Do it yourself. No seriously, do it yourself. I don't wanna.

That's a bald-faced LIE! I DO wanna do it myself.

Brian and I have done-it-ourselves again. This time, it was Pho (which is pronounced 'fuh' or 'foo' or something else other than 'foh', which apparently sounds like the word for poop. Or something. Anyway. Oops!). Brian loves Pho. He loves the way it makes your eyes water and your nose run, and the fact that you have to work your way through all of that broth to get to the solid parts. Naturally, we had to try making it ourselves, which involved:

- 5 pounds of beef knuckle for the broth

- 3 pounds of additional beef

Thirty dollars worth of animal parts, in other words. Thank god it provided us with enough broth to make lots of Pho AND ALSO potentially drown a person in.

Throw in some star anise, cloves, charred onions and ginger (putting my burning-stuff-skills to good use) and you're just about there.

Pair it with a bottle of the world's finest home brew, and you have a night to remember.

Back on the scone train

It's been a while!

Nobody was eating any scones around here over the past two weeks. The first weekend, near the beginning of March, was way too busy. The second one, last weekend, was spent in Toronto, where we woke up to fresh blueberry muffins, fruit salad and coffee compliments of our B&B, and then Brian's great aunt and uncle.

The last time I sconed, it resulted in two batches: Pina Colada, and Peanut Butter and Bacon. Both were awesome, and within a few hours, thanks to some hungry musicians, this is what we were left with:

So, after a two week drought, I made a batch of rhubarb scones. I'd been under the false assumption that rhubarb was pretty much inedible unless it was mixed with strawberries, but I forgot to buy more strawberries after accidentally eating all of them in one of my sleep-eating episodes.

In light of this, I did what any reasonable person would do: I went to the cupboard and consulted Marie Nightingale's "Out of Nova Scotia Gardens" cookbook. Rhubarb is kind of a big deal back home, whether you're sneaking it out of someone's garden and eating it until your face feels like it's going to turn inside out, or tucking into a strawberry rhubarb crisp. I flipped through the rhubarb section (see? It's a big enough deal to have its own section), noted the ingredients it seemed to get friendly with, and came up with Rhubarb, Orange and Walnut Scones. They were dope.

Because I am an amazing lover, I did all of this with the end goal of bringing Brian breakfast in bed, as I usually do on Saturdays (aka Sconerdays). Because I am also crazy, I posed the food, ingredients, cookbook and coffee and took a picture for this blog. I made food porn. I'm sorry, and you're welcome.

Scone of the week: Apple and old cheddar with streusel topping

Behind the scenes, it ain't pretty. I make a big mess every time I bake. I always have to wash my clothes afterward, because I still can't control my habit of wiping everything on myself instead of, you know, a towel, or whatever adults do. But while I'm sharing, you should know that beneath all of those burnt blobs and blips of miscast streusel lies one of the best investments I have ever made: a Silpat. I've been known to create full-blown fires in our oven, so anything that cuts down on the likelihood of burning food gets my approval.

Anyway. Scones. These puppies are good. No, great. They are the best scones yet: they've got chunks of apple, hunks of sharp, old, white cheddar, a pinch of cinnamon and cloves, and crunchy, buttery, oaty streusel on top. I have, in effect, recreated apple pie with a slice of cheddar (a favourite pairing of my father's I used to find puzzling, if not revolting. Alas, just like his peanut butter and bacon sandwiches, I've come around to it and regretted wasting the first 20-odd years of my life not eating it.), only in scone form, so it's acceptable breakfast fare. Right? Right.

Scone of the (last) week: Honey Vanilla Almond

In January, I made a promise to myself and The Generalized Other that I would create a new, unique scone every weekend.

So far, I have kept that promise, with the exception of this Saturday, when I fulfilled another promise made to a Significant Other: that I would, when the time was right, attempt to bake cinnamon rolls.

This post isn't about them, unfortunately, because when I went to take a picture of the last one, it had 'mysteriously' disappeared. But they were pretty good, especially the second batch, which I made more carefully, with more flour on my hands, knowing and avoiding the mistakes I made with the first batch. Still though, even the duds, made duddish mostly by their gnarly, sloppy aesthetic, were pleasant, balanced, indulgent.

Enough about them. This post is about last week's scone: nicknamed 'The Nougat', it was my secret base recipe (to be revealed later, surely) with the addition of real vanilla, toasted sliced almonds, and honey (not enough of it).

They were only OK. They were not as good as previous scones, such as the apricot walnut beauties I debuted with, or the bacon, pecan and maple-glazed garlic heart-stoppers I tried two weeks ago. Next week's are sure to be a hit though, so stay tuned!

This is just to say

I have eaten the

marshmallows

that were in the cupboard

and which you were probably

saving

for baking

forgive me

they were delicious

so sweet

and so soft

- Adapted from William Carlos Williams's poem about plums.

I wouldn't steal someone's plums. I did, however, on a regular basis, eat the marshmallows my mom had intended for baking. I learned how to do this from my dad, marshmallow-consumer-extraordinaire. I thought a marshmallow couldn't get much better than the first one snuck from a freshly-opened bag, consumed in secret, standing up, leaning against the counter, but I was wrong.

I had my first small-batch marshmallow at the Gingerbread House Inn in Wolfville two Christmases ago. We bought a bag of them at Pete's Frootique, packed them down with us, and ate them, in our robes, with champagne and other vices. It was a good night.

I thought it couldn't get much better than that.

Wrong again.

I made my own last weekend, after months of intention to do precisely that. I can't say I'll never buy another mass-produced package again, but it's going to be a rare occasion. These were easy, fun to make, they offered plenty of bowl-scraping, 'necessary' taste testing along the way, and the phrase "I made marshmallows" is about as foreign and satisfying to say as "I touched a monkey" or "I shook hands with Liberace."

If you're interested in trying, you need only a candy thermometer, one or two weird ingredients (potato starch and gelatin), and this recipe. Note: I added vanilla bean to mine. It was a good idea.

Also, because I am too lazy to transfer anything over from my old, failed, cooking blog, you can check it out here for more recipes and rambling.