Very Berry Wheat Muffins

YUM! 

Customized a recipe I found online and the reviews around here were rave! (You could make these with all white flour, just reduce the milk.)

Very Berry Wheat Muffins

1 1/2 cups white flour
1 cup whole wheat flour
½ cup whole wheat pastry flour
1 cup sugar
4 teaspoons baking powder
2/3 cup canola oil
2 eggs
1 cup strawberries, chopped
1 cup blueberries
1/2 cup milk
¼ cup buttermilk (optional)
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 tablespoons sugar

Preheat oven to 400.

Mix flour, sugar, and baking powder in a large bowl. Add canola oil, 1/2 cup milk, buttermilk, vanilla, and eggs, and mix until combined. If your dough is very thick, add more milk. Fold in blueberries and strawberries. Top with a sprinkling of sugar.

Bake for 12-18 minutes or until golden brown.

Makes 24 muffins

Welcome to America, Part 1

"Do you have any questions for us?" Angie asked Suan and his wife through our interpreter, another Zomi refugee who has picked up a fair amount of English in his few years in the United States.

Angie's question set off a series of back-and-forth exchanges in Zolai, the language of the Zomi people. The Zomi are from the Chin territory in Burma. As a minority (strike one), largely Christian (strike two) nation in Myanmar's Eastern border, the Zomi have suffered under the military junta that still controls the Burmese government. Many have fled as refugees, and some of those refugees have been given a home in the Chicago area.

As the chatter died down, the interpreter, Pau, turned back to Angie and said with an embarrassed laugh, "Um, yes… my wife would like to know what the bag of white powder is for." Answering our uncomprehending stares, Sing, mother of two daughters, gesticulated toward the kitchen.

"White powder?" mumbled Angie. Then again addressing Pau, she asked, "Can Sing show us?"

Who would have thought a simple little exchange like this would lead to the fulfillment of one of Angie's childhood dreams?

Angie grew up a stone's throw from Phoenix, Arizona. Having only one sibling, a brother four years her senior, she tended to rely upon her active imagination to fill those scorching childhood summers in the desert. Envisioning herself as Julia Childs, little ten-year-old Angie would stand before her bedroom mirror and host a cooking show. In a matter-of-fact tone, she would walk through the process of beating an egg, mixing dough, or baking a pizza. She was always careful to explain the details to her imaginary studio audience.

As Angie grew up, the practical concerns of everyday life replaced her childhood fantasy. She had all but given up her aspiration to host a cooking show until that very moment when Sing pulled the paper back out from under her sink: All Purpose Flour.

The Zomi people are an agrarian society. In a climate conducive to farming, they grow corn, rice, fruit, and vegetables. Apparently, they do not grow wheat. They had never seen wheat flour, and hadn't any idea how it should be used. And as Angie realized this, a light rekindled in her eyes as she enthusiastically offered to show them how to cook with it.

When Pau translated this to Zolai, Suan and Sing nodded their assent. Someone, I'm not sure who, ducked out the front door of the small studio apartment provided to the refugee family, and called down the hall. The Rogers Park apartment building into which Suan and Sing were placed houses several other Zomi families, and in some ways they act like a tiny village inside of the large urban Chicago building. As Angie was busy finding the necessary kitchen utensils, other Zomi families streamed into the apartment, removing their shoes (as is the custom in Burma) and making a beeline for the tiny five-by-five kitchen nook.

Glowing with the enthusiasm of Rachel Ray, Angie began demonstrating how to make pancakes. Explaining the function of each utensil as she went, she scooped, leveled, mixed, poured, and cooked. Her audience stood rapt, interrupted only rarely by the exclamations of an inquisitive Zomi child.

Fifteen minutes later, the plate of pancakes passed from hand to hand. I'm not sure that our American cuisine immediately won over the hearts and stomachs of the Zomi refugees, but all of the pancakes were consumed. Everyone expressed their thanks to Angie, "lung dam mahmah." Thank you very much. Angie glowed.


Follow along with part 2 and part 3.


This is a guest post from my husband, Matt.  Matt is a software developer with an amazing gift for writing. His passions include theology, philosophy, grilling and reading. He wrote this story as a way to share our recent experiences with refugees and the organization that connected us with them. This is the first of 3 parts I will be sharing here on my blog. (We have changed some names for privacy.)

Stretching outside myself

I signed up to be a party host.

Not kidding.

BBQ at our house!  Everyone is welcome.

Well, it's not really just me - Matt's name is on there too.

Why, would we do this, you ask?  And how does one even do it?

Well, our church organizes something called "table groups".  They are monthly get togethers at someone's house.  We have gone to one for about 7 months and we love it!  It's not a "churchy" activity, just a chance to get together with other people and talk.  We are able to bring our kids and we all share a meal together.  We've had Mexican night, casserole night, breakfast for dinner night and now we are doing some grilling nights.  The people are amazing and the food is always great.

So, why would we change anything?  We have enjoyed it so much but the idea is to get to know people in your neighborhood.  This group is about 20 minutes away in our old town.  We love going over there but it seems we should probably go to one where we live.  And there weren't any openings in a group by our house.

Enter Matt & Angie opening their home to others.

Stretching on every corner of our comfort zone.  Pushing the limits of security.

I'm feeling the stretch. I think we both have this immature feeling that it won't be successful, that our group will be a dud.  It sounds lame, but I don't know if that insecure part of me has grown up yet.

I'm reading some books on being a good hostess, I'm buying some extra chairs, I'm preparing to let go a bit and allow others to feel welcome in our home.  Spill something, no problem.  Break our toys, no biggie.  Scared the cats, they're just animals.  What's the worst that can happen, really?

Summer cooking, junior style

Middle of the week. I skipped my workout this morning to sleep in. I was awakened at 6:30 to Anna unloading the dishwasher, cleaning her room and doing other chores.  Huh?  Thank God for my schedule!

Anna prepares something yummy.

I asked her to be a little quieter (I'm a light sleeper in the morning) and I went back to sleep.

At 8 AM she came into our room, proclaiming that breakfast is ready.  Huh?

Matt and I went into the kitchen to find homemade crepes.  Matt makes crepes on a regular basis and Anna has been wanting to make some "changes" to the recipe.  So, she put every different kind of sprinkle and candy possible right in the batter.  But, she has learned something after living with her two non-candy eating parents.  There were 2 plain crepes for us to enjoy.

Truly, the crepes were good.  They were a little dense.  She made 5 crepes out of the recipe, whereas it is supposed to make 15.

I'm working on seeing all the cooking lately from our 10 year old as a huge blessing.  And I'm totally signing her up for cooking school asap!