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ricotta crescents

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ricotta crescents

 Sometimes I think baking keeps me from going insane. It’s zen, it’s like meditating. It makes me feel a bit like a witch making potions (evil laugh).

So when you feel down, save yourself by baking.

And give the product of your labour away if you tend to comfort eat. After all what they say is if you love it, set it free…

ricotta crescents

ricotta crescents

Ricotta crescents

 Ingredients

for the dough:

50grams of fresh yeast or two sachets of dry ones (15 grams)

cup of lukewarm milk

2 table spoons of sour cream

1/4 cup of sugar (or 1/4 cup of honey)

pinch of salt

3 eggs and 1 egg white (you will have one after making the filling)

100 grams of melted butter

3-4 cups of flour

 for the filling:

220 grams of ricotta or quark cheese

zest and juice of one lemon

1 egg yolk

1 mashed banana

1/3 cup of honey

1 egg for brushing

1. Put yeast in a big bowl, add sugar or honey and warm milk. Mix and leave it for 10 minutes.

2. After 10 minutes when the yeast has started working add eggs, butter, sour cream, pinch of salt and 3 cups of flour.

3. Start to kneed the dough. If you need it, add more flour…no pun intended.

4. Leave the dough to raise.

5. After half and hour kneed it again and leave it for another half an hour.

6. Mix ingredients for the filling.

7. Sprinkle your working surface with more flour. Divide the dough into 4-5 parts.

8. Roll out one part of the dough on the floured surface. Cut into triangles. Brush with beaten egg.

9. Put about 1 small tablespoon of filling on the end of the triangle. Start rolling from that end making the shape of a crescent. Repeat with the rest of the dough.

10. Transfer crescents onto a baking tray lined with greased paper. Brushed each one with beaten egg and sprinkle with more sugar.

11. Bake in the oven at 170 C till they are golden brown.

Breath in and out…eat it. Be happy.

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About potatofaces

People who cook always go on about precious memories of childhood food one of their family members cooked, how daddy or nanny taught them the importance of cooking and eating together, and they still remember the comfort food they produced, amazing dishes whipped up by brilliant but humble cooks in their family. Well, let me tell you, it was totally different in my family. My mother’s family – totally useless as cooks, who could survive on bread and butter, cooked once a week a terrible, terrible meal, usually some kind of meat piece with lots of brown sauce. Also, they were never bothered about eating together. That’s maybe why most of them were depressed and suicidal. My mother followed that path and couldn’t really cook, and because I never wanted to eat meat, was warning me that ‘one day I will regret it’. Probably because my mother wasn’t into cooking my sister at the age of 12 took over and started producing amazing dinners and cakes. Well, luckily for me and her we weren’t that genetically doomed because apparently my father’s family were gifted in that compartment. I can only presume it was genes, as my father divorced my mother when my sis and me were little and he strongly believed that he also divorced us. So, we were growing up never having any contact with him and as a result, couldn’t learn how to cook from him. That’s why I believe the love of cooking ( and the ability) was just passed to us genetically. My father, short time before he died, unexpectedly felt an urge to contact us. First he gave my sister a mandolin (that’s another thing I know about him- he played a few instruments). My sister refused to talk to him, he then decided to contact me and wanted to spend some time with me. I didn’t want to, as he was a stranger to me (I was 11 or 12 at the time) but as I was promised I could leave whenever I wanted to, I went to the village he lived in. There I tried his mother’s cooking everyone was raving about. It was simple and amazing, I wish they were as family dedicated as they were at baking, cooking, making pastries, wine, tinctures, you name it. But I ate, drunk, and got bored of strangers who were my family and demanded to be let to go home. One of the last things my father said to me was that I should start learning English because I might need it one day, which I ignored for another 16 years… Because my sister was such a domestic goddess I wasn’t really bothered about cooking. I got hooked properly after my son was born and I wanted him to eat healthy and get everything he needed, especially that it wasn’t his choice to be a vegetarian (yet). And that is how the story begins…

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