Fat Girl Gone Thin

There is a coffee company near my house, Batdorf & Bronson. The place is as iconic as the city itself in many ways – like the fish throwers at Pike Place Market – anybody who’s worth their snuff in these parts has been to this place.

Outside their orginal cafe, affixed to the windows, is an image of a dancing goat. Easily two feet tall, the picture is a throw back to the company’s roasting division which goes by the name (you guessed it) Dancing Goats.

Why goats? And more importantly, why are they dancing? Good question. Millions of people drink cup after cup of coffee each day and I would venture to guess that all but a handful are unaware of the origin of coffee – a.k.a. the legend of the dancing goats.

Coffee has been around for nearly 900 years now. It was first brewed in open pits with crushed beans and boiling water in the area that is now Ethiopia. In the high mountain regions, a goat herder by the name of Kaldi discovered that his wandering animals had returned from the fields with an extra spring in their step. When Kaldi searched the area he found his herd feasting on red berries from a patch of bushes and gathered some for himself to try. Later, he dried and ground the berries and made a tea of sorts. The result was the first cup of coffee … and presumably, the first recorded caffeine high.

Now you know about the goats, but are wondering why are they wearing grass skirts -right?

The answer to that has to do with pizza. Confused yet? Hehe, I’m getting there.

Something about the idea of Hawaiian pizza being Hawaiian simply because it has pineapple on it has always struck me as funny. Same with those yummy little chocolate covered macadamia nut things. If you go to Hawaii, people always ask you to bring those back, like you can’t go to Walgreens and buy a box yourself there. Something about the macadamia nut and the pineapple seems exotic to people.

So when the urge for a strong cup of coffee and a cookie hit me in the late hours last night, I decided to pull out some coconut, macadamia nuts, dried mango, almaretto and make biscotti instead. Then I decided to call it Hawaiian biscotti because it seemed like the appropriate cliche at the moment.

This is why I should not be left alone in the kitchen. With a coconut. And Jimmy Buffett CDs.

Anywho, I threw the basic of the thing together -the flour, butter, egg stuffs – then went to town with every Hawaiian-inspired ingredient I could think of along with some white chocolate chips … because those just sounded good.

The result was a lightly sweet, entirely delicious biscottini* (that means oops, I made the biscotti too short so I changed the name to something small and cute sounding).

I hope you will enjoy them as much as I did along with a fresh cup of java. The recipe is over in the sidebar.

Sometimes at the end of a horrible no-good very bad day it helps to come home, throw down your briefcase and start things over (preferably with a glass of wine).  Sometimes this means pretending the day never started, hiding your head under your covers and going straight to bed. But sometimes it means tying on the apron strings and whipping up a big ole’ plate of comfort food.

On days such as this, I like to cook breakfast for dinner. And then make extra for the next morning. It’s like a little gift from today-me to tomorrow-me…  A little pep talk in gastronomic terms that says things are on the up from here.

I’ve never been much of a cold cereal girl, except for a mixing bowl-sized serving of Honey Nut Cheerios every once in awhile, when my sweet tooth kicks in during the wee hours.

What really gets me going during the A.M. drudgery is a bowl of hot oatmeal, along with a multitude of tiny dishes filled with any and every topping option. Raisins, brown sugar, toasted coconut, almonds… and the list goes on and on.

What usually ends up in my stomach though is an apple and a double-tall cappuccino. And sometimes a few gummy bears from the candy dish at the front desk.

In the dead of winter, especially this time of year when the dark, wet days seem to linger into infinity, I start to crave some of spring’s early offerings – a bowl of fresh snap beans, cherries…. somehow the frozen reserve of garden-goodies in my fridge seems like more of an insult to my senses than a welcome reprieve from the stagnant February grocery store isles. As if the frost-bitten Ziploc bags are just a reminder that this is as close as you can get to the real deal for another four months. Or as close as you can get if you prefer to refrain from the scientific wonders of a winter-time red tomato.

But given my day, my stubborn reluctance fell short and I found myself diving head first into the freezer in search of my stow away of blueberries. It’s funny how we complain about the time it takes to harvest these creatures - standing out in the heat , picking one berry at a time until our hands are full and our stomachs are filled. This time of year, I would give anything to be faced with just such a problem. Instead it’s 5:30, dark outside and I’m digging past frozen turkey and ice cubes in search of the taste of lost summer.

Berries finally in hand, I fell back on a trusted childhood recipe – a take on the Malt-O-Meal magic muffin. The cereal’s been around since the turn of the century and the recipe has been on the side of box as far back as I can remember. It’s simple – Malt-O-Meal, flour, sugar, an egg, some baking powder and oil. The ingredients are so utterly adaptable that it’s nearly impossible to add something that will mess it up. Depending on how healthy (or guilty) you want to feel, the batter is an open battlefield for your tastebuds’ desires.

Last night I went the healthy route and added my blueberries and canned plums, used whole wheat flour, bran flakes, some fresh-ground flax seeds and eggs from my grandfather’s farm. The result was a delightful evening, curled up in a comfy chair - book in one hand, muffin in the other, with memories of summer evidenced on my blueberry stained tongue.

I am officially two days into my new job as a government employee and I have to say as a former private-sector girl, this new world of public-sector living is a bit perplexing.

Is that good? Is that bad? I don’t really know yet, but I get the feeling that the public sector is like that kid with hand-me-down clothes and a bad haircut that always sat in the back of the classroom. You’re not sure whether to feel bad for them or shun them entirely.

Take for instance my first staff meeting.

In the private sector, everyone would arrive no later than 15 minutes before the designated start time and would be greeted with a lavish spread of assorted catered goodies, fresh coffee, etc., etc. In the public sector, if you arrive 15 minutes early, the lights are still out and the janitor helps you find the conference room. Food comes in the way of a lovely box of oranges that your boss bought on the way into work and coffee can be found in the percolator in the break-room. At five after, everyone starts to arrive.

In the private sector, you spend the morning in training and the afternoon learning the ropes from your colleagues. In the public sector, you go to the supply room where they hand you one pen and tell you to share your stapler with your cube-mate. Damn budget cuts.

This is why at 6:00 last night I found myself perusing the isles of Fred Meyer, filling my cart with highlighters, pens and whiteout. This is also about the time I began to have an appreciation for teachers that have to buy supplies for their own classrooms.

More importantly, this is why I found myself at the Fred Meyer Starbucks drinking my third caffeinated beverage of the day.

This is a special time of year when we start to approach the last few days of egg nog availability. And yes, I am aware that there are two distinct camps when it comes to eggnog: those who love it and those who, as my sister so eloquently put it, “fight to keep the bile down.”

As for me, I fall squarely in the LOVE LOVE LOVE eggnog category and find myself desperate to enjoy every last moment of deliciousness. By the first of the year, it’s usually gone from the grocery store and is making its way out of most coffee shops.

I’m sorry, but nothing signals the holidays like a sweet latte with a hint of nutmeg. Yum. But I will be the first to admit that in order to indulge in this drink all December long, you have to pre-plan with a crash diet that will render you 5 pounds thinner at the start. Otherwise, the extra calories this bad boy packs on will leave you grabbing for your stretchy pants by New Years.

Luckily for me, one of my co-workers is an ex-Starbucksian and taught me the secret code to ordering a low-cal version of the eggnog latte. It’s called an Eggnog Coffee Misto and it is one of the few things in the world that is both richly delicious and not that bad for you. It is also an off-the-menu item which makes you seen extra cool when you order it.

Unlike it’s 400 calorie latte counterpart, the misto is a a delightful mix of two-thirds drip coffee, one-third steamed eggnog. In short, its the perfect drink because you retain all the great flavor of the full-fat drink but without the thick and super creamy consistency that turns a lot of people off.

It depends on who makes it (some baristas go so heavy on the coffee that you can’t even taste the milk), but when done correctly the eggnog misto only pushes about 120 calories and five grams of fat. In case you’re counting, that’s the same as a regular grande 2% latte. I know – it seems almost too good to be true.

Alas, I know I have shared my vast wisdom on this matter all too late in the season, as there are only a handful of days of eggnog remaining … but better late than never.