Bean’s Test Kitchen: Flourless Peanut Butter Cookies

It’s been cold, windy, and very changeable here lately. One minute the sun’s pouring from the sky, the next a kind of fluffy sleet that looks like styrofoam pellets. It makes your tiny hands stick to the monkey bars at the playground, if you’re the Bean:

Which is why we wear mittens.

It also plants one heck of a cold in you. Poor Bean’s been barking for about three days now. She’s been otherwise pleasant– no temperature, no other symptoms– but the cough is wet and ugly. Yes, we have an appointment on Monday.

In the meantime, the only clear solution is cookies.

This cookie recipe is less bad for you than others: it’s lower in sugar, it’s not got any flour, it’s high in fiber and protein. If you really wanted to Atkins the heck out of it, you could use artificial sweeteners, but they have that horrible aftertaste. Plus, the ingredients are really simple:

Flourless Peanut Butter Cookies

Makes 12-14 drop cookies.

Ingredients:

• 1 egg
• 1/2 tsp vanilla extract
• 1/4 tsp salt
• 1/2 cup brown sugar (or honey, or maple syrup if you are made of money)
• 1 cup peanut butter

Special equipment: Parchment or baking paper to line cookie sheets with.

Method:  Break the egg into a bowl and beat it with the vanilla and salt. Then add the sugar or honey, beating steadily until the mixture becomes pale and thick. Fold in the peanut butter until well-combined.

If you like, you can chill the mixture for an hour or so to make firmer “ball” shaped cookies. It’s not really necessary, though.

So if you’re not chilling, pre-heat the oven to 175 C/350 F. Line two cookie sheets with parchment paper and plop the dough by tablespoonfuls onto the sheets, giving them about an inch of space. They shouldn’t spread all that much.

Bake about 8-11 minutes, rotating once. Cookies will look lumpen and unappealing but smell heavenly (if you don’t have a nut allergy). A good sign of doneness is a nice toasty-brown color at the edges and peaks of the cookie.

Allow to cool on a rack before passing to your barking child, if you have one.

Bonus tip: eating half the batch will definitely de-rail your diet goals.

Bonus bonus tip: substituting 1-2 T of maple syrup for an equal amount of other sweetener is delicious (1/2 cup is 8 tablespoons).

Name that Tune

[By Trev] As a renowned songbird and celebrated performing artiste I have often wowed the crowned heads of Europe with my popular repertoire. Such plucky tunes as, “My Washboard’s stuck on spin-cycle” and “Zeppelins over Rednal” caught the public imagination before Victoria took to the throne, and they’re but two of the many hundreds in my head; so how is it that after such a long career creeping the boards of the music halls, this small tune escapes me? What ditty is the Belle of South Birmingham trilling here?

Name that Tune

Gentle friends, I look to you for the answers that will restore my sleep and sanity; and God-willing keep the opium pipe from my trembling lips. God save the Queen!

 

Look At This Sweet Little Tyke

Today he is sixty. Happy Birthday, Pops!

And thanks for the cute nose.

Eve’s Daddy is also celebrating his birthday today. I haven’t got the picture I want of him, as a chubby-cheeked, giggling infant, but one of these days I’ll post it to remind people that yes, he once had fat on his body. Happy Birthday, darling.

I’m A Boy, I’m A Boy, But My Mom Won’t Admit It

This morning Trev, as a first act on his birthday, took our cat Tilly for the big fix. We starved her all last night and kept her locked inside (which she hated). Trev said she was very docile about getting into the carrier and very quiet in the car.

"They're taking off my WHAT now?"

About an hour after we dropped her off, the Vet called.

“I’m sorry, Mr Judson,” the Vet said, “We can’t spay your cat. Because she’s a boy.”

Ha ha, whoops. I had expressed uncertainties about Tilly’s sex when Trev first brought her– sorry, him–home  as a kitten, but Trev gave me some side-eye and insisted the painkillers I was on at the time were probably making me see things that weren’t there.

Turns out I did see things– they just won’t be there much longer.

A question for the Internet: what do we call this little boy when he comes home? We’ve thought of Billy, Telly, Timmy– none really feel right.  We know it will be difficult to get Bean to use the cat’s new name, so something similar to the old name is probably best.

Adventures in Evopomorphism

[by Trev] There are some mornings when Eve’s cereals talk to her and beg to be eaten, explaining that reclining in her spoon is the long hoped for goal of their existence. Since the first moment all the elements that they’re made from came together to assume the unlikely forms of wheaty parcels and semi-skimmed milk, it’s all they’ve ever dreamed of. “Please eat us, Eve!” They say, somehow speaking through my mouth with a high pitched voice. She finds this very funny. I blame myself.

Also, she quite often says “Hello red,” when chance has painted the car in front that way. Likewise trees, the sky, the rain and many other animate and inanimate objects receive personalised greetings that acknowledge the fact that as Eve sees them, she sees them looking back. Again, guilty as charged.

I’ve read that because of the Shinto faith Japanese people are down with this sort of thing, the idea that an object may contain a spirit, and it figures prominently in one or two of the excellent animations we’ve watched. (I wonder if that makes it harder for their best karate talents to punch through wooden boards? Maybe ‘Kyaa!’ means ‘Sorry, but this is gonna hurt?) Anyway, if we ever welcome a Japanese exchange student, I’m confident that Eve will make for an excellent host. She’ll be far too sensitive to ever make the grade as a carpenter, openly weeping as she saws through planks, but we can’t shield them from everything can we?

In the land of self-propelled meat that we call human society, Eve has graduated to the 3-6 year old group at Rhythm Time. While one or two kids looked shell-shocked at the older and noisier group, smaller room and louder teacher, Eve seemed perfectly happy to follow most of the directions to bang on drums, stand up, sit down and/or find her tummy. The other change was that parents take a seat round the edge of the room instead of sitting on the floor with our offspring. The eventual aim is to banish us to the hall while our confident kids make kid music and find their toes on command. Hopefully someone will start a grown up music group out there to keep us amused while we wait. I wonder if any of the mommies like Metal?

The Escape Artist

On Wednesday night I was sitting at the computer around 6:30, typing, when I heard a loud THUMP from upstairs. This happens a lot, and is usually the result of a cat making impact with the floor after hopping down from a perch on a wardrobe or bookshelf.

This time, there were footsteps. I went to investigate.

Eve’s crib was empty. So was her room. She wasn’t in the bathroom, either– recent unsupervised upstairs time has led Eve to explore the functions of the toilet, or to turning the taps on and off in the sink. I found her cheerfully tucked in bed– my bed, that is, with the reading lamp switched on. She was perusing Where The Wild Things Are and humming to herself.

“What are you doing?”

“I goin’ sleepies!” She patted the pillow beside her. “Lie down?”

I scooped her up and stuck her back in her crib. She moaned about this, shouting “Come out? Want come out?” as I went back down the stairs. I waited, ear cocked to the ceiling, for an hour. I expected to have to make many repeat trips, tried to remember where we’d put the stair gate we took down while repainting, imagined having to negotiate with the Bean until 2:00 AM every night.

But, no. She fell asleep with the book tented over her face. And she hasn’t repeated the experiment– yet. But she will be three in eight weeks, so we’re considering taking the sides of the crib down then anyway.

Tomorrow Is Christmas! It’s Practically Here!

Well, actually here, Mr. Grinch, if you consider that I’m only getting around to writing this at 1:20 AM local time. Still, I don’t think it counts as Christmas until you’ve been to sleep. So: Merry Christmas Eve!

This is Eve’s third Christmas since departing from the mothership. I think she will finally “get” it this year, that this is a holiday, which explains why there are so many biscuits being made and presents in the house, and, oh yes– a tree!

"It a tree! Look at the lights! Hello, lights!"

Today we set up the tree and put on the lights and decorated it. She was surprisingly adept at following our instructions: “Take that red heart and put it here, please.” She also enjoyed the praise she got so much that she spent the better part of the afternoon removing one ornament (a lacy star) over and over again to announce: “See? I put it onna tree. Yay!”

She also spent a significant part of the day peeking over the edges of the countertops.

Lemon- and Chocolate-Glazed Sophie Cookies (Thanks, Cousin Chris!)

For the neighbors: Chocolate chip, raspberry/pecan rugelach, peanut butter

We don’t have the magical covering of snow we did last year, but it was still chilly this morning when I jogged to the gym. The clouds cleared out by the time I walked back from the grocery store– surprisingly bare of people, but that was probably because there was nothing on the shelves.

I baked, Trev tidied, and Eve took her star on and off the tree. Later, T took the Bean to visit the ducks:

Also the geese and the seagulls.

Then she came home and put herself down for a nap while I was making dinner. We managed to have a video chat with the family out west, and then, after another viewing of the Grinch, she was off to bed at last.

O Christmas Bean, O Christmas Bean

This is probably the last time for the next ten years that she’ll go to bed that easily on Christmas Eve. And we’ll have a  Bean-dictated list next year, rather than gifts that reflect our guesses about what she likes (thanks for the Waybuloo backpack, Anya!) the things we think she should have (fat crayons for wee fingers) and the things that reflect our ideas of her (yes, I bought her a tutu and ballet slippers).

I suppose I should be in bed enjoying it. I’ve had my fizz, I’ve watched Alastair Sim. I have very little to do in the morning before setting off. But still, it’s Christmas Eve, so I can’t sleep.

Enjoy your Christmas, if you keep it.

Hung by the chimney with blue-tack.

A Lovely Gift From Uncle Dave

I’m woefully late posting this, but my big brother has been playing with iMovie and made this for us.

Remove your mascara before viewing (especially you, Dad).

 

More news soon; we’re all well here.

Who? Who?

Evey’s owl, that’s who!

Proudly adorning our fridge right now.

We made this together while Daddy was at class tonight. I did the cutting-out bits. Eve tore up the tissue paper and stuck it down wherever I’d put glue. I added the eyes and attached the wings. It was good fun.

Ms. Critic had this to say about her work: “It a owul. It a lellow owul. An’ ba-lue. Fuh-ly inna sky. Heh.”

Stealth Vegetables

Note to parents.  Children who turn up their noses at green things are easily fooled by…

Mmmm, Fritatta

…plenty of bacon, cheese, and eggs. I had one slice of the fritatta pictured here. Her Beaniness ate the other three (Daddy was at class).  While she delights in peas and very precisely cooked broccoli (firm, but not too firm, light salt, minimal stem included, steamed and not boiled, preferably from fresh and not frozen broccoli), she can’t abide spinach. And I can’t be bothered to steam broccoli every other night.

Chlorophyll play power ACTIVATE!

So subterfuge works best: chop up the greens and add them to pizza sauce, or hide them in among the taco meat, or in a soup that’s blended to a uniform texture.  Until she starts doing chemical analysis, I think I am safe.