This is what summer looks like

All right, so there have been a few months of radio silence. It's been a busy, busy push to the end of the school year.* But as of Friday, all my exams are graded, my grades and comments submitted, and loose ends neatly wrapped up (well, almost).

Over here in my apartment, it's summer.

J brought me sunflowers over the weekend to celebrate the end of the year. I'm trying not to rub it in too much that he still has 12 days left of teaching.

I also bought myself a few blooms at the summertime farmer's market. Just because. The place feels so much brighter filled with flowers.

And I made myself a cake to put on my cake stand that's been languishing in its box all year.

Yes...it's summer.


*I have also been working away on a special project for the past few months. It's almost ready, and I'm excited to share it with you.

Turkish pizza

April is such a tease sometimes. Sure, you get warm, breezy days, but you still have to scrape frost off your car windshield in the morning. So lately I've been dreaming about summer, and trips to warmer climates, which is how I got to thinking about Turkey.

Last summer some college friends and I traveled to Armenia and Turkey. It sounds like an odd combination, but we wanted to visit N after his first year in the Peace Corps (or rather, he demanded that we visit him), and he wanted to do some traveling in his free time, so off we went.

I remember a few things about our trip especially well: all the jokes and funny adventures you have on trips with old friends; the oppressive heat (in Istanbul, we took nightly showers just so we could cool down enough to sleep); the elaborate drinking culture in Armenia; and the Turkish food. Oh, Turkish food--the dessert alone could send me into raptures. Did you know Istanbul has an entire restaurant devoted to baklava? We spent several blissful afternoons there.

(This is not to say that Armenian food is terrible. On the contrary, their hearty devotion to meat, potatoes, cheese, and vodka kept me full and satisfied throughout our time there. But that story is for another time.)

A few days ago I tried to replicate the first meal we had upon our arrival in Istanbul: Turkish pizza. It's not really pizza in the Italian sense (or in any sense, as J might argue). But in the sense that pizza is just a flat yeasty bread topped with meat and tomatoes, well! It's hard to deny it that name. You saute some ground lamb with onion and spices, simmer with tomatoes, and spread the whole delicious mess on top of a smooth piece of dough, curling up the dough to make sure everything stays put. Then you bake it in a hot oven for 15 minutes, just long enough for sides to turn golden brown.

While the recipe I used is not quite what I remember, it's still darn delicious in its own right. I think you should make it tonight. Preferably with some Greek yogurt or hummus to accompany it. (Yes, I know the photo below shows roasted asparagus instead. Sometimes you have to clean out the fridge.)

Turkish Pizza (adapted from Bay Books' Baking: A Commonsense Guide)

For the dough:
1 tsp dried active yeast
1/2 tsp sugar
1/4  and 1/3 cup warm water, separated
1 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 tsp salt
1 tbsp olive oil

For the filling:
2 tbsp olive oil
1 medium white onion, finely chopped
1 lb ground lamb
2 garlic cloves, chopped
1 tsp ground cinnamon
1 1/2 tsp ground cumin
1/2 tsp chili powder
1 14-oz can diced tomatoes
1/3 cup pine nuts
1/3 cup chopped kalamata olives
3 tbsp chopped cilantro

To make the dough:
1. Mix the yeast, sugar, and 1/4 cup warm water in a bowl. Leave to proof for 10 minutes.

2. Once the yeast has proofed, sift 1 cup of the flour and the salt into a large bowl and mix with the yeast mixture. Mix in 1 tbsp of the oil and about 1/3 cup warm water. Mix to form a soft dough, and add as much flour as you need to make it pliable. Turn onto a floured surface and knead for 10 minutes until smooth. Place in an oiled bowl, cover, and leave in a warm place for 1 hour.

To make the filling:
Heat 2 tbsp of the oil in a pan over low heat and cook the onion for 5 minutes, until soft and fragrant. Add the lamb and cook for 10 minutes, or until brown. Add the garlic, spices, and tomatoes. Simmer for 15 minutes. Add half the pine nuts and 2 tbsp of the cilantro. Add salt and pepper to taste, then leave to cool.

Once the dough has doubled in size, preheat the oven to 415 degrees F. Grease two baking trays.

To make the pizzas:
1. Knock down the dough and turn onto a floured surface (I kept my counter floured while I worked on the filling). Divide into 3-5 portions and roll each into an oval, roughly 4 x 7 in. Place on the baking trays. Spread the lamb mixture evenly over the portions, leaving a small border around each oval.* Sprinkle with the remaining pine nuts and the chopped olives. Roll the edges of the uncovered dough over to cover the outer edges of the filling. Pinch the ends together (each portion should look like a little boat). Brush with oil.

2. Bake for 15 minutes, or until golden. Sprinkle with the remaining cilantro and serve.


*You may have some leftover lamb filling. It goes well in pita sandwiches, with sliced cucumber and tomatoes.

Hearts

Two things that made this Valentine's a pretty fun celebration:

Cupcakes with sprinkles. J and I ate them after dinner last night (yeah, a day early). Molly Wizenberg calls it a "far-from-disaster" cake recipe; it was close to perfection. And there were a million leftovers. Yum.

A card from darling sister L. We have a tradition of sending valentines to each other from our fake lovers, who try to persuade us to run away into the sunset with them. This year Rooster from True Grit asked for my companionship on the trail, while Julian Fellowes tried to woo L with his screenwriting skills. (Apparently this year's theme was old men.) It's a nice guarantee for some laughs in case the day is a lonely one.

Do you have any fun traditions?

On bread

At home in Cleveland, my dad bakes bread every few months or so, when he feels he's done enough in the yard to spend an afternoon in the kitchen. He's worked through a selection of recipes from Beard on Bread over the past 30 years, teaching himself the art of bread-baking. And his bread is delicious: crusty egg-brushed exteriors yielding into soft slices, all with a warm yeasty smell. Even our dog loved it (she notoriously stole half a loaf off our table one summer, and we still tell the story).

Dad's tried a number of recipes, but he generally turns to his old stand-bys: Cracked-Wheat and Mother's Raisin Bread. He's obsessed with the cracked-wheat, and my mom hints not-so-subtly for raisin when he's in a bread-baking mood. And when he bakes, he devotes himself to the process. Watches over the rising loaves like each one is his first-born. He's been known to sit up hours after the rest of the house has gone to sleep, as he waits for the loaves to bake to burnished perfection.

His favorite part is soaking the raisins in bourbon. (Or gin if he's feeling frisky.)

He's the one who taught me to bake bread. How to follow recipes to the letter, how to test the temperature of each liquid to avoid killing the yeast, how to knead dough until it's soft and pliable. I avoided a lot of first-time mistakes when I started baking on my own because he made them first and told me about them. But mostly I learned to associate the smell of bread and yeast with home, with family lunches around the kitchen table and plates of buttered cracked-wheat toast.

So on Sunday, with nothing but a long, lonely day of grading ahead of me, I set aside the afternoon to bake. Bread takes planning; it takes afternoons (especially when you're as slow as I am). I queued up some old Gilmore Girls episodes and got to work. And it only took 6 hours (I said it was a commitment!) before that yeasty, warm smell began to waft through the kitchen/living room and replace the stale air of my apartment. And I didn't feel so lonely anymore.

I've baked many a pastry over the past few years, but nothing fills me up more than two stout loaves of cracked-wheat bread that make any place feel like Cleveland.