Sprung At Last

Dating: Alumni Associations, Part 5

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The day after our date, The Alum messages me on Facebook. He sends me a link to a product he thinks would be nice for The Child for Christmas, and a link to the pizza place we talked about.

I can’t decide how to reply, so it takes me two days to get back to him.

I don’t think that’s good, and I’m pretty sure he knows that, based on the tone of his replies.

A few days later, he posts an article in the Alumni Facebook group I run that almost no one uses.

A few days after that, he texts me asking for the name and email address of another alumni in the area that he met at our summer picnic. It takes me a while to reply, mostly because the request is on my phone and the information is on my computer and I need both to be in the same place at the same time as I think of it.

A few days later, he messages me on Facebook with the same question.

Oh, I say, so sorry, I meant to reply. I’ll check now.

He messages back while I look it up: It’s not urgent, he says. I want the name of the place he got the dumplings he brought. They were very good.

Ginger Currant Granola

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 I have never, ever, ever – a thousand times never ever – liked currants. This doesn’t usually present a problem, because really, how often do you run into currants? They’re not sold in little red snack-sized boxes like their well-loved cousins, the raisins. They don’t appear in that many recipes. And frequently, when they do, you can just as easily swap them out for raisins or something else. That way, you’re not stuck with a box 7/8ths full of uneaten, unloved, currants.

When I recently made olieballen, though, the recipe called for currants, and I thought I should actually use them – just this once – since I already had plans to alter the original recipe with the addition of candied ginger and – gasp! – a coating of powdered sugar.

I was surprised at how much I enjoyed the currants: So much so, that I ate some right out of the box.

And then a distant memory came to me, of another time when I ate currants right out of the box. That time, the box was in my mother’s kitchen, and I’m pretty sure that same box of currants was in my mother’s kitchen for the entirety of my childhood, teen years, college years, and even the brief period in my 20’s when I moved back in. I’m pretty sure she’s only ever owned one box of currants her entire adult life.

This may explain my long-standing belief that currants taste like crusty dirt with bits of gritty gravel mixed in.

The currants I used for my olieballen, though, were delightfully chewy with a pleasant tartness to them: like raisins, but more sprightly. They paired wonderfully with the candied ginger, and I found myself wanting the combination again – but perhaps in a healthier form than deep-fried fritters.

I created this recipe for ginger currant granola to satisfy that urge, and it’s a spirited way to start the day. Chewy currants and candied ginger are a spirited combination, contrasting nicely with the pleasing, crunchy granola, which is mellow and warm from the maple syrup. The orange juice provides a nice citrus undertone.  It’s perfect in a bowl of vanilla yogurt.

Note that I used uncrystallized candied ginger, which is chewier than crystallized (it’s available at Trader Joe’s). I prefer grade B maple syrup, which has a richer flavor than grade A – it’s a bit strong for pancakes, but perfect for cooking.

Ginger Currant Granola

Ginger Currant Granola
 
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Ingredients
  • 4 cups rolled oats
  • ⅓ cup ground flaxseed
  • ½ cup slivered almonds
  • ½ cup shredded coconut
  • ½ cup currants
  • ¼ cup finely chopped candied ginger
  • ½ teaspoon salt
  • ½ cup maple syrup
  • 2 tablespoons vegetable oil
  • 1 teaspoon vanilla
  • 2 tbsp orange juice
Instructions
  1. Preheat oven to 350F. In a large bowl, mix oats with flaxseed, almonds, coconut, currants, ginger, and salt. In another bowl, whisk maple syrup with oil, vanilla, and orange juice. Pour over oat mixture and stir until well-mixed.
  2. Spread out on a large, rimmed baking sheet. Bake until oats are golden, about 20 minutes.
  3. Remove pan from the oven and place on a rack to cool. Granola will crisp as it cools.
  4. Serve over yogurt or however you like it.
Notes
You could easily amp up the ginger flavor if this with addition of up to a teaspoon of ground ginger. If you wanted a more citrus-y flavor, add up to a teaspoon of grated orange zest. Or both. Why not?
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This is my sticky contribution to Weekend Cooking, hosted by Beth Fish Reads. Why not swing by and see what other home-cooked goodness awaits?

Dating: Alumni Associations, Part 4

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Finally, I arrive at the restaurant. The Alum wants to order a bottle of wine, but that seems like too much of a commitment, so I demur and say I prefer mixed drinks. I have no idea what mixed drink to order, so I chat with the bartender for a bit in an effort to decide. He asks me what TV shows I like and I say Mad Men, so he brings me a Sidecar. It’s Retro, the bartender says. You’ll like it.

The place is busy, noisy. I can mostly hear The Alum, but not entirely. We chat first about my divorce. I don’t get into the details, providing just the minimum information. He listens to the facts, and seems to file them away, not asking too much, just listening.

He tells me about his new job. He found the job through a personal referral, and is very happy there. He tells me about the interview process.

Every detail.

I order another drink, and though I liked The Sidecar, it’s making me fantasize about Don Draper, so I ask the bartender to surprise me with something different. He makes something up on the spot, involving a mix of things I wish I’d asked him to write down, because it was good and I could not hear what he said was in it over the din.

The Alum and I  move on to other topics. We’re probably due for another alumni event, so I ask if he has suggestions, knowing he will. He suggests a pizza place that is supposed to be really good. I don’t doubt that he’s right:  he’s from New York, and New Yorkers know pizza.

It is also possibly the least-conveniently located place I imagine. But he says it’s worth the trip, and tells me about it to persuade me: It has old pinball and Donkey Kong machines. He tells me the story of how he found the place the first time – off the beaten track as it is. He tells me everything about it.

Every detail.

It’s not an unpleasant conversation, but it’s becoming a long one. It feels a bit like a math test where you’ve been told to show your work. I wouldn’t mind that, but the subject matter feels like it’s more suited to a multiple choice test.

Bubble in, I think.

It’s becoming late and there’s no obvious point of exit. Everything I say prompts a response, a story, even if it’s a remark that is clearly intended to wind things down. But  I can’t be out all night – even on a weekend, which it isn’t.

I finally get up rather abruptly, and say, Thanks so much, but I have to go home to my child, she has school tomorrow.

He seems disappointed, but insists on picking up the check. He lingers at the bar and since I realize it will take a very long time to actually exit with him, I decide to exit alone.

It feels rude, but it also feels like a boundary, and that’s the thought I savor as I drive home, carefully avoiding the fake snow and manic, dancing nutcrackers.

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