Cinnamon rolls, laser tag and beans

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We started this morning with a platter of homemade cinnamon rolls which is always a magnificent way to start anything. Especially once you slather them with cream cheese glaze.

Then to laser tag for several hours, a Mexican-Salvadoran taqueria and finally home to spend a lazy'ish afternoon.

Tonight for dinner? Chile verde and some incredible stewed beans. I bought a bag of dried cicerchia, fava chickpeas, at an Italian spot in Easton, MD, last summer, and today before we left for laser tag had the foresight to put them up to soak. I think I knew I would not make it to the market later, even though I really need to go.

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In any case, when I bought these, I loved both the look of them -like flat chickpea pebbles smoothed by years of waves washing over them- as well as the promise of cooking them slowly with lots of olive oil and herbs. Like a meatless cassoulet of sorts.

cicerchia (alimentipedia.it)

So this evening, I boiled them (with bay leaves, allspice berries and salt) until nearly tender and then drained them while my braiser of olive oil and lots of garlic heated gently on the stove. I poured the drained cicerchia and herbs into that warm oil, added more oil and some chicken broth, salt and pepper, a bit of fresh rosemary and sage and cooked it in a 350 oven for an hour or maybe more.

These were truly outstanding: creamy but not mushy, complexly flavored but subtly so, filling in a delightful, hearty way, and really just quite delicious.

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Aah...

What a lovely day! I was up with Ol last night, from about 3:30-4:30 because he was slightly feverish and thought he might "fro up." He didn't and we had such a sweet time together (including the marvelous recollection that I had frozen cinnamon rolls in the chest freezer in our garage; after tucking him in for the last time, I went and got those rolls and let them thaw on the counter from there on out). That said, I felt lucky my men let me then sleep in the basement until 9:30 when they brought me a latte with a heart-shaped frothed milk design and a plate of those cinnamon rolls, now warm and gooey and fragrant and fabulous.

The recipe for these  beauties is one of the treasures I've gotten from Molly Wizenberg. In fact, when I briefly met her last night, I mentioned how much my boys loved these and how they were our "special breakfast" tradition 90% of the time. Part of her inscription to me wishes for more cinnamon rolls in my future, and as such, this morning's three (and this evening's two) were even better than usual.

After feasting, we hung out and then realized that game 1 of Jack's double header was in the fairly immediate future. To the ballpark! It was a spectacular day, and the boys played winningly. Literally, they won both games. In the meantime, the moms lined up in folding chairs on the sidelines while the dads offered us gatorade or soda and we secretly (so as not to share) passed a tub of chocolate-caramel pretzels back and forth. I left after the first game, went to the market and then Delancey and I made a beeline for my birthday chaise. Incroyable!

I bathed my filthy darlings until the water ran gray and their arms gleamed clean once again, fed Jack forty dinners and T and I tucked them in. Then it was happily to the kitch together. He made a batch of my Super-Duper steak rub and prepped the filets while I made another batch of last night's cumin carrots and fennel with ricotta. He shucked corn, I cooked it. I set the table on the deck, he poured some good Zin. As the sun set and we supped, I felt deeply happy. Hope you all had a splendid day.

I love how olive oil pools in yogurt or, in this case, loose ricotta. Lovely isn't it.

Birthday cinnamon rolls in the making

Today was utterly rogue, y'all. I caught the boys up at 5:12am playing Legos, screeched that they must return to bed NOW, fed the insistent kitty, angrily shoved ear plugs into my ears and then SHIT, it was 7:40am. We'd all fallen back asleep and had to leave for school by 8:05. All was well but I think my honeys were tired this afternoon, and since I was still nauseous as get-out decided we should all take it easy. Once home, I sent Ol down to watch Word World -"MOM, I can spell TENT!!!!"- while I sat with J and did my "homework" as he did his. The hour was one of those glorious times in which I felt like a great mother, he felt like he got every ounce of support and help and teaching and guidance and jokey tough love he needed, and the work we both did was swell. I even convinced him about the value of supporting sentences rather than just one in a good answer. After he'd repacked his bag, I said he could grab his game pad and veg out on the couch so seriously that his brain fell limp and he thought his name was computer. This was a thrill.

Meanwhile, Oliver and I got to work on cinnamon roll dough for Tom's birthday breakfast tomorrow. Ol is such a boy after my own heart when it comes to things culinary. He poured flour, helped me knead, and tried to sneak-eat straight sugar. You should see that kid go to town licking beaters and scraping a bowl clean with a spatula; I never missed such an opportunity when I was a child, and he doesn't either.

We left the dough to rise, T came home and gave Ol a haircut, and I made a wonderful, simple dinner of spaghetti all'Amatriciana, a deliciously creamy sauce made of slowly cooked bacon (or, more traditionally guanciale though I used speck), tomatoes and pecorino. I opened my last quart of tomatoes I'd put up last summer -just a lonely pint remains- but happily so, knowing they'd made this sauce all the better. Perfetto!

And then back to the rolls. I used Nanny's rolling pin to shape the dough from this perfect mound into an enormous rectangle, rubbed it liberally with butter before sprinkling it liberally with brown sugar and cinnamon and finally rolled it tightly before slicing. This recipe is unbelievably delicious. Double it and you'll have a batch of precooked rolls for your freezer! You'll thank yourself later.

The next three months will constitute the one time of the year in which Tom's age suggests that we're only a year apart. He's younger. He likes to harass me about all the shenanigans he'll pull when I turn 40, but I just smile and think to myself, "Dumb idea smart man because as you turn 40 after me, I can get you double!" Tee-hee.