By now I’ve been paying for my own food for the same number of years my parents were responsible for feeding me and I value the lesson I was taught. And because I live alone it is easy for me not to waste anything—even if I don’t finish everything on my plate I can wrap up my half-eaten dinner to throw in a salad the next day. And yes, I’ve been known to pour a few remaining ounces of OJ from my breakfast back into the Tropicana container. Okay, that sounds a little gross but what does it matter if I’m the only one drinking it? The point is I’m not pouring the juice (and the $3.69 price tag) down the drain.
What’s a fake-date you ask? A fake-date is when you think you’ve been asked on a date by a very funny, charming single guy only to learn after the fake-date that he has a girlfriend living in California and just wanted someone to talk at, I mean talk to, over a meal in New York. This guy was fond of Shopsin’s, a much discussed restaurant then located in the West Village. (Note—Calvin Trillin wrote a great piece about it in the New Yorker on the eve of the closing of its original location. Click here to enjoy.) Chef-owner/author Kenny Shopsin is quite a character and was prone to kitchen rantings and outbursts that were easily overheard by his customers sitting in the general store-like cafe. Much like the Soup Nazi, Shopsin’s had a whole set of undisclosed rules that, if broken, got you banned from the place for life. I may be over stating but the evil eye would accompany you if you tried to dine with a party larger than four. I have to say the charm of the place eluded me; I don’t usually choose fear and anxiety as a side dish to my main course.
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“Don’t like your soup?” Eve asked pointedly.
“No, no. It’s delicious! I just want to save room for this fantastic looking sandwich!” I hoped that would be enough and she’d walk away.
“No problem,” she said. “I’ll just bring the rest up to my kids.”
And with that she brought over one of those coated, round cardboard take-out boxes, picked up my half eaten bowl of soup, poured it into the container, smiled and strolled off with it to feed it to her children.
Needless to say while fake-date was laughing I lost my appetite and barely made it through the sandwich, comfortably resigned to the fact that I’d never be eating at Shopsin’s again.
So it was with wasting food on my mind that I was haunted by the leftover buttermilk and pumpkin puree twiddling their thumbs in my fridge only after being half used for my Halloween whoopie pies. What to do? A quick-bread came to mind and I whipped up this sweet tea cake in no time. There’s some whole-wheat flour to add a little wholesomeness, some walnuts for your omega-3’s and crunch, and the sour-sweet of the chewy cranberries. This bread keeps well and freezes even better. Make some now and have it on Thanksgiving with a cup of tea (or a big glass of milk). Just don’t let it go to waste.
Adapted from Bon Appétit, October 2003
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Ingredients
1 cup all purpose flour
1 cup whole wheat pastry flour
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1 teaspoon baking powder
3/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
6 tablespoons (3/4 stick) unsalted butter, room temperature
1 cup plus 1 tablespoon sugar
2 large eggs
1 cup canned pure pumpkin
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2/3 cup buttermilk
1/2 cup dried sweetened cranberries
1/2 cup coarsely chopped walnuts
Directions
Preheat oven to 350°F. Butter 9 1/4x5 1/4x3-inch loaf pan. Line bottom and 2 long sides with waxed paper. Whisk flours, spices, baking powder, salt, and baking soda in medium bowl to blend.
Fold in cranberries and nuts.
2 comments:
Why, Oh Why are the best things in life made with Buttermilk? Darn you, girl. I have to make this immediately.
Awesome Shopsin's story, Miranda. Also your blog makes me want to try to bake something. I don't think I've ever wanted to try and bake something before.
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