Fruit and Nut Granola Bars with Cacao and Sea Salt: Achieving Homeostasis

I recently had my yearly physical. My lipid profile aligned me with the Ikarians.  However, I also had a walnut-sized lump in my left breast that dictated a mammogram.  I am not sure why so many women complain about them.  

Having your breasts smashed between two synthetic plates is nothing compared to having them biopsied, penetrated with a needle and then fished around in, like you were searching for car keys in an oversized purse.

Except instead of gathering keys, tissue samples are collected and sent to the lab for testing.  

Then a tiny piece of titanium in the shape of a microscopic pigtail is inserted into your breast to tag the lump, and to be with you forevermore. Your boob is bruised.  Then you wait to hear if you have cancer. 

No one talks about this.  Most stop after the electromagnetic radiation.

In an attempt to explain homeostasis, I remember my sixth grade science teacher said a system will desperately try to maintain stability, no matter the cost.  It knows no other path.  If you stop and think, it’s quite incredible—whether a human body, the plant earth, or a broken hollandaise—forces react involuntarily to protect against stimuli that threaten to disturb the balance.

The system doesn’t always succeed.  But the internal fight is there.  So while I await biopsy results, I choose to distract myself by mashing some fruit and oats into squares, operating within the bounds of snack homeostasis. 

The coordinated alliance of figs, cherries, pecans, seeds, and grain melds with maple and honey.  

Meanwhile, the added stick of butter threatens to make granola bars about as non-righteous as they can get; yet, also ensures equilibrium among the other ingredients.  It is browned until it becomes nutty and additionally harmonious.

I was worried the cacao would muck up the fruit and oat flavor.  That the nibs would become overpowering, an indolent shroud for the more virtuous bits.  But everything binds into something reminiscent of a seven-layer bar, with the malleable properties of a product put forth by the Quaker Oats man.

The result is glorious.

We tend to walk through life thinking in concrete terms.  Things are either healthy, or not.  Good or bad.  Yet, we are often standing on tectonic plates.

The best we can do is be open, and malleable, and have faith in the forces that bring us back to homeostasis. And in those that bring us granola bars.

Fruit and Nut Granola Bars with Cacao and Sea Salt

Inspired by Nigel Slater from Ripe: A Cook in the Orchard

Ingredients:

• 110 grams (1 stick) salted butter (includes butter to grease the pan)
• 70 grams (about ½ cup) dried whole figs
• 60 grams (about ½ cup) pecan halves
• 40 grams (about ¼ cup) dried sour cherries
• 30 grams (about ¼ cup) sunflower seeds
• 180 grams (about 1¼ cups) rolled oats
• 20 grams (about ¼ cup) shredded unsweetened coconut
• 35 grams (about ⅓ cup) almond meal
• 50 milliliters (about 3½ tbsp) honey
• 50 milliliters (about 3½ tbsp) maple syrup (grade B preferable)            
• 90 grams (about a scant ½ cup) superfine sugar (see note)
• 15 grams (about 2 tbsp) cacao nibs (not chocolate covered)
• heaping ⅛ tsp fleur de sel or other finishing sea salt

Instructions:

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees.  Butter a 9-inch square pan (I used a 11 x 7).  Remove the fig stems and quarter the figs.  In a food processor, finely chop the figs, pecans, cherries, and sunflower seeds until they hold together when pressed. (This can also be done by hand; the finer you chop the ingredients the better the bars will hold together.)  Place in a large bowl and mix in the oats, coconut, and almond meal.

In a large saucepan, melt the remaining butter on medium heat until it turns a deep golden brown and starts to give off nutty aromas; stir in the honey, syrup, and superfine sugar.  When the mixture comes to a rolling boil, add in the dry ingredients and mix thoroughly; stir in the cacao nibs.

Tip the mixture into the prepared pan and press it down firmly.  Scatter the salt evenly on top.  

Bake for 20 to 30 minutes.  As it cooks, the edges should start to slightly puff up.  It is done when the rim is golden and the middle puffs up to meet the edges.  As the mixture cools, press it down again. When the mixture is still warm, but cool enough to easily handle, cut into 12 bars.

Let cool completely and then store in an airtight container for 5 days (or freeze).

Makes 12 bars

Notes:

1. If you can’t find unsweetened coconut, you can use 200 grams (about 1⅓ cups) oats instead.
2. If you don’t have superfine sugar, whirl regular granulated sugar in a food processor.  It’ll take about ¾ cup to make the amount of superfine sugar that you’ll need for this recipe (you may have just a little bit extra).
3. If you use a 11 x 7 pan it may need a little more time to bake (closer to 30 minutes), whereas a 9-inch square pan will require a little less time.
    

Buttermilk Buckwheat Beet Crepes: A Brief Tutorial

Here is what I know about about crepe making.  Do not attempt them under the following circumstances:

If you do not have a sturdy sauté pan.  (It does not have to be non-stick, but you cannot be evangelically opposed to butter.)

If you have had more than two cocktails.

If you have had any cocktail named as follows: the Boilermaker (postmodern hipster version: Dad’s Manhattan and a Rolling Rock); Wrath; Sheena Easton; anything that comes in a Scorpion Bowl.

If you are down to a single pair of knee-high orange stripped socks and are procrastinating the laundry.

If you have said, “I don’t know why I’m crying,” in the past twenty-four hours.

If you are ovulating.

If you are someone who angers easily about ovulation jokes.

If you are over thirty and have recently been asked why you aren’t married.  Give yourself two points if it was a relative.

If you have just listened to Seger’s “Turn the Page,” as covered by Metallica.

The point is crepes require your full attention.  Distractions will only complicate matters.  You must have your mental prowess. You must not be easily shaken by emotional shrapnel, housekeeping interference, or more than two fingers of whiskey.  For at least a good 30 minutes.

I know this because the day I finally nailed this recipe, I was as calm as the ocean is blue.  It took a few attempts to work out the kinks.  But it certainly didn’t help that prior efforts were on less than six hours of sleep, with laundry piling, and a plague of circling fruit flies with aspirations of biblical proportions.

Crepes can sense these sorts of things.  I swear they collapse on purpose.

But they are worth making.  For one, the recipe is vetted.  It involved a weird two weeks during which I ate beets daily.  We won’t talk about the aftereffects.  The dedication was apparent.

But these are simply beautiful.  They are fuchsia-colored with black buckwheat specks.  They don’t taste particularly beet-y, but they have a slight lingering earthiness and resilient chew. The buttermilk lends its tang and all of this taken together nearly threatens sensory overload, until you remember that you are eating a crepe.

Never mind the pink. Actually, totally mind the pink.  The pink is the point. Never mind everything else.

Buttermilk Buckwheat Beet Crepes

Ingredients:

• 1 medium-large beet (about 3-inches), cooked and peeled
• 1 cup buttermilk (have extra around if your batter needs a little thinning, see below)
• 1/3 cup buckwheat flour, sifted
• 2/3 cup all-purpose flour, sifted
• 2 tsp sugar
• 4 eggs
• 2 tbsp butter, melted and slightly cooled, plus more for greasing the pan
• scant ½ tsp kosher salt

Instructions:

Puree the beet in food processor, thinning it out with a little water (about ¼ cup) until the mixture starts to loosen slightly.  Using a wire mesh strainer, separate out the pulp; reserve the solids for another use.  You should get about 1/3 cup of liquid.  Pour the beet juice into a measuring cup.  If it’s just a little shy of 1/3 cup, simply add a bit more buttermilk than called for: you’ll need 1-1/3 cups total liquid between the juice and the buttermilk.

In a medium bowl, combine the liquid with the flours, sugar, eggs, melted butter, and salt; whisk together. Let the batter sit for an hour (this is important).

When you are ready to prepare the crepes, heat a 9-inch sauté pan on medium-high heat. Butter the pan, discarding any pooling fat.  Pick the pan up and pour 1/3 cup of crepe batter in the center of the pan and quickly swirl it with your wrist to evenly distribute the batter.  This will probably take a few crepes to get the hang of it. 

The crepe will cook for about 30 to 60 seconds (until it starts to look dry to the touch on the top side).  Using a rubber spatula, gently flip the crepe and cook for another 15 to 30 seconds.

Re-butter the pan, as needed (I did about every other crepe, wiping out the excess butter).

Repeat until the batter is gone. 

Makes about 10 crepes

Notes:

1. Buttermilk provides a nice tang but it is a bit tricky to work with because brands have varying consistencies and some can make the batter a little thick.  If you want to avoid this altogether, just use milk. Ultimately, your crepe batter should be the texture of cream.  (I’ve thinned it out with a little water in a pinch, but it should also settle as it sits.)  Which reminds me: don’t neglect letting the batter sit, the crepes are easier to handle and hold together much better after resting. And hang tight, the first few crepes are typically troublemakers. 
2. The crepes will last about four days in the fridge.  Or you can freeze them between pieces of parchment or wax paper for longer.
3. To cook beets, I roast them in foil with some olive oil and salt at 425 degrees until they’re knife-tender.
    

Rye Cacao Nib Shortbreads (Plus, Don’t Be a Kimono-Wearing Earthworm)

In the “How Not to be an Earthworm” chapter of M.F.K. Fisher’s 1942 book, How to Cook a Wolf, she notes,  “A useful thing to have on your shelf is a supply of gingersnaps or vanilla wafers.”
Fisher was advising on the economical gastronomy of blackout rooms and emergency rations. 

But this struck a cord. The delicate nature of a thin, crisp cookie awards certain pleasures during most un-delicate situations. 

Useful advice.  I have been experiencing some residual effects of a very unromantic breakup and lease break.  Personal unpleasantries. To be clear, nowhere near wartime.  But psychological shrapnel nonetheless. 

I tend to recognize a hovering emotional raincloud when I start reflexive leisurewear shopping.  I am drawn to glorified robes and wide legged pants.  Garments that I will probably try to pass off as “bohemian” on the street.

And so I found solace in Fisher’s plucky chapter on how to make the best of times in the worst of times.  I minded her warning against becoming a metaphorical earthworm.  Took note of her practical cookie employment.  And decided to dial down on the kimonos. 

Thus the protection today comes in the form of a steady supply of wispy shortbreads.  Of which I suggest a healthy therapeutic dose. 

The rounds are fairly mildly flavored, despite any preconceptions about rye.  It brings similar characteristics that whole wheat would, but I’d argue rye is slightly sturdier.  Pleasantly rustic.  

And a fine partner for the cacao nibs, which have lingering whispers of coffee.  All of this is bound by butter and turns toffee-like after a few days.

My advice is to squirrel some away in your freezer.  They get better with age.  I also suggest you listen to Fisher with whatever battles you’re facing.  Cookies or no cookies.  She closes out her chapter by saying:

“Use as many fresh things as you can, always, and then trust to luck and your blackout cupboard and what you have decided, inside yourself, about the dignity of man.”

Rye Cacao Nib Shortbreads

Adapted from Orangette and Alice Medrich

Ingredients:

• 1 cup rye flour
• 1 cup all-purpose (or 1 scant cup whole wheat pastry flour)-see note
• 1 tsp cinnamon
• 1¾ sticks (14 tbsp) unsalted butter, softened
• ½ cup sugar
• ¼ tsp salt
• 1 tsp vanilla
• 1/3 cup chocolate covered cacao nibs

Instructions:

Sift the two flours and the cinnamon over a medium bowl.  In the bowl of a kitchen stand mixer, beat the butter, sugar, salt, and vanilla until smooth and creamy (but not overly fluffy), about 1 minute.  Scrape down the sides with a spatula and then mix in the cacao nibs.

With the mixer on low, add in the flour and then stir with the spatula until just incorporated.  

Place the mound of dough onto plastic wrap and shape into a 12 x 2-inch log.  Wrap up the log and smooth out any uneven areas so it is fairly uniform in size. Refrigerate 2 hours or overnight.

Set the oven to 350 degrees and line 2 cookie sheets with parchment paper.  Using a sharp knife, cut the cold dough into ¼-inch slices and place about 1½ inches apart.  (You should be able to fit 12 to 15 per sheet.)

Bake 12 to 14 minutes, or until the cookies turn light golden brown at their edges.  (Rotate the pans half away through the cooking.) Leave them to cool for a minute or two and then place them on a wire rack to fully cool.  Repeat with remaining dough.

Makes about 40 cookies

Notes:

1. These get better the longer they sit.  And I’ve found they turn nutty after about a week. (They last brilliantly in the freezer; Molly also mentions they’ll store at room temperature for up to a month, if they actually last that long.)
2. I have made these with all-purpose and whole wheat pastry flour. Both with great results, though the whole grain lent a certain nutty edge.  It won’t be the end of the world if you use a full cup of the whole wheat pastry flour, but slightly less than that will make them less likely to crumble.