Vegan Jam Tart with Spelt Flour

Living here day by day, you think it's the center of the world. You believe nothing will ever change. Then you leave: a year, two years. When you come back, everything's changed. The thread's broken. What you came to find isn't there. What was yours is gone. You have to go away for a long time... many years... before you can come back and find your people. The land where you were born. But now, no. It's not possible. Right now you're blinder than I am.
~ Philippe Noiret, Cinema Paradiso

Always yours is that friendship, the new one and the eternal one of the past; yours is the taste of bread and the red color of autumn. Yours are the people who get older, the solitude of the forest, the gloom and silence of the night; still yours are the stones, the trails and the comfort of the moon; yours is the soft kindness of the meadows, the sunset and the darkness of those days.
And the words, withered between the cracks of indifferent walls, the frozen phrases, tired by now, the angry and unexploded thoughts, more and more faded with time.
Coming back makes everything a bit nicer; you blow the dust away and discover how much tenderness there was in the innocent dreams of distant dawns. Mornings are still cold, but beautiful in October; things, slow and always the same, speak a familiar language yet a different one.
Coming back you wonder how long it took you to figure it out, or if it's true that we've all changed a little.




Vegan Jam Tart
with Spelt Flour
for a round baking pan of 9" diameter

spelt flour 250 gr
type O flour 210 gr
corn starch 50 gr
baking powder 12 gr
lemon 1
cane sugar 200 gr
olive oil 60 gr
rice bran oil 60 gr
rice milk 125 gr
salt 1 pinch
jam as needed
powdered sugar to serve as needed

In a bowl mix the flours with cornstarch, baking powder, salt and lemon zest. Make a well in the center and add sugar, olive oil, rice oil and milk. Start mixing the ingredients with a fork, and then knead with your hands until you get a homogeneous ball. Cover with plastic wrap and let stand in refrigerator at least 30 minutes.
Roll out 3/4 of the dough and place it in a round baking dish, greased with oil or lined with parchment paper. Prick the surface with a fork, then spread the jam over it (for me this one here, thankyouverymuch) and bake at 350 for 30-40 minutes until the tart crust gets golden brown. Allow to cool, and if you like, dust with powdered sugar before serving.
w.v.<3

Focaccia with Grapes and Rosemary

A wise man once to the question "Who or what are we?", answered: we are the sum of everything that has happened before us, everything that has happened before our eyes, everything that has been done to us; we are every person, every little thing whose existence has influenced us or which we have influenced with our lives; we are everything that happens after we no longer exist, and what would not have happened if we had never existed.
~ From the movie Almanya - My family goes to Germany
Yasemin Şamdereli, Germany 2011


When was the last time I saw you passing by, tanned and seductive, wearing those freckles and the wonder for life? I still remember your black hair, tied together against the wind, your colorful floral dress, fresh of summer and ingenuity, and your sandals already tight and from other times.
I was leaving towards the North, to chase a wealth that we had never had: a job that would last tomorrow, the security of a future, warm hands, two pennies and fatigue. I was looking for you in my mind, so beautiful in your twenties, while I slowly savored the sadness, so heavy and shiny, that September day that I left.
Two generations consumed among people who didn't really belong to us, who were looking at us awry and indifferent, between cold and foreign colors and horizons, strong perfumes yet devoid of memories. My father, locked up in his pride, never talked about it; the past was almost a shame that he seemed to have left behind, and yet it was all still there, asleep in the silence of his dark and sad eyes: the carts pushed by hand during harvest, the rise with the baskets on the shoulders, the grape must, the barrels, the bare feet and the cheer.
To me, sunsets and long summer days were enough: I'd close my eyes and I'd find the faces, I'd listen to those voices already distant and I'd feel alive again within the memory of their warm smiles. But tell me now, girl of that time, tell me now how your life went. I came back today among my poor people, hunting for what I can't find anymore. Roads, trees, houses and streams, everything always the same, and then, why so different? The stones, the streets, the names and the squares, I've cradled them inside, I've polished, protected and loved them in the sweet shell of my fantasies; I pretended they were my happiness, yet now that I'm so close, I don't recognize them anymore.
I brought you this flower as a gift, the red rose that I'd never given you. Only you, girl of that time, now that you're gone forever, only you are here for me to stay, that laugh with the eyes open and that life that was not.




Focaccia with Grapes and Rosemary
for 8 people

flour 400 gr
fresh brewer's yeaast 20 gr
water approx. 225 gr
salt 1 pinch
Concord grapes 1 kg
sugar, extra virgin olive oil, rosemary as needed

Dissolve yeast in lukewarm water and knead with flour, salt, 3 tablespoons of sugar and 3 tablespoons of olive oil until you get an elastic ball, smooth and homogeneous. Place in a bowl, cover with a cloth and let rise for about 1 hour and a half.
In the meantime, arm yourself with holy, holy patience, rinse the grapes and remove the seeds. (Yes, sorry).
Spread 2/3 of the dough on a greased pan lined with parchment paper, spread 2/3 of the grapes on top, sprinkle with sugar and finely chopped rosemary, and then drizzle with a little oil. Cover with the rest of the dough, fold and seal the edges, and then spread the rest of the grapes on the surface, dress with 2 tablespoons of sugar and a little oil. Bake at 360 for about 45 minutes.
If you wish, sprinkle with powdered sugar.
w.v.<3

Pink Juice (Rhubarb, Carrots and Beets)

I believe in pink.
~ Audrey Hepburn

If I were asked to color the world, I'd have no doubt, I'd paint it pink. Maybe with some shades of red, which - let's face it - never hurts, in my opinion. But then green light to strokes of pink, in all its possible shades, from lilac to magenta, through fuchsia, purple and plum.
I'm not talking about the color of the cheesy and impossibly romantic tales of my unhealthy youth, because if it were up to me I'd give Cinderella, Snow White and Sleeping Beauty a nice pair of flat and comfortable shoes and a motorized convertible pumpkin to drive around the world by themselves, without waiting to be awakened by Prince Charming, rather by a double cappuccino with brioche as an option.
Instead, I'm talking about the pink of the strawberries when they turn into jam, of cherry trees when they blossom on the side of the road, and the unbeatable pink of the sunset during some evenings up in the mountains; pink, like the scent of freshly baked bread; like the Gazzetta newspaper when Italy is playing; like a slice of cold watermelon consumed on the streets under the August stars.



Because if you close your eyes and imagine the world as such, if you close your eyes but open your heart, if you focus on listening to the sound of the breath or that of the wind, forgetting the fears, the judgments, the things to buy, the rush, the time, the hours and tonight's dinner, then you realize that it's you who paint the world, and happiness is inside your head, just behind the madness at the end of the thoughts; and the room for your suffering and for the loneliness of those long afternoons in November becomes immediately smaller; goodbyes are not goodbyes but curves of a moving path, and every day, if you want it, is made to be like cotton candy, red like Heidi's cheeks, or yellow and green like daisies in the meadow, comfortable and perfect as an upside-down octagon.



I don't believe in Prince Charming (have you ever seen him in a fairy tale kissing a frog?), but I have confidence in the color of daily life, in fantasy mixed with reality, and in an oasis full of flowers in a garden behind your house. More effective and more feasible, just like a purple wig to wear on an ordinary day, a lady elephant that runs away from the circus, or a ride on a Vespa under the snow in December.
But now please excuse me, I got thirsty.




Pink Juice
with rhubarb, carrots and beet
for 2

rhubarb 3-4 stalks
red beet 1
carrots 3-4
green apple 1
lime 1
fresh ginger 1 small piece

Wash fruits and vegetables and peel the beets. Cut into pieces and juice. Add a small piece of ginger to taste. At the end, stir in lime juice and mix. Serve cold.

Vegan Apple Cake with Corn Flour

What's left to say about apple pie? Does it make sense to talk about it one more time, and pull out yet another version, different and always the same, when we've already used pages over pages of the blogosphere in its honor, and we've already emptied wagons full of cyber-praises in perpetual memory of it? After years of glorious dipping, do we really need to remind ourselves that not only it still exists, the stoic and fragrant Countess of the five o'clock tea, the soft Queen of breakfast latte, but it also wins the challenge against the sophistry of modern snacks thanks to its moving and unwavering simplicity?
The answer - I think - is all here, in the sincere and soft scent that has inundated my closet kitchen, while I was desperately trying to find a reason and make sense of this post.
So I realize that apple cake needs no justification, whether you like it or not it's like a scrapbook, always nice to browse and always ready to welcome an extra page. Each one has its own, with their personal stories, their grandmother and their summer afternoons; but when you look at the group photos with all the classmates, the snapshots taken at six year old, or the portraits of tanned and light faces under the August sky, as if by magic, in those looks, poses and smiles you'll find the same questions full of certainties, one big illusion flashing in those unsuspecting eyes.
Apple cake speaks a universal language, be it vegan, à la mode or American pie, with its vintage postcard's look and its cozy and pleasant scent; it gathers geographies and generations inside the same ampoule of peace, it surrounds the heart and the mind with the same warm and sincere illusion.
There will never be an end to apple cakes; as thoughts full of sense and mutually enriching, they are coming one after the other eternally separated by a semicolon. After an apple cake you can't put a period, let alone start a new paragraph; apple cake is like spring that returns always new to warm your guts, even if you leave an empty line in the middle.
And so this end of April of mine, without apology and without a reason, is just another apple cake with a semicolon at the end, different but luckily a little bit the same as before, and it adds to the list, to the end of the thought that goes on, it's another page no longer empty in the universal album of memories.




Vegan Apple Cake
with Corn Flour and Olive Oil
for a round cake pan of 9" diameter

type 0 flour 250 gr
fine ground corn flour 180 gr
corn starch 70 gr
sugar 200 gr
salt 1 pinch
soy yogurt 300 gr
olive oil 170 gr
lemon 1
baking powder 16 gr (1 small satchel)
raisins 80 gr
rice milk (or soy, or oat) approx. 1/2 glass
apple 1
cane sugar, cinnamon, powdered sugar to taste

Soak raisins in milk for a few minutes, drain and set aside. Beat yogurt with sugar, a pinch of salt and the lemon zest until there are no more lumps. Combine and sift together flours, baking powder, and cornstarch, and gradually stir them in, alternating the addition of olive oil and enough milk so that the dough gets soft but firm enough to drop heavily from the spoon. Add the raisins and mix. Peel the apple, cut it into thin slices and sprinkle them with lemon juice. Pour the batter into the baking pan, previously greased and dusted with flour, arrange the apple slices on top, and sprinkle lightly with brown sugar mixed with a little cinnamon.
Bake at 360 for about an hour, or until a toothpick inserted in the middle comes out clean. Allow the cake to cool off, then dust the surface with powdered sugar

Granola

We always run in one direction
but what it is and what is its meaning, who knows...
~ Francesco Guccini, Running Into You

My name is L., but friends call me RunningWolf.
I started by accident one summer afternoon, I was twelve year old, not yet really, and dew was covering my skin. At half past six on a Sunday in July, I kicked the door open and started following the direction of the wind. I found myself that day on empty streets and paths moist with tears and rain, going through the pink sky at sunset and the smell of freshly picked grass. I was running after dreams and clouds to escape the offenses, looking for shelter from the fear of being and my almost teenage anger.
I then ran for a time that seemed endless, amid furtive and guilty kisses, Sundays devoted to feast and exclusive friendships sworn forever. I ran for boredom, futility and shame, chasing a scent of rebellion that didn't belong to us anymore.
I ran through my twenties, in the heart I was carrying one single memory always too close, and in the head eternal fantasies of freedom. I ran to the notes of an off pitch violin, to the verses of poems recited to the moon, dreaming of a romantic future that corresponded to my reality.
I ran alone and at night to escape ghosts and mirrors; I, whom no-one ever saw staying up late, was confusing and mixing this way darkness and dawn. I ran on ice in the winter to mask the cold coming up from within, and from my frozen lips I blew away insecurity and pride. I ran to forget, bury and forgive; I ran for redemption, devotion and renunciation.
Then one day I ran 26 miles in a row, my calves hardened by fatigue and my mind scared by the wall and concrete. I ran alone with a thousand people, fifteen years in a few steps through a handful of neighborhoods, and on that day I found myself at the finish line.

Diary of a pretending marathoner
New York, November 7th 2004




Granola
for 8 people

rolled oats 300 gr
sliced almonds 100 gr
pecan nuts (or walnuts, hazelnuts, cashews) 100 gr
dried coconut flakes 80 gr
dark brown sugar 60 gr
maple syrup 110 gr
light vegetable oil 40 gr
salt 1 teaspoon
raisins 125 gr

Roughly chop pecans. Mix them with oats, almonds, coconut and sugar. In a separate bowl, mix maple syrup, oil and salt. Pour wet ingredients over the nut mixture, and mix well.
Place granola on two baking sheets and bake at 250 for about 1 hour and 15 minutes, stirring frequently so that it gets a uniform color. Allow it to cool down, then add raisins.
It will keep for weeks in an airtight container; eat it with milk or yogurt, and/or fruit.




Granola is pure crunchy energy. Early in the morning it gives wings to your feet.
Word of a running wolf.
w.v.<3

Vegan Coconut-Lemon Bundt Cake

Words!!!!
WORDS, omg! (mayisayit??), I love them. I bow to the words. I admire them, I dream, I listen to them. I pay respects. Words tease me and fascinate me, I honor them, they light me up, they seduce me and bang me against the wall.
Whispered in the ear on a summer night, eternal and liars like bubbles of soap; shouted to the wind, the rain and the rainbows of the world, full of anger, hope and future; words read and absorbed through the pages of others, intoxicating like opium, fierce and suffocating like a tightening noose; those created, distorted, manipulated; old-fashioned words and modern ones; those twittered, facebooked, painted or sprayed on a wall; those written in the toilets of some bars, printed onto my sick mind, signed by hand inside a greeting card, sent via regular mail or coming from the sky; the yellow and red words of a sign on the street, those sung and cried about, words swallowed by time or forgotten for years under a pillow; those chewed and then spit against me, dreamt under the August stars, wrapped in alcohol, smoke and fog, moved by a kiss or a stroke on the neck; words tattooed on the skin as a final, theathrical gesture; those pronounced in front of an altar, the ones that were deleted, re-written, put in a note or lost. Words of movies, songs, and advertising. Those carved in the stone and forever, or recorded for just one hour, the ones remaining from the memories of that time. Future words, conditional or past ones, the dark words of a foreign language, those roughed out by a growing child; words memorized from a poem or recited as a wicked mantra.
I. Love. Words. I inhale them like benign steam, drink them like a glass of chianti. I get drunk, hit, carried away in a far and distant present. And you knew, you know me well like the back of the hands of our worlds once neighbors. If it weren't for those few words entrusted to modern technology, you and I would be lost forever. You said it yourself, and you knew, what happens to me, when inside that Easter egg, between a bite of cake and an afternoon tea, you gave me this handful of verses:

when was that last time
I saw you and then maybe kissed you
tell me now girl of those days
when and where did you go
why and when did I forget about you.
You thought it would last forever
that absolute and violent love
when was it that the nothing finished
why was it that everything died out
did not see not even September.
~ Francesco Guccini, The Last Time





Vegan Bundt Cake*
with Coconut and Lemon
for 8 mini cakes or one 10-inch bundt pan

sugar 225 gr
all-purpose flour 375 gr
light vegetable oil 100 gr
coconut milk 1 can (400 ml)
soy or rice milk 50 gr
lemon juice 50 gr
grated lemon zest 3 tablespoons
pure vanilla extract 2 teaspoons
baking powder 2 teaspoons
baking soda 1 teaspoon
salt 1 pinch
shredded unsweetened coconut 130 gr
confectioners' sugar for dusting as needed

* Yet another recipe stolen from the sacred text of the Orthodox veganism, that Veganomicon onto which now hangs my fate, only with a bit more of vintageness. And it won't be the last time.

In a large bowl, combine sugar, oil, coconut milk, rice milk, juice and zest of lemons, and vanilla extract. Stir well. In a separate bowl, sift together flour, baking soda, baking powder, and salt, and gradually add them to the wet ingredients, mixing well after each addition. Lastly, fold in the dried coconut.
Pour the batter in one 10-inch bundt pan (or 8 smaller pans), previously greased and floured, and bake at 350 for about one hour (45 minutes for the smaller pans), until a knife inserted through the middle comes out clean.
Let the cake rest in its pan for about 10 minutes, then flip it onto a rack and let it cool completely. Sprinkle the surface with confectioners' sugar and serve.
w.v.&v.<3





When was that last time
you heard your mother sing
when at home reading the paper
you saw your father smoke
while you were going back to study
in those days now too far away
all was present and the future
something left for tomorrow
an expectation of dreams and darkness
a something uncertain and insecure.
~ Francesco Guccini, The Last Time

Vegan Pull Apart Brioche with Cocoa and Cinnamon

Homeward bound
I wish I was
Homeward bound...
Home, where my thought's escaping
Home, where my music's playing
Home, where my love lies waiting
Silently for me...
~ Paul Simon & Art Garfunkel, Homeward Bound

Since I saw this wonderful thing here, at his place, I had no peace. All that massive amount of warmth and sweetness could not slip away without consequences. Because it's like being hit by a bomb of cuddling, being knocked out by a punch of love in the eye, or a shot of tenderness in the chest. And I repeat it here for the twomillioneighthundredandfortyseventhousandthreehundredandfourth time, I've got a tender heart. It may not look like it, but I'm easy to conquer; two breadsticks, half a glass of wine (but red, pay attention! and if it's mulled wine or fragolino, consider myself yours...), a free smile, four freckles, or a leavened something, languid and soft as Heidi's clouds (yep, that's it, you may as well take note, just in case...).
And if you allow me a small confession, this brioche here, adapted to my kinda new vegan ego, it's also the third time that I make it in a month or so. 'Cause when it comes out of the oven, it's as if I poured over myself a bottle of affection smelling of cocoa and cinnamon; because the scent only can warm your gut like a cup of broth on a rainy night; because in front of a big bowl of tea it's like a creature that wraps you in a loving hug and takes you right back home to watch TV under the blanket.
Homeward Bound . Yes, such is the effect of this brioche. A homecoming, after many years, to find old friends, some faded photo albums, and your stoic stack of vinyl records.





Vegan Pull Apart Brioche
With Cocoa and Cinnamon
for a 9" loaf pan

For the Brioche Dough
type 0 flour 250 gr
bread flour 130 gr
fresh yeast 15 gr
warm water 40 ml
salt 1 pinch
sugar 50 gr
soy milk 100 ml
vanilla extract 1 teaspoon
silken tofu 100 gr
vegetable shortening 60 gr

For the Filling
vegetable shortening 1 tablespoon
light brown sugar 60 gr
unsweetened powdered cocoa 15 gr
cinnamon 1 teaspoon

In the bowl of a standing mixer, or for the less fortunate fellows, in the bowl period, mix flour, sugar, and salt, then add the yeast previously dissolved in warm water, and start kneading.
On the side blend tofu, or, always for Mr Less Fortunate of the last row, crush it well with a spoon so that there are no lumps.
When the mixture in the bowl is blended together, add warm milk, vanilla, and the tofu previously mashed. Keep working until the dough is smooth and round. At this point, slowly add the shortening (ok, ok, I beg your pardon for this vegetable butter otherwise known as margarine, but there is very very little of it, for once we can do it, and maybe we can do without the caramel popcorn fired by the microwave when watching TV under the blanket... parenthesis closed), and keep working with the arms or with the mixer until you get an elastic and slightly sticky ball of dough.
Cover the bowl with a cloth and let rise in a warm place for about an hour and a 15 minutes or until doubled in size. After rising time, deflate the dough on a floured surface and roll it out into a rectangle about 20x11 inches. Brush the surface with melted vegetable shortening and sprinkle with sugar, cocoa and cinnamon mixed together.
Cut the rectangle in 6 strips about 3" wide, and gently stack them one above the other. Cut the tower in 6 rectangles, and place them standing up one next to the other in the slightly greased pan, in herringbone shape. Cover and let rise for 40 minutes. Bake at 350 for 30 to 40 minutes.
Oh, I almost forgot, do yourself a favor and serve it warm.

Lemon Olive-Oil Cake

...I'm back to my world
And we're back to being friends
Wait and see me,
Tonight let's do this thing...
(Dave Matthews Band, Say Goodbye)

Yes I'm back to my world. For one day, for one night, or who knows. Because there's nothing to do, despite the laziness, the hot weather, the cold weather, the tiny kitchen, the empty fridge, despite vacations, work, the ticking of time, the sleepless nights, love that comes and go, removals, birthdays, Christmas and mid-summer holidays, despite the road trips - with an RV or a sidecar -, new boots and vintage shopping, licorice candies, sunglasses, bathing suits and cowboy hats, that happy moment always comes, when you decide to bake yet another cake. And maybe it's one of those simple and reasonable cakes, those who ask nothing but surprise you with their supersoft deliciousness. And they make you think you are inside a slice of peace.
So tonight let's do this thing, and tomorrow... who knows.

Lemon Olive-Oil Cake
for a springform pan of 9" diameter

flour 250 gr
sugar 150 gr
eggs 4
lemons 2
extra virgin olive oil 180 ml
baking powder 7 gr
buttermilk 100 gr
salt a pinch

Grate the zest of the lemons and mix it with flour and baking powder. Whisk the egg yolks with 100 grams of sugar until the mixture is thick and pale, then add juice of one lemon, olive oil and buttermilk, and beat. Gradually add the flour mixture and stir until the batter is combined.
In a separate bowl, whisk the egg whites with a pinch of salt, then add 50 grams of sugar and keep beating until stiff. Gently mix the egg whites into the rest of the batter, folding them in from top to bottom, taking care not to deflate them.
Transfer batter into a springform pan greased with oil and lined with parchment paper at the bottom. Sprinkle the surface with a tablespoon of sugar and bake at 350 for about 45 minutes, until a toothpick inserted in the middle comes out clean. Let the cake cool off in the pan, then remove the parchment paper and transfer it to a serving plate.

Chickpea and Rosemary Frittatas

... did you see how it rains,
feel how it's coming down
and you were saying that it had stopped raining...
(L. Cherubini, Piove)

The fat is in the fire. Dismantled heart, weakened bones, and twisted guts. Lovers to the core. And when the fat is in the fire - damn it - there is no going back.
Don't call it focaccia (... uh... I think I owe you some kind of explanation here: the recipe comes from this delicious book, bought used for $2; one of the most surprisingly well-chosen purchases of my glorious career as foodblogger, except for the fact that in the book these round things here, the subject of my daily post, they are called focacce; but NO!!!, I cannot do this, I just cannot accept it, and I know that among you are those who understand...).
So don't call it focaccia. Because it's a frittata. And it's done. The fat is in the fire.


Chickpea and Rosemary Frittata
for 6 frittatas of about 7" diameter

chickpea flour 90 gr
eggs 3
milk 240 ml - 1 cup
olive oil 1 tablespoon
fresh rosemary 2-3 sprigs
salt, pepper, butter as needed

Whisk the eggs in a bowl. Add the flour a little at a time, always whisking and trying to avoid lumps. Incorporate oil, milk and chopped rosemary. Season with salt and pepper.
Melt very little butter in a small crepes pan of approximately 7" diameter. Pour in just enough of the mixture to cover the bottom, and cook for a couple of minutes until set. Flip the frittata using a spatula and cook the other side for slightly less than one minute.
Repeat for the remaining frittatas, until you run out of mixture. Serve hot ot warm.

P.S: to tell you the truth, I wouldn't even call these frittatas, as they really are too thin to qualify as such. They are little round things. Infused with love and rosemary. Things so damn round and complete that everything else doesn't count anymore.

Mixed Berries Pudding

It's the first time I make a dessert like this (URRAH!!), one of those things soft and a little messy to eat with a spoon straight from the pan, obviously when still warm, or maybe even right out of the oven. A social dessert, to be thrown on the table for breakfast (according to the Ammmmmerican custom...) letting everyone serve themselves, or to make for 5pm tea while looking into each other's eyes, if by any chance you belong to that enviable group of people who still allow themselves that noble and ancient luxury.
But if - most unfortunately - you got this desire of serving it at the end of a dinner party, I would recommend making it in individual cocottes, so that every guest is responsible for their own fate. And a (mini) scoop of vanilla ice cream to go with it wouldn't be bad either, btw.
Good luck!

Mixed Berries Pudding
for a round pan of 8.5" diameter

flour 75 gr
sugar 100 gr
butter 85 gr
eggs 3
salt 1 pinch
milk 250 ml
brandy 3 tablespoons
frozen mixed berries approx. 300 gr
powdered sugar to serve as needed

Melt butter and let cool. Meanwhile, beat eggs with sugar and salt, add the melted butter, milk, and brandy. Mix well, then add flour and in the end the frozen berries. You will get a fairly liquid batter, but don't panic, everything is under control! Pour the mixture into a baking pan lined with parchment paper, and bake at 355 for about 40 minutes, until the surface is golden. Serve hot or warm, sprinkling with powdered sugar.

Raspberry Muffins with Almonds and Sour Cream

Let's forget the promises, made just about a month ago, let's ignore the disillusioned hopes, the broken dreams and unrequited love. Let's forgive all those posts never written, all the soufflés never tempted, the curdled custards and the unleavened breads. A good old stir - but not too violent, mind you, 'cause muffins won't forgive -, a strong coffee of the darkest ones, a camera lenses' clean up, and off we go.
I start all over with some muffins. For the umpteenth time. One, two, three, let's post.

Raspberry Muffins
with Almonds and Sour Cream
for approximately 12 medium muffins

flour 250 gr
almonds 100 gr
sugar 150 gr
baking powder 7 gr (1 and 1/2 teaspoon)
baking soda 1 teaspoon
salt 1 pinch
eggs 2
sour cream 250 gr
vegetable oil 3 tablespoon
vanilla extract 1 teaspoon
almond extract 1 teaspoon
frozen raspberries 200 gr
butter for the pan as needed
sliced almonds to garnish as needed

Lightly toast almonds in the oven for about ten minutes, let cool down, and then chop them finely in a food processor, adding a spoon of sugar taken from the total to prevent them to release the oil. Mix dry ingredients in a bowl: flour, almond flour, sugar, salt, baking powder and baking soda. Pour wet ingredients in another bowl: eggs, oil, sour cream, vanilla and almond extracts, and mix them lightly with a whip. Combine the dry ingredients previously prepared, stirring just until the mixture is blended, and avoiding beating it for too long. In the end, add frozen raspberries and stir.
Pour a little batter into greased muffin molds, filling each one up to just over half. Garnish the surface of each muffin with few almonds' slices, bake at 350 for 20 or 30 minutes, until the surface becomes golden. Remove from the oven and let cool on a rack. If you like, sprinkle muffins with powdered sugar before serving.