The Tapioca Disaster...

(from wikimedia, http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Image:Tapioca_pearls_and_cranberry_seeds.jpg)

So I alluded to this story during my last post on figs. This is easily one of the more embarrassing things I have done in terms of cooking, particularly with my background being in the physical and natural sciences.

I used to LOVE tapioca when I was little. My mom would make the Jell-O cook and serve kind, and I thought it was the best stuff on the planet. Last winter when Tony and I were in Missouri for Christmas, Tony's mom and dad introduced me to the Mennonite store 20 minutes away from their house. (I would like to point out that there house is in the country, and their next door neighbors live far away. I wish I lived there :(...) Anyway, this store is like a little piece of heaven for me. It has locally made goods, such as jams and jellies, along with bulk items like whole wheat pastas, spices and teas. Walking along one of the aisles, I saw it. A massive bag of tapioca, for about $2. The recipe was on the side, and I was good to go.

Fast forward to about a month later. Tony had staff duty (guarding the barracks) and I was home alone. I decided that I was going to make tapioca for the both of us, and it would be a nice surprise for Tony after he had worked a long (ridiculous) shift.

Everything was going fine, until I learned the hard way about how a solute (in this case, protein) effects the boiling point of a solution. This is easy stuff. Milk is not water. One should never, EVER "boil" milk on the highest stove setting. *Flashback*:

"The "9 or 10" setting on your stovetop should really only be used for boiling water..."

"Yep. Got it, mom."

Needless to say, I wish I had a picture of the incredible catastrophe that occurred. It was frightening. It was gruesome. It was...well...milky :(. The milk boiled out of control, even after I removed it from the heat. Thankfully, there was another burner open for me to place it on. OH, WAIT. No, there wasn't another burner open, because we used to have the teeniest, tiniest kitchen on the face of the planet. So, the milk, boiling out of control, had to be held above the burner (because Lord knows the darn sink was still full of unwashed dishes). Then, there was smoke. Milk, particularly milk with some sugar in it, burns like a champ.

So there I was, holding a heavy pot full of boiling milk at arms length, coughing, gagging, probably (definitely) thinking/yelling very bad things. The damage that this stupid experiment-gone-wrong had done was pretty vast, so I did what any hard working, diligent, loving wife would do: leave it there until Tony came home.

Noooo, not so he would clean it up (though he helped), but instead so he could see the awesomeness of the milk+tapioca explosion that our kitchen now was.

Tony walks in the door:

"Hey Pook, is something burning???"

"Um, nothing's burning...now..."

"Really? It smells like fire..."

"Yeah...I know.."

My strong, handsome, loving husband walked around the corner into the kitchen.
"What the..... (*&^%#??!!??" (If you are Tony's momma or grandma ryno, feel free to insert "heck" in here...everyone else, use your imagination...)

As my strong, handsome, loving husband walked around the corner, he saw a sight no man should behold: a milk bomb that his wife couldn't bear to witness all by herself. Needless to say, we used roughly an entire forest of paper towels to clean the milk from off the stove, refrigerator, cabinets, floor and sink. Then, we lifted off the burners to clean underneath, and found the other 3 cups I had misplaced. Did you know that milk+burnt-on stuff from 8 tenants ago= gray sludge that smells like feet? I owe Tony for that one, because while I was busy dry heaving in the corner of the apartment next to the hole where the rats got in (it was really not a nice place...but that's an entirely different story), he cleaned up that part of the mess.

Low and behold, I've never put milk on the stove again and turned the heat to above 4. I don't really care if it takes an eternity, but I suppose one wouldn't after witnessing milk Hiroshima in a 5'x2' kitchen.

-Lisa-

Figs...

I'm glad I am completely incapable of updating this blog regularly, due to the incredible awfulness of being a graduate student. I made these figs MONTHS ago. Literally, I made them back in September, took photos and then realized that my life has been reduced to working and sleeping. My family assures me that this is true in all cases of being an adult. I'm pretty sure I'd be happier if Tony and I lived in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of cows, but I bet even then the grass would be greener somewhere else. This has been a depressing realization.

Anyway, I did use figs, and I did take pictures. Now, I finally have time to write about it :). For me, the verdict for this particular fruit was only ho-hum. I didn't really enjoy them, but I wasn't totally appalled. Perhaps I should have prepared them another way, but I guess I'll have to try again next year. They are "good" by themselves, just eaten raw. The seeds are crunchy and tiny and it does remind me of Fig Newtons, although those are made with dried figs instead of fresh.

Honey-Cardamom/Cinnamon Roasted Figs

Reagents:

4 Figs
2 Tablespoons of honey
Cinnamon
Cardamom*
Squeeze of lemon juice

*Cardamom is one of my most favorite spices. Ever. I bought it in bulk, which is why it's in a "homemade" jar.

**Also, note my super-cute glass pumpkins in the background. They match our 1980s glass table, baby.

Procedure:

This is REALLY, painfully easy.

1. First, preheat the oven to 375 F. Wash and cut off the top of the figs, getting rid of the stems.

2. Then, cut the fig about 75% down the center into faux-quarters. You want the fig to remain held together at its base.

3. Place the figs carefully in baking dish. Squeeze just a little bit (maybe like a quarter of a teaspoon) of lemon juice on each one. I have absolutely no explanation for why I did this, it just seemed like a good idea. In the end, I couldn't even taste a hint of lemon, but there was a lot of juice in the dish to re-drizzle the figs with, which was a good thing.

4. Pry the figs open slightly, so the center is sufficiently exposed. Drizzle about a half a spoonful of honey into the center of each fig. Don't bother resisting licking the spoon, it's just too good.

5. Sprinkle cinnamon or cardamom (or a mixture of both) on the figs. I made two cinnamon, two cardamom, because I wasn't sure if Tony would eat the cardamom flavored ones. Turns out he ate everything. Hah. Shouldn't have worried about that.

6. Place the figs in the oven to roast for about 15 minutes. I checked on mine every 5 because I'm neurotic and paranoid I will burn the house down. I plan on telling a cooking disaster story for my next post, and it involves tapioca and fire.

Overall, I think that these figs turned out well. I also think I don't really like figs, which was an issue at the time, since I bought these at Costco and had 20 others I needed to think of something to do with. For the most part, I was just lazy and ate them raw :).

Happy almost November!!!

-Lisa-