How I blog (plus potato pancakes)

I'd like to pretend all my blog posts and series spill out onto the computer fully-formed. But like most of my writing, creating blog content is a slow, careful process. There's a lot of planning, rewriting, deleting, and then some more rewriting. Sometimes it's painful. Sometimes I'd rather take pretty pictures or read other people's effortless-looking blogs or go for a walk.

So, inspired by Joy the Baker's admirable honesty, today I'm going to give you a glimpse behind the curtain. This is how I made potato pancakes yesterday...and all the thinking and research that went into it.


Two Days Prior (Inspiration Time)

I start thinking about what I could make for the blog. I glance longingly at my pile of cooking magazines and the exciting East-West blend of Simply Ming that I got from the library. If only I could count Thai green curry sauce as historical. I suppose I could...if I knew more about Thai history and cooking.

Note to self: new blog series!

Then I talk myself down from starting yet another massive research project. I flip idly through The "Settlement" Cook Book and mark some cookie recipes. But Josh and I made Christmas cookies over the weekend, and we definitely can't eat them all plus more cookies. (Here Josh would say: "But, delicious!") So I read Bon Appetit instead.

inspiration!

One Day Prior (Research Time)

Adam Rapaport's article on the perfect latke makes my mouth water. I love potatoes. When a friend hosted a supper club several months ago, she and her sister waxed poetic about how potatoes would definitely be included in their last meals. I firmly agree. There is nothing like the potato.

Perhaps there's a similar recipe I could make for the blog. I flip through The "Settlement" Cook Book again, and lo and behold, there's a recipe for potato pancakes! And I could probably think of a good angle for the post...

But today we have leftovers, and I am fighting a cold that makes me feel like death warmed over. So I'll wait. I eat my pasta and imagine it tastes like potatoes.

(Can you tell I have an issue with leftovers? And that I was raised in a good Midwestern family with lots and lots of a certain root vegetable?)


Day Of (Cooking/Photo Time)

potato pancakes, posing with applesauce

My cold has significantly improved, and I leave school bounding with energy. When I get home I set up my equipment: ingredients, box grater, kitchen towel, fry pan, and of course, CD player. I'm going through a phase where I listen to dramatized Agatha Christie mysteries while I cook...it lends the whole enterprise an air of drama.

The Settlement recipe doesn't provide much in the way of guidance, so I open up Bon Appetit and skim the latke article. Rapaport recommends squeezing the grated potatoes to rid them of excess water--this sounds like a good idea. Then I make assumptions about the other instructions, based on what I know about frying up regular pancakes. I cut the ingredients from the Settlement recipe in half (it's only Josh and me, not our turn-of-the-century family of six) and get to work. The light's dying, so I do it quickly, hoping to get some decent natural-light photos in before the day ends.

But that's not to be, so I set up my kitchen table with seasonal linens and turn on the lamp for additional lighting. I spend the next ten minutes or so taking glamour shots of fried potato cakes.


One Day After (History Time)

New York settlement cooking class

Before school starts, I glance at the Wisconsin Historical Society's website for a reminder about the Milwaukee Settlement. I did the majority of my research for this project when I first started using the book, so most of this is familiar. But I want to confirm my suspicions that this recipe is for German Jewish potato pancakes, rather than for those of another culture. And indeed, I find that Lizzie Kander, the writer of The "Settlement" Cook Book, taught Jewish women how to cook at the Settlement, so I'm fairly certain that these potato pancakes could have been used in a turn-of-the-century Hannukah celebration.

So I gather my historical photos from more or less reputable sources, upload my own photos, and type up my thoughts. Plus the recipe, which is adapted heavily from the original (i.e. with actual measurements).

As you can see, it's a messy, time-consuming process. I'm sure many of you have developed much simpler ways of creating blog content, or perhaps you have your own elaborate methods. I'd love to hear!


Potato Pancakes
(adapted from The "Settlement" Cook Book and Bon Appetit's December 2012 issue)

4 russet potatoes, peeled
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 tsp baking powder
2 tsp flour
1 tbsp milk
2 eggs, beaten
vegetable oil, for cooking

Using the larger holes on a box grater, grate the potatoes. Dump the potato mixture onto a clean kitchen towel, wrap up the mixture, and carefully wring out the liquid over the sink. You may want to do this twice. Mix the dried potato gratings with the salt, baking powder, flour, and milk, and add the eggs at the end.

Heat a large skillet over medium-high heat, and pour in enough oil to cover the bottom of the pan. When the oil shimmers, drop the potato mixture in by spoonfuls and flatten with the back of the spoon. Cook about 4 minutes, or until brown and crispy, then carefully flip over the pancakes to brown on the other side, about 3-4 minutes. Remove cooked pancakes to a plate lined with paper towels.

Serve with applesauce.

Works cited: 1. Bon Appetit Magazine. 2. Elizabethian Tea.

Old Virginia batter cakes

Language is such a powerful tool. You can learn so much about the writer, about a different culture, or about a past time just through the words the writer chooses. As a history teacher, I end up thinking about this a lot, especially when we're looking at primary sources in class. Of course, it's hard to get my students to appreciate this; they spend most of their time wondering why Thomas Jefferson didn't capitalize his letters and what the word "scission" means.*  But all that unconventional spelling, those weird word choices, they help you imagine the time period in a way that other tools just can't.

One of my favorite historical novels, A Northern Light, tells the story of Mattie, a girl growing up in the Adirondacks in 1906. She wants to be a writer, but it's hard to stand up for what she wants when she's expected to look after her sisters. The author, Jennifer Donnelly, puts you immediately in Mattie's shoes with strong, vivid words:

"When Mamma was alive, she could make breakfast for seven people, hear our lessons, patch Pa's trousers, pack our dinner pails, start the milk to clabbering, and roll out a piecrust. All at the same time and without ever raising her voice. I'm lucky if I can keep the mush from burning and Lou and Beth from slaughtering each other."

Trousers. Mamma and Pa. Dinner pails. Clabbering. You don't just know it's 1906, you feel it with those words.

But really, what the heck is "clabbering," anyway?

"Clabbering" means curdling milk. Cooks would use "clabber," or curdled milk, the same way we use buttermilk today: to create a tender crumb in baking or to lend a tangy taste. Back in the day when people got their milk fresh from cows instead of fresh from the supermarket, raw milk would naturally curdle when left out. You can still do that today, of course, but most of us can only access pasteurized milk, which will only sour when left out.

So if you're, say, reading an old recipe for pancakes from colonial Williamsburg, and it happens to call for clabber, you're more than welcome to substitute some buttermilk. You'll still get the same light texture, and you won't have to worry about germs.

And that's what I mean about language: not only do the words themselves provide a window into a different time, but the meaning behind them also shows you the daily rituals of the past. Cooking techniques used for centuries by women who had to milk the cow if they wanted to bake for their families. Techniques that we've mostly forgotten about thanks to the magic of mass-produced meals, pasteurization, and industrially modified food.

The pancakes, by the way? Delicious. Tender, tangy, and just substantial enough thanks to the addition of cornmeal. Since there's no sweetener in the cakes themselves, they're more versatile than modern-day pancakes: equally excellent with a salad for dinner or with maple syrup for breakfast.

Old Virginia Batter Cakes
(adapted from The Williamsburg Art of Cookery)

2 large eggs
2/3 cup buttermilk
2/3 cup water
2/3 cup cornmeal
1 cup flour, plus more if needed
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp baking soda
butter for the pan

In a medium bowl, beat the eggs until frothy. Add the buttermilk and water and whisk to combine; whisk in the cornmeal, flour, and salt. Let stand. Meanwhile, brush a griddle or frying pan with butter and set over medium heat. Just before you start cooking the pancakes, stir the baking soda into the batter. If the mixture is too thin, add flour by tablespoons until thick enough.

Working in batches, fry the pancakes in the heated pan, using about 1/4 cup of batter per pancake. When the pancakes have set and bubbles have formed in the middle (about 1 1/2 minutes), flip and cook another 30 seconds to 1 minute. Serve with savory or sweets according to your fancy.


* True story: I had this conversation today with my 9th graders.