Last Wednesday's Sourdough Pancakes

No two batches of sourdough pancakes are alike -- partly because the ingredients and proportions vary from time to time, and partly because the sourdough starter is never the same from day to day. My sourdough starter, though, is almost always primarily rye, with some oats.

1 cup: rye flour
1/2 cup: buckwheat flour
a teaspoon more or less: baking powder
pinch: salt
whisper: cinnamon
about a quarter or third of whole: mandarin-orange peel, or tangerine peel (we happened to have the former), finely chopped

Mix all that in one container.

2 cups: sourdough starter
4: eggs
splash: vanilla

Mix that; add to it the dry ingredients; add water to achieve a desirable not-too-thick consistency. I perhaps added not quite enough water. Mine was not a flowing batter -- rather something between that and a spooning batter.

A Scottiedog loves her pancakes with butter and maple syrup -- which is why we make rye-buckwheat pancakes. We keep her away from wheat and corn; but we cannot keep her away from a breakfast table with sourdough pancakes.

Cheers ...

Spent-Grain Hardtack

A week or two ago, Martha started a porter that calls for several types of dark malt together with a peat-smoked malt. All this malt went to good use, being boiled in the wort. After the boil, though, it seemed a shame to just compost the wet grains.

In Amherst, Wisconsin, we once had a spent-grain bread made from spent-malt leftovers from Central Waters beermaking. In that bread I believe the malt was milled by some means. The spent grains at the point when they emerge from the wort are not only toasted but also boiled, however -- so are easily chewed even when left whole.

I dumped the spent grain in a bowl, poured on a couple scoops of sourdough starter, then added enough flour to make a dough. Since the quantity of spent malt was greater than that of flour, I anticipated trouble in the kneading. After working it a while, though, the dough did begin to behave in a doughlike way, even though its texture was heavy. Because of that heaviness I decided to spread it out on a cookie sheet that has a raised edge, then left it to rise for four or five hours before baking.

Truthfully I had no idea if the results would be palatable. They did turn out unusual. Visually, I had a pan of brownies. Chocolate, in fact, would have gone well with the burnt taste of the dark malt. It was chewy and oddly nice-flavored, and made a pleasant accompaniment to a beer or a whisky. And it was substantial. We nibbled it tentatively, and over the course of days found ourselves eating it readily. It made perfect road-trip food: compact, not crumbly, and sustaining.

That I put in no chocolate is fortunate, actually, since Lorna has a great liking for the crusty, chewy-crunchy stuff -- especially with a bit of cheese or peanut butter.

Cheers ...