Gingerbread Waffles: They worked too well for a recipe that went wrong

This is the story of a bad Pennsylvanian purchase briefly visited the house and a recipe that almost worked.

Gingerbread Waffle Cookies 3 eggs 1¾ to 2 cups flour* ¼ cup brown sugar ½ cup sugar ½ cup butter, melted 2 tsp baking powder ⅛ cup (2 tbsp) molasses ½ teaspoon ginger ½ teaspoon cinnamon ½ teaspoon ground cloves Mix eggs and sugar (both the white and brown) together, add the spices and molasses and mix well. Add the melted butter, mix, then add the baking powder. Add the flour to the desired consistency, mix well. Drop by spoonfuls onto a greased waffle iron (brush it with melted shortening-- it works so much better than cooking spray). Use a knife to push the batter off the spoon.  Take care not to overcook. (Molasses scorches when other things just get "extra golden.") The flavor is much better if they are baked and allowed to sit overnight in an airtight container. Note: This was originally meant for cooking on a pizzelle iron. In my kitchen, they got hopelessly stuck. But they are really good on a normal waffle iron. *Amount of flour added depends on the desired batter consistency. Guy Caley; Fort Leonard, Missouri; via Fante's Kitchen

As much as I like our first pizzelle iron from the Keystone State, its design looks better in the metal than on any pizzelles it makes. People keep thinking they're plain waffles unless I tell them to look for the stars.

So, I got a new one with a design that you can't possibly miss! One of my friends said it looks like crop circles.

Isn't it beautiful and shiny on its new stove? It was as bright as I felt for using it.

The iron smelled like popcorn as it heated up, suggesting that it has many happy uses in its past. I took this as a favorable sign for our future together.

And now came the momentous choice: what would be the this iron's first recipe? What will set the tone for our entire relationship? I went to Fante's website and decided to go for gingerbread. I know that new recipes are always a gamble, but gingerbread sounded delicious and Fante's pizzelle page is a (very!) trusted source.

The batter was seriously divine. The recipe had promised gingerbread in the title, and it tasted like a promise fulfilled.

And now, with everything going so well, it was time for the batter to hit the iron!

When I opened it, I loved seeing that pretty design represented in batter. But do you see that smear of stuck-on pizzelle in the center of the bare metal above it? Well, that foreshadowed what happened when I tried to detach our first gingerbread.

I optimistically told myself that the first one is always for the fairies. Maybe the iron needed to warm up after several years in a box. 

So, I tried again, hoping that the next one would freely fall out of the iron and pull out the half-burnt crumbs as it went. Two Hail Marys later (I'm told you're supposed to cook these while saying one Hail Mary per side), we opened the iron to an identical mess.

I hated how good our fragments of failure tasted. They were like crisp gingersnaps with pretty designs on them. I could tell they would be fantastic if they would only come off the iron in one piece.

At this point, I thought that maybe cooking spray would succeed where shortening had failed. After all, if the right way doesn't work, sometimes you try doing it wrong. The cooking spray did not help and also made the stuck-on mess weirdly foamy.

 

It occurred to me that perhaps this recipe (and the chocolate pizzelles) didn't really come about until teflon-coated irons were a thing. I'm not going to buy one, but I might borrow one sometime. For now, however, I gave up on gingerbread pizzelles.

As a brief aside which I have made before, I don't claim stovetop waffles are better. But I have to admit they have one advantage: you can put the iron right under the kitchen faucet when things get stuck. I know you're not supposed to, the instructions always say not to, but it's nice to have the option. 

Now, I already intended to try this batter in a normal waffle iron just so I could share whether that works. (I like making good recipes accessible without going to a specialty shop.) I had imagined I would be doing that with the last dollop of batter or so. But instead, I got out a normal waffle iron with most of the batter still in the bowl and...

The waffles fell right out as soon as I flipped the iron upside-down. Sure, I burned the first ones a little. But the point is they didn't even try to stick. I think this batter just doesn't like being squeezed and pressed flat.  

I didn't even have to wipe any batter residue off the iron before putting it away-- they fell out so cleanly. As we have learned, you can't put any waffle recipe onto a pizzelle iron. Some of them turn into horrible stuck-on messes, even if they would have been just fine in a normal waffle maker.

These were better gingerbread waffles than Mrs. Mary Martensen's-- and hers were actually supposed to go on a normal waffle iron. So if you want to add some novelty to your holiday desserts, this could be a really good choice.

Because I really wanted to get pizzelles out of a pizzelle recipe, I thought that perhaps they need a shallower iron. Maybe all those deep notches and grooves are too much for them-- kind of like how some cutout cookies are fine for those octopus cookie cutters with complex flailing tentacles, but others need an easy, plain circle. And as it happens, I had a few spoonfuls of gingerbread left and a shallow-grooved iron at hand!

Well that was pointless.

 

We only got three intact(ish) waffles out of this thing and a lot garbage can fodder. Then I thought "This is not worth the cleanup." I didn't even want to put the rest of the batter into a normal iron. With the calm detachment that comes from throwing out an endeavor, I calmly turned off the burner, slowly closed the iron, and cleared the counters.

I  tried one, and... well, they were like krumkakes that didn't quite make it. They were hard without being crisp, and bland in a way that suggested they tried and failed to do better. So if you like the idea of gingerbread pizzelles, I have two suggestions. You can make krumkakes (recipe here) and add lots of extra spices. Or, you can let the pizzelle iron rest and make gingersnaps instead. This recipe just does not work.

 But the batter wasn't a complete waste. For one thing, we got some tasty gingerbread waffles out of it. Also, you know how I said that every recipe teaches you something new? Well, this one taught me a new way to coax stubbornly hardened batter out of a wafer iron: put a wet paper towel in there after it has cooled, then wait about 20 minutes before brushing it out. Unlike putting the iron directly under the faucet, I don't have to worry about water getting into the hinges and rusting them from within, and I can safely clean the electric iron this way.

Before I could consider this matter finished, I had to know if the gingerbread or the iron was failing me. So, I made honey-nutmeg pizzelles. The recipe has worked every time, and the directions are simply "stir everything together and cook."

I opened the iron on our first attempt and it was just as stuck as the molasses ones. I decided it was time to coax myself into accepting that I had bought a dud. 

Nothing is as joyful as gouging a burnt-in mess with a wooden skewer while your hands get seared.

Then it occurred to me-- why not splat the batter onto the other side of it? Maybe the waffle-y side needs to lay flat so the shortening can really get into all those grooves and stars. I notice the flower-y side of this is cut a lot shallower, which might mean the grease can drip into it more easily.

I think I was right because the next one fell right out. Maybe this iron originally came with an instruction sheet that would have said so. At this point, the new iron and I seemed to reach a temporary truce. The rest of the pizzelles fluttered out of it as soon as I held it upside down.

And every single one of them slipped right out. And as a happy bonus, I found that the waffle grids on this hold a lot of filling if I ever want to make sandwich pizzelles.

My orange curd recipe is to buy it on sale.

Nothing oozed out, not even when you bit into it. I thought about making stroopwaffels on this thing.

But I couldn't help noticing that the pizzelles from this iron seemed heftier-- and not in a good way. Just to see if I was imagining things, I made another batch non-gingerbread batter and cooked half on the Ohio iron (the one that's just like my ex's grandmother's) and half on our exciting new Pennsylvania one (the one that looks like we have moved on).

Breaking one of each in half confirmed what I suspected.

Obviously, I am too ignorant to dissertate about how other people should make their pizzelles. I didn't grow up with Italian aunts making them every holiday; I just found recipes online. But I've made enough to know how I like them, and I have to reluctantly admit that Ohio makes a better pizzelle iron.* Look at how translucent these are:

And so, because our Pennsylvanian visitor was not returnable, I let it take flight from the house and find someone new. But we did get a new gingerbread waffle recipe, even if it wasn't meant to be. 

 

 

 

_________________________
*If you wonder why I would have problems with Ohio and the cookware made in that state, it's for (admittedly shallow) personal reasons. For those who missed it, I got into making pizzelles after a bad breakup with someone whose family is from Ohio, which has left me salty about the entire state. ↪

Sausage Cobbler: or, Delicious meat and bread

We in Texas are entering our annual second spring. Every year, as the summer heatwaves finally give up and the first rains come in, all of the plants wake up. All of the crispy and dead lawns start to look lovingly manicured and lavishly watered. We've even had wild sunflowers pop up in the yard. (They forgot that their seeds theoretically don't sprout until they've been frozen for a whole winter.) And now that the night temperature has dipped below 60° (or below 15° if you prefer Celsius), we can turn on the oven.

Sausage Cobbler Heat oven to 425° (gas mark 7, or 220°C). Grease a 9" round cake pan. If desired, press a circle of parchment paper into the bottom. Mix together: 1 cup (or 4 oz by weight) self-raising flour (to substitute all-purpose flour, see below) ¼ tsp salt Dash of pepper Rub in: 1 tbsp butter, shortening, or any other fat Gradually mix in until you have a soft dough that leaves the bowl clean: About ¼ cup milk (You may not use all of it. Or, you may need a bit more. Just gradually add enough milk to make a dough that is soft and easy to work in your hands.) Knead 12 times, or until mostly smooth. Roll into a circle slightly larger than the pan. Set aside. Next, mix together: 1 pound sausage meat 1 tbsp chopped parsley (I used dried parsley) 2 tbsp ketchup* 2 tsp minced onion† Press the meat into the prepared pan. Lay the dough on top. Bake 10-15 minutes, or until lightly golden on top. If you want to be very sure the meat is cooked, insert a meat thermometer and check that it has reached 165° (74°C). Let rest about 5 minutes. Then invert onto a plate. Cut into wedges and serve hot. ______________ To substitute plain all-purpose flour: Using a measuring cup: Put 1½ teaspoons of baking powder and ½ teaspoon salt in a measuring cup, then spoon in flour until it comes up to one cup. Using a scale: Tare it out, add 1½ teaspoons baking powder and ½ teaspoon salt, then add flour until it all adds up to 4 ounces. *Or tomato sauce, as I gather they call it in Australia. †Just cut the tip off an onion and mince it. Then put the rest of the onion in the refrigerator for another recipe. Mrs. C. Barsley, 5 Keith-street, Maryborough, Queensland; "Kitchencraft: Readers' Recipes;" The Australian Woman's Mirror; 28 August 1946; page 38

I don't trust ground beef ever since the dodgy imports. Even the more tactfully restrained news sites have admitted "We don't know where the tariff-free meat, which the White House has said will be sold at a 25% discount from the going import price, is coming from."

Ground pork has remained relatively cheap, even if we have to hang a lot on the word "relatively." Nevertheless, a porky meatball-mushroom pie isn't the same. Really, any time you swap ground pork (or turkey, or anything else) into a recipe that started with beef, it comes out a little "less-than."

This brings us to today's recipe. The magazine framed it in its own box on the page to mark it as extra special, and also gave it the biggest cash prize of the week.

"Kitchencraft: Readers' Recipes," The Australian Woman's Mirror, 28 August 1946

I didn't like the idea of making a cobbler with greasy sausage meat. Also, the last time I bought bulk sausage, it tasted like bland saltiness. But as I was looking up cookie recipes, I happened to glance just a little bit further down the page from the Neapolitan fritters (French toast by another name) and see this: 

"The Table;" supplement to the Gympie Times; Queensland, Australia; 3 December 1898; page 4

I realize that adding seasonings to pork meat does not a sausage make, but I thought this recipe wouldn't mind.

Because this culinary jaunt to Australia now involves spices that I tell myself I'll use more often and never do, I waited until I was at my parents' and therefore within an errand's distance of the upscale grocery store with the self-service spice section. That way, I only paid about seven cents for each tiny bag and avoided future spice cabinet shelf-sitters. Unfortunately, I walked past the clearance Halloween candy corn on my way to the spices. Then, I had to buy salted peanuts to go with it. I told myself that I would get nothing else, a resolve that lasted until I saw the figs and thought of revisiting the easy fig pudding. This also necessitated lemons. 

I only meant to get that 7¢ bag in the front.

Had I remembered to bring the recipe with me (or at least write out the ingredients), this could have been the end of my poor financial choices. But we were missing a few things. 

The next day, I strengthened myself against impulsive money leaks before I started the car. Upon arrival, I chanted "I Don't Need That!" while passing all that beguiled. Here's how that went:

Note the presence of lavender flowers, which are not involved in this or any forthcoming recipes. But they're lovely in tea.

I can't decide if I saved money or not. On one hand, seven or eight spice shakers would probably have cost the same. On the other hand, I made that money buy a lot of other things instead of slowly mummifying on the back of the shelf. On the other other hand, I needed none of it.

Before we leave the fancy store for good, I have to note that they sold those little paper booties that used to be so popular for ribs and other cuts of meat that have those unsightly protruding bones.

Should I get the rest of the makings of this mostly-meat craft project?

Moving on from shopping, the recipe calls for self-raising flour. I don't use it enough to justify buying it, but my mother apparently does. Naturally, I had to check that it still worked, so I made an Irish cream cake. (The recipe is simple: take any cake recipe and use Irish cream instead of whatever liquid is on the ingredient list.)

It turns out that self-raising flour kicks up a lot more dust than does all-purpose. And it is much finer, almost like a fairy-cloud that leaves you wiping everything within three feet including the floor. Well, I didn't know I needed something to clean while the baking time elapsed, but I got it anyway.

Based on this cake, I'm going to guess that our flour can still raise itself. Also, life is uncertain, so make dessert first.

After two shopping trips and a flour-testing cake, we still were not prepared for what should be a quick home recipe. The directions call for a "sandwich tin," and I had no idea what that meant. Was I supposed to cook this in a little metal box meant for carrying sandwiches? (I know nothing about the history of lunchboxes or the packing of. For all I know, people used little metal sandwich tins before we had plastic bags.)

I nearly sent out more trans-hemispheric emails to various public libraries in Australia, but then I remembered the helpful suggestion I got last time: try looking it up for myself. In the same magazine that gave us the cobbler, I found multiple recipes that called for "a shallow pie-dish or sandwich-tin." And that is how I learned that people in other parts of the English-speaking world call them "sandwich cakes."

At last, having bought unnecessary candy, made a cake, and learned a bit of international semantics, we were ready for sausage cobbler. The recipe begins with what I think is a scone dough. It came out very nicely, don't you think?

I was going to say that we're testing the sausage seasoning as well as the cobbler, but the recipe has us mix our sausage with a lot of other goodies. You'll note that the sausage seasoning (that brown heap) looks small next to everything else. So I can't say how well our sausage seasoning tastes on its own, but it did smell like sausage.

Incidentally, we have already learned that "tomato sauce" is merely trans-equatorial ketchup. I nearly omitted it, but then I figured that Mrs. C. Barsley got a cash prize for this recipe as written-- even if I felt like a child squirting ketchup onto tater tots. I don't know whether my imagination was caught in ketchup regret, but I thought the kitchen smelled horribly of hot tomato sauce as this baked and feared having turned a pound of pork into sweetened mystery meat.

But that's getting ahead of ourselves. As I pressed the sausage into the pan, I was surprised at how well it resembled the "meat with mysterious green flecks you hope are herbs" that you can get from the questionable-yet-cheap part of the frozen aisle. If I didn't make proper sausage, it looked like it anyway. 

For those of you trying this at home, I found it easiest to drop meatball-sized pieces of meat all over the pan and then pat them together.

The scone dough (again, I'm not quite sure if it's actually scone dough but I need to call it something) draped onto the meat with beautiful ease. I would have given Mrs. C. Barsley the prize just for how satisfying it was. We may have uneven coverage, but that's because I am not my great-grandmother who could roll tortillas into perfect circles.

We are directed to bake this for 10 to 15 minutes, which seemed inadequate for a cake pan of raw meat. However, the frozen fish sticks currently waiting for another night also tell us to bake for 10-15 minutes. So I trusted Mrs. C. Barsley enough to set a short timer, but I also got out a meat thermometer. The cobbler was done right on schedule.

I had put a paper circle in the bottom of the pan as anti-stick insurance. It shrivelled as it got wet from cooking, leaving the top of our cobbler with a perfect tally of every wrinkle.

 

Our prize-winning masterpiece splashed juice all over the countertop as I flipped it over, so you might want to do that before you bring it to the table.

Mrs. C. Barsley's recipe gave us a big sausage patty with a lot of bread on top (or underneath since you flip it over). You can lift the bread away and the meat won't try to come with it. But I didn't mind that very much. After all, you can also lift the top crust right off of a meatball-mushroom pie. Also and more importantly, our sausage cobbler tasted too good to care.

This was far better than it should have been. It's like one of those sausage biscuits, but it doesn't taste like mass production. Even the ketchup worked in this. And the bread layer was pillowy-soft. I know that's a cliched description, but the word "pillowy" popped into my mind as soon as I tasted it. Mrs. C Barsley earned all ten of the shillings that the magazine awarded for the recipe.

Because of this recipe's home country and continent, we're going to close with cute Australian animals:

Second-Stab Saturday: Candy corn and peanuts with chocolate chips!

Happy Saturday, everyone!

Candy Corn, Chocolate Chips, and Salted Peanuts You don't need me to write out the recipe for this one. Use semisweet chocolate instead of milk chocolate-- the candy corn is plenty sweet enough.

As I was praising the magic of candy corn and salted peanuts, Lace Maker suggested in the comments that we add chocolate chips. As it happens, I have a secret stash of them for cookie emergencies.

Obviously, the flavors all go together really well. Imagine a Reese's cup made with chunky peanut butter and with frosting on top. Except it also has all the exquisitely mixed textures of a candy bar. Happy post-Halloween, everyone!

Lemon Squares with Expressive Food Coloring!

Now that the weather has (barely) chilled enough to bake, we have been!

Lemon Squares      Crust: 2 cups flour ⅔ cup powdered sugar 1 cup butter, softened Heat oven to 350°. Grease a 9"x13" pan.* (We recommend lining the pan with parchment paper or foil first.) Mix butter, flour, and sugar together until crumbly. Press into the pan and bake until light brown, about 18-20 minutes. Make the filling while the crust bakes.      Filling: 4 eggs 2 cups sugar ¼ cup flour ½ tsp baking powder ⅓ cup fresh-squeezed lemon juice Grated rind of the lemons you juiced 2 tbsp powdered sugar Mix all dry ingredients except powdered sugar. Whisk in the eggs and beat well. Then stir in the lemon juice and rind. Pour over the hot crust and bake until set, about 20 minutes. When cooled, sprinkle with powdered sugar. You can make the powdered sugar look much nicer if you sprinkle it through a sifter. *The original recipe claims you can do this in an ungreased pan, but I have always had rotten luck with that. Note: If halving this recipe, use an 8" square pan or a 9" round. Source: Harris-Teeter powdered sugar label

Summer is finally coming to an end, even in Texas. Temperatures are dropping, and people's yard decorations are changing. We are seeing the first warning signs of Christmas on some houses, while other people still have their light-up inflatable zombies and artificial spiderwebs out. 

With the recent chills, the house has been warmer than the outdoors on a few recent nights (with the heater still off of course). But even though it's still a bit stuffy indoors, I could wait no longer. It's time to take the oven out of rest.

The chilly weather means we can now enjoy the flavors of summer. Isn't the idea of summer better without the sweltering reality? So, a lot of people have been getting lemon squares. Because I wanted everyone to know they came from me, I couldn't resist dyeing them. If I wanted to excuse myself for turquoise dye, the lemon squares were a rather insipid shade of yellow on their own.

I should not have made a pink crust underneath my 1990s-colored lemon filling. Pink and turquoise go together well, but not when the colors bleed together in the middle. You can see what they should have been, and also what they were not. So, these only went to good friends who know me well enough.

If you didn't know this was lemon, what flavor do you think it should be?

Everyone else got the pink squares. Those were still festively tinted, but they look normal enough for people who only know my public face.

Also, you should definitely juice your own lemons into this recipe and also grate in the rind. It makes them so much better. 

Happy Halloween from A Book of Cookrye!

Happy Halloween, everyone! I hope we all stocked up on raisin boxes and toothpaste samples! 

This is a lovely time of the year to eat seasonally. And since this is America, our seasonal foods come from a factory and are 90% corn syrup.

I know that not everyone believes me on candy corn and salted peanuts, and I won't attempt to convert any doubters. But would you reconsider if we add some garnish?

Candy corn seems to be very popular in my little corner of America. All of the supermarkets in town sold out only a few days after it appeared, making me curse myself for waiting for it to go on sale. But I found one last bag of it on the back of a shelf, hiding in the shadows from all but the desperate.  

I don't know why candy corn and salted peanuts go together so well, but they do. Candy corn on its own is rather bland, and salted peanuts are.... well, they're there. But when you put them together, it's like that magical moment when someone combined peanut butter and jelly.

We're going to close with a special Halloween recipe!  

Directions for Cookery in its Various Branches, Miss Leslie, 1837

For someone who lived her entire life in fine city houses and hotels, Miss Leslie had some seriously bucolic bluntness.

Aniseed Pizzelles: or, Anticlimactic authenticity

Today, we're going really Italian with our pizzelles! (I think.)

Fante's Special Pizzelle Recipe 3 eggs 6 oz (¾ cups) sugar 5 oz (1 cup plus 2 tbsp) melted shortening 1½ tsp anise seeds* 1½ tsp vanilla Juice and grated rind of ¼ orange or lemon 11 oz (2 cups) flour Beat eggs and sugar until they become light and foamy. Add the melted shortening, a little at a time. Add the anise seeds, vanilla, grated rinds and juices. Gradually add the flour until a light dough is formed; light enough to drop onto the iron with a spoon. You may have a little bit of flour left over. Drop spoonfuls onto the center of a hot pizzelle iron. Use a knife to push the dough off of the spoon. Cook until golden, following to the manufacturer's directions. *Use ground anise seeds, anise extract, or anise oil if desired. Note: This may be totally inauthentic, but our favorite way to flavor these is to add a near-excessive amount of cinnamon. Source: Fante's Kitchen

We make Fante's pizzelle recipe a lot, but today we are adding these!

You're looking at whole anise seeds, which have been soaking all night in the egg to draw out their flavor. They look like tiny bugs, don't they?

Fante's original recipe calls a generous spill of them, which has made me want to try this for a while. They write on their website: "Not everyone can deal with the anise seed getting between their teeth. For you, we recommend pulverizing the seeds in your food processor, electric mincer or mortar and pestle. Or you can use the oil or extract for the traditional licorice flavoring of this cookie."

I would have made these far earlier, but I didn't want a barely-used shaker of anise seeds slowly mummifying for years after a single batch of pizzelles. I've said this often, but I don't like investing in canisters of spices that will slowly turn to dust. So, when I was in the store with the self-service spice section, I got a tiny bag of them for 82 cents.

The seeds and the bits of orange rind made our batter look unexpectedly like it should become a pound cake.

You can see the little toasted seeds in the pizzelles. I thought they looked really cute. 

I tried one and was glad I only spent 82 cents on anise seeds. This wasn't bad but pointless. All of the anise flavor got toasted out. I may as well have used poppyseeds instead (which, come to think of it...). At first I thought the anise flavor might come back after letting the pizzelles wait overnight, like gingerbread. But a day in an airtight plastic bag did nothing. So unless you like little crunchy bits in your pizzelles, I wouldn't bother buying anise seeds.

They were still really good pizzelles, though.