peach-Pecan Tart with Bourbon Custard

It has been a very busy week or two in our house! Summer is always a busier time for us since we spend it doing all the summery stuff we can… and speaking of “can”, canning is also something we’re usually busy doing in the summer.

Recently, for instance, we celebrated the yearly “festival” I dubbed Peach Madness. Madness seems a bit harsh? Believe me, it’s nothing short of madness. We wake up with the sun on a weekend morning and quickly leave the city behind, heading toward the orchard lands of Southwestern Michigan and Jollay Orchards. There, we surround ourselves with endless acres of trees loaded down with gigantic, Red Haven peaches — quite possibly the best peaches on earth. In a matter of a few minutes, our baskets are filled with about 70 pounds of fuzzy gold.

From there, we dash straight home to place the peaches in a safe place and then wait for the madness to begin. We have to watch the peaches — checking them 2-3 times each day — until they show signs of being at the correct stage of ripeness. Usually within 24 hours (or whenever it’s least convenient) the peaches reach ripeness all at once. Then the madness rushes in and we’re swept into a maddening pace of fruit processing and eating until every last peach is gone.

Within 3 days, we turned 70 pounds of peaches into Canned Peach Quarters, Peach Preserves, Peach Cobbler Conserve, Spiced Peach Butter, and a few bags of sliced peaches for the freezer. Along the way, we usually have managed to eat several of the peaches before they make it into the jam pot! Peaches are probably one of the quintessential tastes of summer for us, so we eat to our hearts’ content, enjoying every bite, knowing that autumn is fast approaching.

Today’s recipe is one I developed just this summer to highlight the taste of fresh peaches. Though they are perfect completely unadorned, here peaches are paired with some famous co-stars: toasted pecans, ground cinnamon, vanilla, and woodsy bourbon.

Let’s Talk Ingredients

Whole Wheat Pastry Flour — Whole wheat pastry flour is whole wheat flour that is ground extra finely so it doesn’t weigh down baked goods the way regular whole wheat flour might. If you don’t mind a slightly denser texture, though, and you can’t find whole wheat pastry flour, feel free to substitute regular whole wheat flour.

Cake Flour — Cake flour is commonly found down the baking aisle right next to the other flours. My favorite brand is King Arthur since they’re currently the only unbleached cake flour I’ve ever found. If you can’t find cake flour or you’d rather not purchase it for this recipe, you can use all-purpose flour by sifting it several times before measuring it out and then removing 2 tablespoons from the cup you’ve measured. This substitution for cake flour works in most recipes except for very delicate cakes, by the way.

Lemon Zest — Lemon zest is the oily outer layer of the lemon peel. Lots of recipes use grated lemon zest, but here you’ll need to peel a thin strip about 1/4-inch wide and the length of the circumference of a medium lemon rather than grating the zest (since the zest needs to be removed). Remember not to include the white, pithy part of the lemon peel; it’s bitter.

Vanilla Paste — This is a syrup made from vanilla extract which is then combined with pulp from vanilla beans. When you mix vanilla paste into whipped cream, cookies, or just about anything, you not only get extra vanilla flavor, you get that gourmet appearance of vanilla beans which heightens the overall presentation — all without having to split and scrape the vanilla beans yourself. If you can’t find vanilla paste, the same amount of a high quality vanilla extract will do just fine in its place. (I buy all of my vanilla beans, vanilla extract, and vanilla paste here.)

Bourbon — Bourbon is a completely American invention — a Kentucky invention to be precise, though it is made in many places in the US, these days. It has a very strong taste, depending on the maker, and is at once sweet, woodsy, and smoky. In this recipe, it helps meld the peaches to the pecans even though much of the alcohol taste is cooked away.

Peaches — We used fresh-picked Red Haven peaches for this recipe, but you could use any yellow, freestone peach you have available locally. Late Summer is peach season — so get them while you can! Peaches continue to ripen after they’re picked, so it’s important to identify the perfect candidates for your tart. Peaches are perfectly ripe when they’re slightly soft and yielding to the touch. Peaches that are too soft will be tasty but will be hard to peel! If they are firm and slightly yellowish-green near the stem end they are not ripe. Basically, you want “Goldilocks” peaches — peaches that are “just right”.

Method to the Madness

If you’ve never made a tart before, you might assume it’s a complicated procedure — especially given its resemblance to pie. However, tart dough is much more forgiving than pie dough, so you’ll likely find it far easier than you thought. My advice would be to mix the dough and cook the custard one afternoon and then finish the tart the next afternoon; dividing the work into manageable parts makes the process even easier.

The tart dough comes together easily without the use of a mixer or food processor — just you, a whisk, and some elbow grease! Because of the particular ingredients, the texture of the dough will be soft and pliable (like Play-Doh) and not sticky, so it’s very easy to handle and will only need a light dusting of flour. Unlike pie crust — which can get very tough and unpleasant if it’s handled too much — the tart dough can take a bit of a pounding from you (no need to get carried away, though!) and still have a tender, slightly-flaky texture. An added bonus: a lattice-style top crust looks impressive… but you don’t have to tell everyone how easy it was.

Making the custard is much like making a classic pudding. The most important step lies in pouring the scalded milk mixture into the beaten egg mixture. If not done gradually, the heat of the milk will scramble the eggs and the custard will be officially ruined. So, be sure to gradually pour the milk mixture into the egg mixture while whisking. Remember that the custard will finish thickening as it cools, so only heat it until it coats the spoon (the custard will undergo further cooking when it bakes with the tart, so you don’t want to overcook it).

Peach-Pecan Tart

with Bourbon Custard

A Tales of Thyme & Place Original
Serves 8-12

Tart Crust:
1 large egg
2 egg yolks
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
10 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into large pieces, softened
2 cups whole wheat pastry flour
1 cup cake flour (unbleached preferred)

Bourbon Custard:
3 egg yolks
1/4 cup granulated sugar
2 tablespoons cornstarch
1 cup whole milk
1 large lemon zest strip
1/2 tablespoon vanilla paste (or vanilla extract)
1 1/2 tablespoons bourbon
1 pinch salt

Peach & Pecan Filling:
1 1/4 pounds peaches, peeled, pitted, and sliced into 1/4-inch slices
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1 tablespoon bourbon
1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 cup chopped pecans, toasted, divided
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour

To make the tart crust, in a large bowl, whisk together the egg, egg yolks, sugar, and salt; whisk until mixture turns a light yellow. Continuing to whisk, add the softened butter pieces one at a time, whisking until combined. With a wooden spoon, gradually work in the whole wheat pastry flour and then the cake flour until a smooth dough forms. Divide the dough into two pieces — one a bit larger than the other. Form each piece into a disk and cover with plastic wrap; chill for at least 2 hours and up to 24 hours.

Meanwhile, make the custard. In a medium bowl, whisk together the egg yolks, sugar, and cornstarch until mixture is a pale yellow. In a medium saucepan, combine the milk, lemon zest, vanilla paste, bourbon, and salt; heat over low-medium heat until bubbles form around the edge of the mixture. Remove pan from heat and remove the lemon zest. While whisking, pour the milk mixture very slowly into the egg mixture. Once combined, pour the mixture into the saucepan and return it to low-medium heat. Cook the mixture, stirring constantly, until it thickens enough to coat the back of a spoon (7-10 minutes). Pour the custard into a bowl, cover the surface of the custard with plastic wrap (to prevent a skin from forming), cover the bowl; refrigerate 2 to 24 hours.

Preheat oven to 350-degrees. Remove the tart dough disks from the refrigerator and allow to stand at room temperature for about 5-10 minutes to soften slightly. Butter and flour a 9-, 10-, or 11-inch removable bottom tart pan. Press the larger dough disk into the bottom and up the sides of the tart pan. Pour the bourbon custard into the bottom of the tart crust; spread evenly.

To make the fruit filling, in a medium bowl combine the sliced peaches, sugar, bourbon, lemon juice, and cinnamon. Allow the mixture to stand for about 10 minutes. Meanwhile, take 2 tablespoons of the toasted chopped pecans and chop them very finely; set aside. Stir the remaining chopped pecans and the all-purpose flour into the peach mixture. Spoon the peach mixture evenly over the bourbon custard.

Place the remaining tart dough disk on a lightly floured surface. Press or roll the dough into a 9-inch circle (or the size that matches your tart pan). Using a sharp knife, cut the dough into strips about 1/2-inch wide. Arrange the dough strips atop the peach filling in a lattice pattern. Once assembled, press the strips to the tart pan edge to remove excess dough. If desired, brush the top of the tart with an egg wash or half and half; sprinkle with the reserved finely chopped pecans. Bake in preheated oven for 45 minutes to an hour or until golden brown. Place on a wire rack to cool completely, refrigerate until chilled. Serve chilled. Store the leftovers loosely covered in the refrigerator for up to 5 days.

While I know firsthand how tempting it is to slice right into this tart immediately after removing it from the oven or after waiting for what seems like an eternity for it to reach room temperature, allowing it to chill in the refrigerator will heighten the sweetness and fruitiness of the filling. You’ll be delighted to discover the tart is not overly sweet — allowing the fruity and nutty flavors to shine through. A slice is excellent served with your weekend cup of coffee following a hearty brunch or as a summery, elegant ending to dinner.

Seasons Change

It’s almost hard to believe that summer has moved so quickly. It seems that not more than a week ago I was putting the seedlings into place on the balcony and waiting for the shipment of seedlings to arrive from the gardening supply company. Now, when I look on the balcony, I see huge plants full of blooms and (sadly) signs of late maturity.

I have a hard time deciding what to do at this part of the season, admittedly: do I uproot the mature plants that aren’t blooming as much anymore and replace them with fresh, more autumnal plants or do I “honor” the existing plants by letting them live out their life cycle? Silly as it may seem, I’m usually guilty of personifying plants. This may be owing to having raised many of them from tiny seeds back in February.

If you’ve never gardened or even put a bean in a cup of potting soil, it’s probably not easy to understand the sensation. But, maybe it’s akin to being a parent in some ways? I remember how tiny the petunia seeds were — only about twice the size of this period. Inside the seed was a plant that I hoped would emerge and surprise me with the color of its blooms. And — in spite of all the things that could have gone wrong — miraculously I now see a balcony littered with blooms and beefy stems. It’s hard to not feel some sense of pride — even though all I did was put them in soil and add water (and worry).

As promised, the Morning Glories have started to bloom and put on their “dance of deception” — wowing you with their ability to traverse over your entire garden and put on showy blooms, all the while dropping their seeds everywhere! So far, we’ve noted three color varieties showing up… I’m not sure which is my favorite.

Though they’re arguably less magnificent, I was excited to see the cosmos finally blooming — cosmos are maybe one of my top 10 flowers. I’m a little disappointed with the variety of colors we’re seeing, but I’m very pleased to see the blooms. From the “Bright Lights” blend, we were supposed to see orange, burnt orange, and yellow. Instead, we’re only seeing orange. From the “Sensation” blend, we were supposed to see white, pink, rose, and crimson. So far we’ve seen tons of pink and one that was either rose or crimson depending on your idea of those colors! There’s still one “Sensation” plant that has yet to bloom, so I’m holding out hope for a color we don’t already have.

As I mentioned in a previous post, the parsley is closing out its biennial life cycle and has sent up giant stalks of flowers that look a cross between Queen Anne’s Lace and Dill. Parsley so seldom makes it to this stage in a container garden (most folks don’t bother to overwinter it) it’s been entertaining to see just how wild and overgrown the plants can get.

Since it’s been so prolific and wild, the parsley also became host to two rounds of Black Swallowtail caterpillars. Sadly, the first batch I showed you all met with untimely demise. One completely disappeared. We assume it was snapped up by a bird. The other got larger and larger and — just before reaching the chrysalis stage — was stabbed and sucked dry by the larva of a soldier bug. It was so tragic (not to mention disgusting)! It never occurred to me that babies eat babies! Nature can be so cruel!

Thankfully, we have gotten three more caterpillars to watch, recently. One was recently massacred by something — God knows what. But, the other two have prospered quite well — one of them has reached chrysalis stage (at last!) and will probably be a butterfly soon — assuming no crazy, freak-of-nature bugs or other critters find him. Considering where he decided to set up camp, though, I’d say his chances of survival are a little bleak if he’s planning to be there for more than a day or two! He’s definitely not camouflaged! Needless to say, the caterpillar drama that has unfolded in the garden, this year, has really opened our eyes to the miraculousness of butterflies. With the caterpillars’ almost complete lack of defenses, it’s astonishing that any of them survive!

If I’m going to do a “changing of the guard” in the garden — swapping out tired plants for new, more seasonal ones — it will likely be this weekend. I still can’t make up my mind. Even in a balcony that faces a dumpster, life remains a cycle of change. The seasons change, the colors change, the characters enter and exit the stage — some of them exit in a body bag while others exit having completely changed into a different form. The pace is slower, for certain, but it’s endlessly more entertaining than reality TV, in my opinion!

(UPDATE: As of this morning, the caterpillar has completely formed its chrysalis and no longer resembles a caterpillar at all! Fingers crossed for a butterfly, this time!)

Feta-Basil Sandwiches

Vegetarian Wednesdays are still going strong, in our house! Admittedly, I expected waning enthusiasm (or my memory) would mean a slow death for this pledge. Instead, the plethora of veggies that are in season this time of year often means more than one meal in our week might be vegetarian, in fact. But, to be honest, there are times (especially midweek) when I’m feeling too worn down to cook — too worn down to follow a big recipe, especially!

It’s in times like these when having a quick and easy meal is ideal — like a secret weapon in your back pocket! While I don’t mind a “complicated” recipe every now and then, easy recipes always pique my interest. In my journeys through cookbooks, my surfing of the internet for recipes, and my own kitchen tinkerings, — even though I love a challenge, the thrill of the hunt — the quick and easy recipes are probably the ones that I file away for keeps more often than not. A meal that comes together in a few minutes with the added benefit of being healthy and tasty is definitely a recipe worth repeating.

This is why I cherish this easy, vegetarian sandwich recipe from Cooking Light that James and I happened upon several years ago. The concept couldn’t be simpler: a zesty cheese paired with a pungent fresh herb, topped with summer-ripened tomato slices, sandwiched between two hearty bread slices.

Let’s Talk Ingredients

Feta Cheese — Feta is a very flavorful cheese that is traditionally made with goat’s milk or sheep’s milk but is sometimes made of cow’s milk. It’s usually packed in tubs and covered with whey or water (to preserve the taste). The taste is a bit sharp and a bit salty if you’ve never tried it, but the texture is at once creamy and yet crumbly. A less salty alternative to feta, for this recipe, would be goat cheese (chèvre). You can find both in the cheese case at nearly any supermarket.

Low Fat Sour Cream — This was one of the changes I made to the original recipe: the original called for fat free mayonnaise. It so happens that I’ve never found a single low fat or fat free mayonnaise that I find tolerable. It probably has something to do with the fact that fat free mayonnaise makes no sense to me since mayonnaise is a mixture of eggs and oil (both of which have fat in them). Therefore, the concept of a fat free mayonnaise seems an oxymoron (as does fat free half and half, now that you mention it). Instead, to lower the fat content, I used part regular mayonnaise and part low fat sour cream (which has no artificial ingredients and tastes darned close to regular sour cream).

Basil — One of the easiest herbs to grow and one of the boldest tastes of summer, basil is definitely one of my favorite herbs. Right now, you should be able to buy great bunches of it at your local farmer’s market or your supermarket produce section. But, to save money, you might consider growing your own, next time! (details on growing your own basil in this entry)

Feta-Basil Sandwiches

Adapted from Cooking Light
Serves 4

4 ounces feta cheese, crumbled (about 1 cup)
2 tablespoons mayonnaise
2 tablespoons low fat sour cream
1/4 cup chopped fresh basil
1/8 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
8 slices tomato (1/4-inch thick)
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
8 slices whole wheat bread

In a medium bowl, combine the feta, mayonnaise, sour cream, chopped basil, and black pepper; stir until uniform, cover, and refrigerate for about 30 minutes.

Meanwhile, place tomato slices in a single layer on a thickness of paper towels (about 3 layers thick). Sprinkle the slices with the salt and allow to rest for about 20 minutes. Press the tomato slices lightly with paper towels to remove the excess moisture.

Toast the bread slices, if desired. Spread 1/4 of the feta mixture onto four of the bread slices; top each with two tomato slices and an additional slice of bread. Slice diagonally, serve immediately.

There are several things I like about this recipe. First, definitely the taste! It’s hard to describe other than to say it tastes like pure summer. Secondly, I love all of the fresh ingredients — one of the many reasons why this recipe shouldn’t be made any other time of the year, in my opinion. Third, I love the fact that the cheese mixture can be put together up to a day in advance if you’ll be pressed for time. Lastly, the sandwich makes an excellent light lunch the next day. We sometimes serve this sandwich with a salad, but it’s perfectly fine as a solo performer.

Blueberry Harvest Muffins

I was reading through some old journal entries of mine, recently. I do this on days when I’m bored: I flip through pages of my past to uncover what has and hasn’t changed over the years. In there, amidst all of my uncertainties, angst, and all of those mundane, day-to-day details that my personal journals are so vividly reminiscent of, I realized that it’s around this time every year that I start longing for autumn. Not only do I long for it, but I “sense” it around every corner. And, true to form, every year in my journal I mention this anticipation of autumn as if it were a completely new sensation — something I’d need to write down for posterity.

So, naturally, when we were recently visited by a very welcome cold front that sent our daily highs plummeting from the lower 90s to the mid 70s, I was a very happy camper! With the heat and humidity gone, we were able to turn off the air conditioner, throw open the windows, and enjoy a cool, crisp breeze. I especially like cooking breakfast on crisp mornings like those — standing at the stove in my slippers, a breeze hinting at autumn swirling around my ankles as the scent of cinnamon and other spices wafts around the kitchen.

On such a morning as this — when summer and autumn have begun to intermingle a bit and I get that nostalgic longing for autumn in mid-August — I had an interesting thought of intermingling a few tastes of these two seasons. I remembered a blueberry-pumpkin gingerbread recipe I’d tried long ago and loved. Why not make blueberry-pumpkin muffins?

I borrowed a technique I learned from a Cooking Light muffin recipe in which cinnamon was mixed with flour and butter to form an almost strudel-like mixture that was chilled and then folded into the muffin batter. The spice mixture set off tiny little explosions of cinnamon in every bite of those muffins. Could I do something similar with pumpkin spice?

Let’s Talk Ingredients

Whole Wheat Pastry Flour — If you’re not familiar with it already, whole wheat pastry flour is whole wheat flour that is ground extra finely so it doesn’t weigh down soda-leavened baked goods the way regular whole wheat flour might. If you don’t mind a slightly denser texture, though, and you can’t find whole wheat pastry flour, feel free to substitute regular whole wheat flour.

Sucanat — Sucanat is another of my favorite, unrefined sugars. While brown sugar is merely refined white sugar with a little bit of molasses added back into it (an imposter!), sucanat is the result of cooking down sugar cane juice until all that’s left is the sugar and molasses-y goodness (no bleaches or other chemicals are involved). You can use dark brown sugar in place of the sucanat if you can’t find it in your grocery store. In case you were curious, when a recipe on this blog calls for “granulated sugar” I actually use evaporated cane juice which is made via a process similar to sucanat, so it’s actually off-white and still has a tiny bit of a molasses taste.

Pumpkin Puree — Because I am into the “granny arts” and the interesting flavor variations among pumpkins, I enjoy buying or growing a few pumpkins each year, roasting them, then pureeing them to store in the freezer for recipes throughout the year. You can find easy instructions for making your own puree online (maybe I’ll post my own method once autumn actually arrives) or you can use the standard, store-bought canned pumpkin. If you do buy a can, you can pour the remainder of the puree into a freezer bag and freeze it for use during the holidays.

Blueberries — Blueberries are available in so many varieties that they’re pretty much in season from early summer right up until autumn arrives. If you aren’t able to buy fresh blueberries that were harvested locally, though, frozen blueberries are excellent in this recipe — just be sure to keep them frozen until you’re ready to fold them into the batter (otherwise you’ll have very odd-colored, smurf-ish muffins).

Blueberry Harvest Muffins

A Tales of Thyme & Place Original
Serves 12

Pumpkin Spice Mixture:
3 tablespoons whole wheat pastry flour
3 tablespoons sucanat (or dark brown sugar)
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/4 teaspoon ground allspice
2 tablespoons unsalted butter

Muffin Batter:
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 cup whole wheat pastry flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 large egg
1 cup granulated sugar
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
3/4 cup pumpkin puree
1/2 cup low fat sour cream
1 1/2 cups blueberries – (fresh or frozen)

In a small bowl, combine the flour, sucanat, and spices. Using a fork, cut in the butter until well-blended and mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Cover and chill the mixture for at least 30 minutes.

Preheat oven to 350-degrees. Coat a 12-cup muffin tin with cooking spray; set aside.

Sift together the flours, baking powder, and salt in a medium bowl. In a separate medium bowl, whisk the egg until well-beaten and light-colored. Add the sugar and whisk vigorously until thick. Gradually add the cooled melted butter while whisking. Using a spoon or rubber spatula, stir in the pumpkin puree and sour cream just until combined.

Add the blueberries to the flour mixture; toss gently to combine. Add the pumpkin mixture to the flour mixture; fold together until a uniform batter forms. Using a fork, crumble the chilled pumpkin spice mixture into coarse pieces; fold into the batter (Batter will be thick, a few streaks of flour are okay; do not overmix.)

Divide the batter evenly among prepared muffin cups. Bake in preheated oven until muffins are light golden-brown and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean (about 25-30 minutes). Cool in pan for 10 minutes then invert the muffins onto a wire rack to cool for 5 more minutes. Serve warm.

The pumpkin puree lends an orange-ish hue to the muffins while also adding a mild sweetness and lots of tenderness (not to mention magnesium, potassium, and lots of other goodies). The pumpkin flavor is amplified by the traditional pumpkin spice “quartet” while the summery blueberries add a burst of bright tartness — a reminder that summer is still here even though some of us may be ready to embrace autumn.

(You can store these muffins in an airtight container for about 2 days, unrefrigerated. If you don’t happen to need 12 muffins at once, however, they can be individually wrapped in plastic and frozen for up to 4 months. To thaw, simply unwrap a muffin, cover it with a paper towel, and microwave 30 seconds at a time until completely warmed — they’ll taste freshly-baked!)