Tag Archives: bread

Baked Olive Artichoke Dip

The original recipe for this lovely hot dip came from one of the blogs I regularly read. The only change I’ve made is to spell out how I made the green olive tapenade for those of you who may not have tapenade on hand.

You definitely need to like olives in order to enjoy this, but the olive flavor also won’t punch you in the face and knock you out cold. It’s so easy to assemble, so let’s get started.

Wow–I’m not feeling very verbose today, and it’s kinda freaking me out. I normally like to chatter at least a little before stampeding on with the recipe at hand. Hmmmm.

*Searching brain for something clever and hilarious to say*

*Searching brain for something at least mildly amusing to say*

*Searching brain for any old anything to say*

Nope, I’m coming up on empty. Well, as they say, another day another dollar. You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it drink. Don’t take no wooden nickels. Lose the battle, win the war. So to speak.

Alright! I’m feeling better already.

Ingredients

(Serves 6)

1-14 oz can artichoke hearts (unmarinated), drained

1/2 packed fresh basil leaves, minced

1 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese

3/4 cup chopped green anchovy-stuffed olives

1 clove garlic, minced

2 tsp capers, minced

5.2 oz Boursin (or any garlic and herb cheese)

Crackers, flatbread, or crusy bread to serve

Preheat the oven to 375 F. Give the drained artichoke hearts a rough choppity-chop.

Measure out the basil–firmly pack it in there.

Cram it . . . no, I’ve made that joke too many times already and, as they say, 3rd time’s a spanking.

Give it a nice mince.

Now if you have a green olive tapenade on hand, simply measure out 3/4 cup of that, and skip this next step. I didn’t have any tapenade around, so I assembled some anchovy-stuffed olives, capers, and garlic.

Mince the olives, capers, and garlic (or use your food processor) (then please send me your food processor).

Unwrap the beauty that is Boursin cheese.

By all means taste it. I know I did.

Mix all the ingredients together (except for the crackers, of course).

A sensible person would do this in a bowl, with a spoon.

I did it in a pie plate with my hands.

Hey! What the heck . . .

Note to self: next time, fully remove the foil packaging from the Boursin.

Press the dip into a pie plate, creating an even surface.

Lick your fingers avidly. Consider the possibility of eating it just like this, right now.

Bake for 30 minutes.

Serve with the crackers or bread.

Mmmm. I love a good hot dip.

It’s delightful, folks.

If you want a pop of fresh color, garnish it with a little extra sprinkling of basil.

And for my closing remarks . . . It takes one to know one. It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. A penny in time saves nine. And the most hideous expression of all time which despite my hatred of it doesn’t prevent me from writing it on a regular basis: don’t get your panties in a bunch.

With this dip on hand, no panties will be bunched by anyone at any time.

P.S. Thank you Lester Roadhog Moran for the page I just ripped out of your book.

P.P.S If you don’t know who Lester Roadhog Moran and the Cadillac Cowboys are, please ignore previous P.S and continue living as previously scheduled.

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Veronica’s Buttery Beer Bread

I’m not a baker. It’s just not what I do.

I want to be of the baking persuasion–my idealized visions of my future self involve pulling a tray of hot biscuits out of the oven, enveloping my family with the scents of freshly baked bread as soon as they walk in the door, and serving homemade pies and cakes pretty much every 10 minutes.

But once I actually get into the kitchen, I play with my usual friends–the skillet. The Dutch oven. Mushrooms and heavy whipping cream.

When my blogging friend Veronica from Recipe Rhapsody mentioned her buttery beer bread recipe though, my heart did a little flip flop in my chest. I wanted that bread.

And I wanted it bad.

The word ‘buttery’ probably played a large part.

Guys, you must make this bread. Let me outline the advantages in a strictly logical fashion:

1) It has only 2 ingredients. Okay fine! It has 6. But it feels like 2 when you’re making it.

2) This bread does not need to rise. So after 10 minutes of mixing and only an hour of baking, it’s on the table, baby. This means that you don’t have to plan in advance–you can make this bread on a whim.

3) The hands-on time could probably go below 10 minutes with practiced efficiency. The necessary actions can be summarized as follows: Sift! Stir! Spray! Plop! Bake.

Have you seen the light? Do you seeeee the liiiiiight? (name that movie)

Ingredients

3 c flour

1/4 c sugar

1 tsp salt

1 TBS baking powder

12 oz beer

1 stick butter

Preheat the oven to 375. Sift together the flour . . .

the sugar . . .

the salt . . .

and the baking powder.

Sifty sifty sift . . .

*Please sing a sifting ditty to yourself*

And if you get some granules at the bottom of the sifter like this:

Just press ’em through with the heel of your measuring cup. Like so.

Give it a little stir with a wooden spoon:

Now grab hold of that beer. I used Blue Moon, but any beer should work.

Pour it in. Into the bowl, not your mouth, silly!

Give the whole shebang another stir with the wooden spoon.

I found it easier to finish the mixing process with my big ole hand.

Now grab that dough!

FYI, if you’re like me and feel compelled to taste the raw dough, it won’t taste that delicious. But the flavor changes completely after baking, fear not. I wouldn’t lead you down the primrose path.

Oh, make sure you spray your baking pan. I used a loaf pan, and completely forgot to spray it until my hands looked like this:

That’s when my husband came riding into the kitchen on a white steed and sprayed the pan for me.

Thanks dear. And tell that white steed to wipe off its hooves before it comes back onto my kitchen floor.

Anyway, plop in the dough and push it into as even a shape as you can.

Clean your hands off at this point–and also your camera. Mine had bits of dough on it–I wonder why.

Sorry–I just wanted an excuse to sneak that picture in there again.

Moving on!

Melt the stick of butter.

Pour the melted butter all over the bread.

It’s drowning in the golden stuff. Oh, yes. Bake your golden treat for 1 hour.

Remove it from the oven. The bread should pop right out of the loaf pan thanks to the butter. Cool it on a wire rack for about 10-15 minutes . . .

. . . and dive in!

It’s best fresh, so set your friends and family on it. Don’t expect any leftovers.

Veronica, I’m forever in your debt.

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