Not Derby Pie » snacks

Grape Rosemary Focaccia

rivka — Fri, 23 Sep 2011 14:30:11 +0000

This past week, we had the first day of what actually felt like fall in DC. Went for a run through Rock Creek Park with a friend, and barely broke a sweat, the air was so crisp. Walked out of the house in a sweater, and boots, and a scarf. All three! At once! We’ll pretend this week wasn’t 80 degrees and humid: Fall has fallen.

Apples have exploded at the farmers’ markets, and everyone’s talking about pie. But I still haven’t finished the last of my peach and nectarine store, and admittedly, I’m savoring them. I’m not quite ready to say goodbye. But I’ll split the difference: I’m ready, very very ready, for concord grapes.

In years past, puzzlingly enough, I’ve watched the two fleeting weeks of grape season pass me by. The fruit seemed prohibitively expensive, and I’ve worried that if I forked over the cash and bought them, I wouldn’t be able to figure out a way to use them that’d rationalize the expense in my mind. It’s all very psychological (and kind of ridiculous), but this year, I’ve come to my senses. Grapes were $5/quart at my local market, so I bought them, ate a bunch on the way home from the market, and baked the rest into this fantastic focaccia.

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Fried Squash Blossoms

rivka — Fri, 02 Jul 2010 01:43:12 +0000

Please welcome my good friend Jeremy, who’s going at ‘em again with his second guest post on NDP. I’m off to Santa Fe, NM for the long weekend, and Jeremy’s babysitting the blog (because 4 kids isn’t enough!) while I’m gone. Behave now…and get thee some squash blossoms!

I’m not one for begging, but I’m begging you, dear reader, not to miss out on the squash blossom.

For some reason, this extraordinary harbinger of summer seems to scare the bejeezus out of people. For the past month or so of Sundays, I’ve found myself lingering at a table covered with little wooden baskets filled with these delicate, delicious flowers. And without fail, I’ve overheard conversations like this one, between two veteran denizens of DC’s biggest farmers’ market:

“What would I do with them?”
-”I don’t know.”
“I mean, I love squash, but the blossom… whatever.”
-”I know. There must be a reason you never see them on a menu anywhere.”
“Exactly.”

Verbatim? No. But you get the idea. So let’s set the record straight, shall we?

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Graham Crackers

rivka — Thu, 14 Jan 2010 13:00:13 +0000

D’s stepmom, Terri, has an absolute weakness for graham crackers. She says they’re the one thing she absolutely can’t keep in the house, because once she opens the package, she’ll eat every last one. I learned this on our recent trip to Israel, and was pleased to be able to reply that in my bag, I just so happened to have two homemade graham crackers that I’d packed as a plane snack. Naturally, her eyes bulged. I bounded up the stairs and grabbed them immediately.

It had all started innocently enough: having given in several times the previous week to sugary, buttery shortbread and chocolate chip cookies and really so much more, I was determined to bake a snack that would satisfy my sweet tooth without pushing me over the edge. That whole “new year, new habits” thing has nothing to do with it, promise.

Graham crackers were the perfect choice. (They’re called crackers — how bad could they be?) I made a batch a couple days before we left; I gave a few away as holiday presents, and the rest I played around with. Some got a one-sided dunking in chocolate, others became sandwiches.

The cookies were just perfect. They were addictively crunchy, and the addition of whole wheat flour gave them a rustic, graham-y quality. And don’t forget the generous dusting of cinnamon sugar to finish them off.

Now Terri wasn’t all that enthused by the graham crackers, because the particular pair I’d brought were sandwiching a thick layer of intensely brown caramel, which overpowered the rather subtle flavor of the graham crackers. I liked ‘em just fine, but I probably won’t make them again. Graham crackers are meant to be simple, the kind of thing you munch alongside a steaming cup of tea. They satisfy a sweet craving just perfectly, no caramel or chocolate needed.

Graham Crackers
adapted ever so slightly from The Washington Post

For the graham crackers

9 tablespoons plus 1 teaspoon unsalted butter, at room temperature
3/4 cup plus 1 tablespoon sugar
3/4 cup plus 1 tablespoon flour, plus more for rolling
1 1/3 cups whole-wheat flour
4 teaspoons baking powder
3/4 teaspoon salt
6 tablespoons whole or low-fat buttermilk or milk

For the topping (optional)

1 cup sugar
1 tablespoon ground cinnamon

Combine the butter and sugar in the bowl of a stand mixer or hand-held electric mixer. Beat on medium speed until light.

Combine the flours, baking powder and salt on a sheet of parchment paper or wax paper.

Reduce the speed to low; add the flour mixture, then the buttermilk, in several increments, ending with the flour; beat to form a soft dough. Divide the mixture in half, then wrap each portion in plastic wrap. Refrigerate for 1 hour or until well chilled.

For the topping (if using): Combine the sugar and cinnamon in a bowl.

Position oven racks in the upper and lower thirds of the oven; preheat to 325 degrees. Line 2 rimmed baking sheets with parchment paper.

Lightly flour a work surface. Working with 1/2 portion at a time (keeping the others chilled), lightly flour the top of the dough. Roll out to a rectangle with a thickness of slightly less than 1/4 inch. Use cookie cutters to cut into shapes, or use a sharp knife and a ruler to cut the dough into 2-by-3-inch rectangles. Alternatively, use a scalloped cutter to give your cookies a wavy edge. (I did this on batch number 2.) Prick each cookie two or three times with a fork, and place the unbaked crackers on the baking sheets, spaced 1/4 inch apart. Sprinkle evenly with the topping, if using.

Bake for 6 to 8 minutes, then rotate the baking sheets top to bottom and front to back. Bake for 6 to 9 minutes, until golden brown and baked through. Let cool on the baking sheets before serving or storing.

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Pickles!

rivka — Fri, 25 Sep 2009 22:30:48 +0000

Folks, I’m finding it hard to contain my excitement about NDP’s second-ever guest post. Guess who wrote it? MY MOM!

That’s right: in the post below, NDP Ima tells you all about easy-to-make, hard-to-stop-eating pickles. You’ll see from her intro paragraph where I got my taste buds. These pickles are salty, tangy, and really bright from the addition of fresh dill. So read up — then go make some pickles!

I am really not a salt lover. I don’t use much when I cook, and in restaurants great food that’s well-seasoned is often too salty for my taste. I don’t care for chips or french fries, and I prefer nuts spicy or au naturel. Nonetheless, I do love briny salty things – olives, capers, and sour pickles. So when I was leaving town for a long weekend and had a lot of small cucumbers that wouldn’t last until my return, I decided to try my hand at some pickles. I wanted spicy, garlicky, dill pickles that would make themselves in the refrigerator while I was gone. I remembered the ones a family friend used to make with cucumbers from his garden and my dad’s. He didn’t use shortcuts, though – he put his pickles in huge crocks of brine and alum in the basement for weeks.

I cut the cukes into thick, chunky slices and placed them in a quart jar with pickling spices and garlic. I didn’t have any fresh dill, so my first batch just had dill seed from the pickling spice, but it still tasted authentic. I prepared the vinegar brine and filled the jar, leaving it upside down on the counter overnight. The next morning, before rushing to the airport, I put the jar in the frig. When I returned four nights later, the pickles were done to perfection!
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Granola with Tahini

rivka — Wed, 09 Sep 2009 16:25:52 +0000

Ahh lovely readers, I’ve missed you! I’ve been posting sporadically at best for the past month, because work has been absolutely insane and I haven’t had time to even enter the kitchen, let alone write about it. That last post on zucchini soup was my lame attempt to give you reading material while I was at work, so as not to abandon you completely — but I unwittingly passed along a post from last year, just before my Alaska cruise, and let you all think I was headed on a fabulous vacation. Not so! I spent Labor Day…..well, laboring. At the office. Until very late. But now all that should be behind me because we signed off on our research yesterday, and all that’s left to do is write the accompanying speech. I’m hoping today is the beginning of my re-entry into my favorite room of the apartment. Cross your fingers for me, will you?

Busy times at the office need to end with something restorative. Sometimes it’s a big bowl of pho, with its etherial broth and slurp-tastic noodles. Other times it’s a piece of good toast with some homemade jam. This morning, the first in a month that I haven’t had to start a 15-hour day at 8:30 am, I made my own granola.

I once was in the habit of making granola every week. It’s a good thing to have around for breakfast in the morning, and it pairs great with that super-tart yogurt in the fridge. But lately there’s been no time for such simple pleasures, and breakfast has consisted mostly of whatever I grabbed the night before at Trader Joe’s. Needless to say, I was more than ready to put my own labor hours back into the food I eat.

My usual granola has almond butter, which I find creates clumps better than water or oil and whose flavor doubles down on the granola’s nutty flavor. This morning, though, I was out of almond butter, so I went with tahini (sesame butter), which has a similar texture, instead. To balance the flavor of tahini, which can be overwhelming if not used sparingly, I added a splash of walnut oil, as well as a bit of chopped crystallized ginger, which paired well with the sesame flavor and gave a little punch. A generous pinch of cinnamon and a whisper of cloves brought the granola squarely into fall’s territory, which I suppose is appropriate, given that the weather is dreary and it’s dark when I wake up these days.

I was still concerned that the tahini might overwhelm, but it totally doesn’t: because the granola cooks until golden, the other flavors in there — almonds, oats, ginger, cherries, raisins — get a chance to toast and intensify, bringing the sesame flavor into balance. I LOVE this batch and plan on making another one, some other not-super-early morning.

Hope you all had great weekends, and I look forward to seeing you around here more regularly!

Granola with Tahini

2 1/2 cups oats
1/3 cup maple syrup
1/4 cup tahini
1 Tbsp walnut oil, optional
2/3 cup pepitas (pumpkin seeds), either salted or unsalted, depending on preference
2/3 cup sliced almonds
2/3 cup chopped pecans
2/3 cup raisins, cranberries, or other dried berry (I like half raisins, half cherries)
2 Tbsp chopped crystallized ginger
1/2 tsp salt
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon cloves

Preheat oven to 325.

In a small bowl, mix syrup, tahini, oil if using, salt, and cinnamon until incorporated. In a large bowl, mix all remaining ingredients until well-distributed. Drizzle the syrup-tahini mixture overtop, stirring with a fork until all dry bits are at least slightly wet and clumps have started to form.

Spread granola on a large rimmed baking sheet in a thin layer and bake at 325 for 10-12 minutes. Remove from oven, stir with a fork to move pieces from edge to center and from top to bottom. Make sure pieces that have started to brown are in the center and well-surrounded. Return to oven and bake 10-12 more minutes, until golden brown throughout. Granola will not be crunchy when it leaves the oven; don’t worry — it’ll crisp up as it cools. Once cool, transfer to air-tight container; granola will keep this way for up to 1 month.

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Sardine and Fava Bean Bruschetta

rivka — Fri, 03 Jul 2009 20:05:47 +0000

I can’t remember if I’ve ever written a love song to favas on this blog. I mean, I’ve written about them, but I probably haven’t sung their praises as much as they deserve. Starting in late May, I bother the farmers at my local market every Sunday, trying to subtly nudge them to pick their favas as soon as they’re ready so I can dig in. The first few weeks, I’m met with transparently frustrated replies of “they’re not ready, lady!” but around the second week in June, out they come. From them on, you’ll find me and my tote bags by the fava bin. That’s right.

Favas come double-wrapped, so to speak; they’re tucked in a waxy coating that’s nestled inside a pod. To eat favas, you pop open the pods, scoop out and blanch the beans, and then remove the outer shell. Work intensive? Yea, but you won’t find me complainin’. Favas are sweet and green and, with a little salt and not much else, the delicious essence of early summer.

While I usually just toss my favas in a salad or mix them with some pasta and other vegetables, I also really like fava bean spread. Mine is smooth enough to spread but still quite chunky, and laced with a whole lot of garlic and a squeeze of lemon. If I don’t finish it all before using it, I’ll spread it on a baguette and eat it just so. Or, if I’m really feelin’ it, I’ll top my bruschetta with some vinegar-and-oil-cured sardine fillets. The idea came to me from an Epicurious recipe for cannellini and sardine bruschetta. I love cannellini, but I don’t stock my pantry with dry or canned beans when fresh ones are so readily available during the summer, so I subbed in favas for the cannellini the recipe called for. The combination worked perfectly: the headiness of the garlicy fava spread stood up well to the sardines, which added just the right amount of richness and tang. Toasted baguette, more than a vehicle, was crunchy and light, a fine contrast for the favas and sardines perched atop it. I finished off the bruschetta simply, with a bit of olive oil and a grind of the pepper mill. It didn’t need much else.
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Pickled Cauliflower

rivka — Thu, 28 May 2009 11:46:47 +0000

I absolutely love sour things. I’ve been known to suck on a lemon slice once in a while, just for kicks (though my dentist scolded me for doing it, so I reluctantly put the habit to rest). When it comes to pickles, I’m a full-sour kinda gal. None of that dill or bread-n-butter stuff; I like’em super super sour. I’m into cucumber pickles, but I can’t say that they’re my favorite — not by a long shot. No, my absolute favorite pickle is a pickled green tomato, especially if it’s from Guss’ Pickles on the Lower East Side. My first time at Guss’ was on an 8th grade class trip, when we stopped there very briefly on our way back from grabbing knishes, bialys, deli, and other LES specialties. I remember watching friends get themselves just one pickle, or two. When I looked deep into the plastic tub in front of me and saw green tomato quarters, bobbing up and down in the brine, I knew that’s what I had to have. Sadly, Guss didn’t sell the tomatoes by the single back then — only by the pound. Obviously, I bought myself a pound of pickled green tomatoes. Reluctant to waste, I ate them all. Boy were they good.

Not to dismiss cukes, but compared to the tomatoes and other exotic pickled things, they’re kind of ordinary. I can promise you that this cauliflower recipe is anything but. I originally published this recipe in an article I did for My Jewish Learning on Israeli Independence Day, but these sour, cardamom-spiked florets are great year-round.

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Cherry Almond Biscotti

rivka — Mon, 04 May 2009 02:57:02 +0000

Two wrist-slaps for me: I made these so long ago, I can’t even remember when at this point. And I was oh-so-sure I blogged about them. But you know what? I didn’t. I realized this yesterday, when I was poking around a great blog I recently discovered (which, in coincidence of coincidences, belongs to an acquaintance of mine from college), and came across a post about biscotti that’s so good, it begs not to be dipped in chocolate. “I make those, too!” I thought, at which point I started poking around my own little blog for any mention of what are, without a doubt, my favorite biscotti ever. Nothing.

My goldfish-memory aside, I’ll now remedy that situation. These biscotti are truly the best I’ve ever made. They’ve got a healthy handful of dried cherries, chopped home-toasted almonds, and just the right amounts of cinnamon and sugar to make them subtly sweet and spicy, not overly so. You know what else? They’re mighty good for you, in the not-bad-for-you kind of way.
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Perfect Pound Cake

rivka — Sat, 28 Mar 2009 21:59:27 +0000

The spring season is upon us, and we’ve got the rainfall to prove it! I wanted to go with something clean and fresh-looking for the spring blog design, with bright colors and lots of white space. So clear that cache and check out NDP’s new layout — I hope you like it!

We went to synagogue every week when I was a kid. After services, the congregation would flood into the social hall for “kiddush” — meaning the prayer over the wine, but also the term used to describe the nibble-and-schmoozefest that occurs after prayers. The “kiddush ladies” would have set up long tables lined with silver trays full of herring (for the old men) and sweets (for the rest of us), and people would just go nuts. All the kids (including me) would wriggle our way in between the long lines of adults to score goodies before they were all snatched up, and like good children we’d compare plates to see who had accumulated the largest stash of junk food.

At a certain age, the game got old, as I realized that the goodies served at kiddush were actually really gross. The cookies were soft and crumbly, the chocolate was all non-dairy and really yuck, and the pound cake — don’t even get me started on the pound cake — was truly terrible. Soft and mushy, but somehow still totally dry and bland-tasting, it was an affront to everything a pound cake should be. It’s fair to say that kiddush ruined my appetite for pound cake, and even now, I struggle to get excited about it.

That is, I struggled to get excited about it, until I encountered Alice Medrich. As you might know from past posts, I’ve never made a recipe from Alice Medrich that wasn’t absolutely, positively perfect. Her Pure Dessert is by far my favorite dessert cookbook, and I’m on my way to making every recipe contained therein.
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Cocoa Pear Crisps

rivka — Wed, 14 Jan 2009 19:24:39 +0000

It’s not every day that a half-eaten fruit turns into something truly out-of-this-world. I suppose I should thank the odd confluence of events that brought about these treasures: one, I bought a mandoline last week. After reading oodles of reviews about the best mandolines on the market, I learned that the two cheapest models (the Benriner and the OXO) are actually the best. My waffling back and forth about whether the 75 bucks was worth it was for nothing: I threw restraint out the window and got my new toy guilt-free. That’s one.

Two, Sarina and Robbie had iron chef night this weekend. Each of us picked a course, they revealed the secret ingredient, and we had a couple hours to make a dish featuring that ingredient and bring it over for show and tell. Is it screamingly obvious that there’s nothing I’d rather do on Saturday night than play iron chef? I was thrilled. And the secret ingredient was cocoa. Awesome.

Three, iron chef awesomeness notwithstanding, my fridge was pretty empty this weekend. Having come down with an ugly cold last week, I didn’t do much cooking at all — and this weekend, we were off the hook again, so my supply was limited, which meant I needed to get pretty creative for the competition.

Four, I took a sliced pear to work, and had only eaten half of it — so I had three and a half pears, the half of which was desperately in need of being used. After poking around in vain on Martha and Epicurious for some good pear recipes, I found one for pear chips. They were meant to be sliced paper-thin, sprinkled with a ginger-cinnamon-sugar mixture, and baked/dried in a very low oven until golden and crispy. What would happen, I wonder, if I added some cocoa to the mix? I’ll tell you what — pure magic.

Truth be told, I went cocoa-happy. I wanted the chocolate flavor to be assertive, despite its supporting role. I added 2 Tbsp of it, and I’m glad I did. Pears and cocoa get along marvelously, and the final product was tangy and spicy and a bit rich and bitter from the cocoa, not to mention perfectly crisp and crunchy. Is your mouth watering, too?

I should mention that I also added galangal, a lovely spice I got from Penzeys earlier this year. It’s similar to ginger, prominent in Thai cuisine, and has spicy notes but is also an assertively fruity flavor. It’s truly something special. If you have it, definitely use it here. If you’ve got a mandoline, you MUST try this recipe. If not, get yourself to amazon and have a mandoline for the price of dinner tonight. It’s kinda totally worth it.

Cocoa Pear Crisps
adapted from Epicurious

1 tablespoon sugar
1/4 teaspoon ground ginger
1/4 teaspoon galangal, optional
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
2 tablespoons cocoa
20 paper-thin pear slices (from 1 pear)

Preheat oven to 275°F. Mix sugar and spices in small bowl. Place pear slices on rack set over baking sheet. Alternatively, place slices on silpat-lined baking sheet. Sprinkle with spiced sugar. Bake until almost dry, about 1 hour. I flip the slices half way through to ensure even baking. Cool on rack or sheet. Store airtight up to 2 days.

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Tzatziki

rivka — Sat, 28 Jun 2008 21:08:46 +0000

My wonderful mom reminded me that when we first made this, we also grated in 2 pickling cucumbers. I completely forgot to put them in the recipe here! Correction appended.
Have you ever seen a recipe here at NDP that called for mayonnaise? No, I don’t think so. Definitely not. That’s because I hate hate hate mayo with, well, a passion. It makes my stomach turn just to think about it! Yuck. The grossness of mayo notwithstanding, at least 95.5% of all dip recipes list mayo as an ingredient — incomprehensible, if you ask me. Why not pass up the mayo for some yogurt? Or sour cream, if that’s your thing? Why ruin a perfectly good dip with mayo? Disagree if you must — I get that mayonnaise is one of America’s favorite condiments. Just not one of mine.

(end rant.)
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Rugelach

rivka — Thu, 29 May 2008 02:45:29 +0000

I rarely buy cookbooks. That probably comes as a surprise, considering how much I love to cook, and how pretty cookbooks can be — but I just don’t buy them that often. That’s partly because I tend to browse for recipes online, and partly because, not being able to help myself, I take all the pretty ones of the shelf at Barnes and Noble and before I know it, I’ve already looked at every pretty picture and no longer have any interest in buying the darn things.

On the rare occasion that I actually shell out the cash for one, the self control and patience I’ve been cultivating for years run out in a matter of seconds. I plop down on the couch, open the thing up, and soak up every last picture. Yes folks, that’s why they call it food porn.

Regarding the fillers between the pictures: sometimes I read those. Recipes, I think they’re called.

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Lawsuit Muffins with Mango

rivka — Wed, 23 Jan 2008 17:01:16 +0000

I worked from home on Monday morning in exchange for taking Friday off. Ahh, the wonders of working at home: no commute=less time wasted= more time spent baking delicious things in the kitchen= one more post to entertain you! I’d say the equation works out in everyone’s favor, don’t you think?

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A Brittle Perfect for Fall

rivka — Mon, 03 Dec 2007 22:29:00 +0000

When a blogger-hero of mine, Danielle from Habeas Brulee, posted a while back about pumpkin seed cocoa nib brittle, I knew I’d be making it sooner or later. For starters, the recipe is uber-simple. Just combine sugar and water with a bit of cream of tartar, heat ‘em up, let them turn golden, add the rest of the ingredients, and pour out onto a sheet of silpat (or, in my case, parchment paper) in a thin layer. The hardest part of the recipe is waiting for the brittle to harden before digging in.

Even if it weren’t easy, this brittle would be worth making. The sheer fact that it contains cocoa nibs makes it absolutely to die for. Cocoa nibs are raw, unsweetened cocoa beans in little bits that are perfect for everything — including noshing.

In my experience, brittles made of just water and sugar (without butter or milk) are a bit too sugary for me. That’s why I decided to add some dried black currants, those perfectly tart berries with quite a bit of zing. In keeping with the other proportions, I added 1/4 cup. I really enjoyed their tartness, and they cut the sweetness exactly as I’d hoped.

I also happened to have some already-roasted squash seeds, which had some sugar, salt, cayenne and cinnamon on them. They were perfect for this brittle, and I actually added a pinch of salt as well. It’s still super-sweet, and Danielle’s right — it would be perfect atop a cheesecake or some other less-sweet dessert. That said, this is one classic fall treat you’ll be sorry to miss.

Squash Seed Cocoa Nib Black Currant Brittle originally at Habeas Brulee
(adapted from Essence of Chocolate: Recipes for Baking and Cooking with Fine Chocolate</a> by Robert Steinberg and John Scharffenberger)
1/4 cup raw green pumpkin seeds
1/4 cup cocoa nibs
1/4 cup black currants (can sub other dried berries)
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 cup water
a pinch of salt
1/8 tsp cream of tartar
A pinch of cayenne

Toast the pumpkin seeds in a dry pan over medium heat, shaking very frequently, until they begin to pop. Set them aside to cool.

Set up a baking sheet covered with a Silpat or piece of parchment paper (something non-stick and flexible).

Bring the sugar, water, and cream of tartar to a simmer together in a small saucepan. Continue to simmer until it starts to develop a nice light caramel color that appeals best to you. Stir in the other ingredients, then quickly pour it all out onto the baking sheet and spread it thin as you can with a silicone spatula or wooden spoon.

Let it cool and harden before breaking off pieces to serve and devour.

Or you can just play with the sugar while you wait….

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Roasted Squash Seeds

rivka — Thu, 08 Nov 2007 21:45:00 +0000

When I was young, squash seeds were a go-to fall snack in my house. They came in all shapes and sizes: butternut, acorn, delicata, pumpkin, etc. As soon as the weather was cool enough for squash, seeds would start to appear in Tupperware containers on the kitchen counter. As far as I remember, there was only one flavor: plain, with a bit of salt sprinkled on top.

Recently, I’ve started to get back into squash. Between weekly visits to the farmers’ markets and a return to a mostly-vegetarian lifestyle, squash has once again become the staple that it was in my childhood. With all that delicata and butternut come a great many seeds, which, when roasted, are the perfect afternoon snack.

For flavors, just think about popcorn. I usually do mine in kettle-corn style: a bit of brown sugar, a bit of salt, maybe a dash of chili powder and cinnamon. I recently had zaatar-spiced seeds at my parents’ house that were absolutely delicious, and I can imagine variations with Italian spices, garlic powder, pepper, honey, even chocolate. The possibilities are endless.

Once roasted, it’s important to let the seeds cool before storing them — otherwise they’ll get soft. But let them cool completely, and they’ll keep, stored in a tight plastic container, for about a month (if you can keep them around that long…)

Roasted Squash Seeds

However many squash seeds you have
cinnamon
chili powder
sugar
salt
pam or oil spray

Preheat oven to 300 degrees.

Spread seeds on a non-stick (pref.) baking sheet in a single layer. Spray them liberally with oil, and sprinkle salt and sugar on top till all seeds are coated. Finish with a few dashes or cinnamon and a dash of chili powder.

Roast in the 300-degree oven for about half and hour, until golden. Depending on your oven, you may want to raise the heat to 320. Take them out when they’re golden and your house smells ridiculously yummy.

Let cool completely, then store in Tupperware containers for up to a month.

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