I knew exactly what I wanted to make this morning.  And then the dreaded moment of realization hit me and it was clear that I would have to alter my course.  I had forgotten a key ingredient and heading out the door on this rainy, lazy Sunday morning seemed cruel.  So, it was back to the drawing board and carefully inspecting recipes to ensure the requisite ingredients were indeed stashed happily in my cupboard.  Of course, I am working on my flexibility as a baker and cook.  Truth be told I have never been one to get mixed about in changing recipes.  No, I was a stick-to-the-book kind of cook.  And I’m not sure what has started to soften this engrained spirit but I have begun to substitute here and there, usually in attempts to make my baked goods a smidge healthy (I was going to say healthier, but let’s face it, are chocolate chip cookies healthy to begin with?).  I stocked up on a variety of flours a couple weeks ago, adding organic whole wheat pastry flour, brown rice flour, white whole-wheat flour, and corn flour to my shelves, along with sucanat, an alternative to certain refined sugars.

I have begun substituting white whole-wheat flour for all-purpose flour sometimes entirely, but sometimes using half and half.  And sucanat can do well to replace brown sugar in certain recipes I’ve found.  Back to this morning.  I was on the search for a breakfast baked good that wouldn’t require hours of my time and I was leaning towards muffins.  I had some blueberries in the freezer and a lemon on hand (well, it was actually for the original recipe I planned to make, but I can replenish my supply) and did a quick search for lemon blueberry muffins and quickly came across this one from Country Living magazine.  I was lacking a couple of things but was feeling confident in my flexibility and with a couple substitutions I ended up with a dozen tasty muffins (they’re still warm if anyone wants one!).

Lemon-Blueberry muffins
Adapted from Country Living

According to the calendar, February is the shortest month of the year.  However, I daresay that February never feels like the shortest month.  In fact, most years it seems as if February might never come to an end.  Valentine’s Day falls smack dab in the middle of the month but the days leading up to this Cupid calamity seem to pass rather slowly.  Although not nearly so slowly as the second half of February whose days pour forth like cold molasses.

This is not to say that I hate the month altogether, just that March is quite welcome when it finally arrives, usually in a flurry of snow.  You see, it’s not the weather which bothers me.  I happen to rejoice in winter and its bountiful gifts of snow and ice, but sometime in the deep, dark bowels of February I begin to long for progress.  I know that crocuses and daffodils will not be seen for many more weeks, but it is subtle change that I want.  Then, wham!  March invades, teaching us to be thankful for the extra daylight and beckoning us to greet the outdoors with renewed vigor, even if the first day of the new month bestows another foot of white powder; even if the plowman must come again, enlisting the help of his tractor to move the snowbanks that have fastened like cement.  Suddenly, amidst my dreams of a summer garden, I realize that my dreams need a plan, and soon.

Yesterday was a snowday, and I used the day as an opportunity to linger, soaking up winter’s best.  The woodstove burned all day, snow fell steadily, rising bread dough nestled by the fire, and scents of orange and almond wafted through the house.  I ate, baked, shoveled, and read the day away, capping it all off with a cup of hot tea and a crisp biscotti slice.  Days like these will be remembered fondly when heat and humidity have sapped my spirits come mid-August.  But for now, I simply want to enjoy what is here while preparing for the season that is to come.  Mud season, of course.

My body seems to have further betrayed me, leaving me able to speak only in uncomfortable squeaks and odd pitches. Laryngitis I suspect. Maybe the next couple days will demonstrate the virtue that monks find in taking vows of silence. Then again, talking is a hard habit to break and I still try to verbalize my thoughts, only to find once again that I sound like one of the Chipmunks with a bad cold. Yes, that bad. Just ask J.

I may not be able to talk, but I can still bake. We watched the whole BBC production of Pride and Prejudice last night, though I slept through much of it. And J enjoyed it even if his enthusiasm for Jane Austen is less than fervent. I think we finished the last tape (VHS!) near 2am. I awoke this morning with fits of coughing and restlessness and after adding a few logs to the hot coals in the stove, I set about finding a recipe for a breakfast baked good. Not willing to wait for anything requiring yeast, I first settled on biscuits and then opted for scones. I will admit they were not attractive — at any stage. I think the fog lodged in my head prevented the proper thought and care.

Nonetheless, the scones were fetched from the oven and though unshapely, we ate them eagerly with butter and lemon curd. And mugs of hot coffee. The coffee was a Finca Mauritania roast I ordered via this joy + ride, roasted by ed whitman (to learn more, read ed’s blog, Coffee is Food). It was a tasty and strong brew thanks to poor ratio calculations on my part. Again, I blame the brain fog.

I am feeling a bit stir crazy now, so I think J and I are going on a short jaunt to run some errands, including a bookstore visit, which is always welcome. And hopefully a winter walk to clear my mind. I hope your weekend is filled with slices of sound and silence.