Rosemary and Brown Butter Applesauce

I can’t write much today. My migraines continue to take their toll, and this past weekend we took a trip to Southern California to see our nephew, getting back on Monday and not catching up on nearly enough sleep yet. I should probably be sleeping right now, really. But I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t tell you about this recipe in time for your Thanksgiving shopping list.


The recipe is for rosemary brown butter applesauce.  If the name alone doesn’t make you want to drop everything and head to your nearest orchard, let me say it again: Rosemary. Brown butter. Applesauce.


If you’re still reading this, and not running out to purchase your apples, or maybe even wondering why I’d be putting rosemary in my applesauce, let me explain.  Brown-butter applesauce tastes similar to something you’d find in a delicious apple pie: sweet and buttery, with a background warmth and nuttiness from the browning and the cinnamon.  It kind of tastes like a warm blanket, with a cup of hot chocolate, on Christmas morning, if you were five years old and staring at the biggest pile of presents you’d ever seen.  Or rather, dang delicious.


The thing is, though, that cinnamony-sweet brown butter in your applesauce can taste a little too apple pie if you’re not careful.  It would be fine for breakfast or a midday snack, but placing a bowl of apple pie filling on the Thanksgiving table just doesn’t work so well. This is where the rosemary comes in, taking the dessert level down a few notches by adding a woodsy, Christmas-tree aroma and savory side notes.  The perfect, wintry foil.  If I don’t speak with you before then, Happy Thanksgiving!


Rosemary and Brown Butter Applesauce

adapted from Bon Appétit, Dec 2008

3 cups unsweetened apple juice
3 4-inch fresh rosemary sprigs
1 1/2 cinnamon sticks
3 1/2 pounds (7 to 8 medium) Braeburn apples or other tart-sweet apples, peeled, cored, and chopped into chunks (or cut into eighths)
3 tablespoons unsalted butter

In a large pot, combine the apple juice, rosemary, and cinnamon.  Add in a big pinch of salt and put the heat on medium, to bring the juice to a boil.  Reduce the juice by half.  Mix in the apples.  Cover the pot, and cook for about 35 minutes, or until the apples are mushy.  Uncover and discard the rosemary and cinnamon.

Meanwhile, melt butter in a small skillet over medium-low heat until it browns, stirring occasionally.  Mix butter into applesauce. (Can be made a few days ahead.)


Candied kumquats with vanilla and cinnamon

I’ve been anxiously awaiting canning season this year. Last summer I didn’t preserve nearly enough as we needed for the upcoming year.  We’ve been out of jam for months now and this year I plan on making enough cherry, strawberry, blueberry, and peach preserves to last a year of ravenous monkeys.

But until I’m able to find the best fruits of the season—and it’s about time for cherries!—I’ve been playing with some of the fruits that, in New Jersey, I never get to buy locally. These kumquats aren’t local, and I’m not sure when their season is (I’m guessing winter) but, cooked slowly in syrup, they were delicious nonetheless.

Anyway you candy kumquats will yield sweet-tart, marmalade-like preserves, but this recipe is really special.  I spotted it in a recipe for a gingerbread cake topped with candied kumquats, and the thought of cinnamon and vanilla bean must have flipped on a switch in my brain, because I couldn’t think another thought until I had the kumquats I’d bought earlier that week swimming in a sweet pool of honey and spices.

Orange honey is a perfect match here, the background floral and citrus is a real no-brainer to pair with kumquats, but any honey would do.  I used a vanilla bean and I don’t think vanilla extract would work here (vanilla sugar would be fine); you could leave it out if you don’t have (or want to buy) a vanilla bean.  You can’t totally see it in the pictures, since the syrup was still hot, but the magical black specks of vanilla bean came out to sparkle by the next day.  The jar didn’t last much longer than that, though.

Candied Kumquats with Vanilla and Cinnamon

makes one 8-oz jar with a bit leftover

1/2 cup water
3/4 cup orange honey
scant 1/4 cup natural sugar
2 cinnamon sticks
1/2 of a vanilla bean, split lengthwise
1 pint kumquats, halved and seeded (about 14-18 ounces)

Add first five ingredients to a saucepan over medium-high heat, scraping the seeds from the vanilla bean and adding both seeds and pod.  Stir to dissolve sugar.  Add kumquats and bring back to boil.  Reduce heat and simmer for 15 minutes or so, until kumquats are tender and the syrup has reduced some.  Cool and store in a jar in the fridge.

Craving kumquats without the bean? Try Elise’s Candied Kumquats or get fancy with some of Cannelle et Vanille’s Candied Kumquat and Pistachio Financiers.

Chocolate in the morning.

I’m guessing that no one needs another post about Molly’s french chocolate granola—the recipe that spread like wildfire through the blogging world last spring.  I remember reading it and thinking—oh, my, god—and promptly bookmarking it.  Then, as these things do, I forgot all about it and continued to make do with store-bought granola.

But this weekend, with quitting my job and the consequential worrying about money, store-bought granola suddenly seems an extravagance, as well as (so I’ve learned) down-right silly.  Store-bought granola doesn’t hold a candle to homemade, especially when it’s made with high-quality chocolate.  This chocolate granola, adapted just slightly from Molly’s, makes the perfect breakfast; it’s hardly sweet, with an undercurrent of bittersweet chocolate that echoes caffeine.  It calls to me wake up while at the same time rubbing my back, soothingly, telling me to pamper myself, to eat chocolate in the morning.

So that’s my plan.  I’m going to eat chocolate, in the form of granola, every day while I am in this transition period—while I sort out a few things and decide what’s on my horizon.  But to be honest, I don’t think I’ll stop eating it… ever.

Molly’s Chocolate Granola

adapted from Orangette

  • 3 cups rolled oats
  • ½ cup raw almonds
  • ½ cup raisins
  • ½ cup, or more, finely chopped bittersweet chocolate
  • Pinch of salt
  • 6 Tbsp. mild honey
  • 2 Tbsp. vegetable oil

Preheat the oven to 300°F.

In a large bowl, combine the oats, almonds, raisins, chocolate, and salt. Stir well to blend.

In a small saucepan, warm the honey and oil over low heat, whisking occasionally  until the honey is loose. Pour over the dry ingredients, and stir to combine well.

Spread the mixture evenly on a rimmed baking sheet. Bake for about 20 minutes, or until golden. Set a timer to go off halfway through the baking time, so that you can give the granola a good stir; this helps it to cook evenly. When it’s ready, remove the pan from the oven, stir well – this will keep it from cooling into a hard, solid sheet – and cool completely.

When cool, transfer the granola to a large bowl, storage jar, or zipper-lock plastic bag.

Cranberries are back.

It’s time.  Can you taste it?  That tongue-titillating tartness?  Cranberries are back. Whether you love them or hate them, cranberries are a practically indispensable part of Thanksgiving.  But really, they are so much more.

Cranberries are an autumn pick-me-up, little bombs of shocking flavor that can be added into applesauce, baked in muffins, made into jam and slathered on your sandwich, eaten with granola and yogurt, or even by the spoonful whenever you need that jolt of it’s-okay-that-summer’s-over feeling.  Winter’s coming but it doesn’t need to be all butter and braising.  Just because we’ve got to make do without raspberries and watermelon doesn’t mean we still can’t have a little fun.

This cranberry relish in particular is fun with a capital “F”.  White cranberries (cranberries harvested after they’ve matured, but before they turn red) are joined with candied grapefruit peel and grapefruit juice, cooked until the berries “pop!” and sassied up with mint.  To say it’s refreshing is a serious understatement.  This cranberry relish is practically electric.

Maybe too electric for the Thanksgiving table.  It’s a bit too dominating for turkey but the zing!-factor shines slathered over a pork tenderloin, or even a flank steak.  Better yet, serve this (warmed up a tad) over buttery pound cake.  You’d never know it wasn’t summer outside.

White Cranberry Relish with Grapefruit and Mint

Makes 3 cups//adapted from Bon Appetit, Nov ’08

  • 1 large pink grapefruit*
  • 1 cup sugar
  • 3 cups white cranberries (or red cranberries)
  • 2 tablespoons chopped fresh mint

Using vegetable peeler, remove peel (pink-yellow outer layer only) from 1 grapefruit in strips. Cut peel into 2-inch-long, 1/8-inch-wide strips (about 1/2 cup). Squeeze 1 cup juice from grapefruits.

Stir 1 cup sugar and 1 cup water in medium saucepan over medium heat until sugar dissolves. Add grapefruit peel; bring to boil. Reduce heat; simmer until peel is soft, about 15 minutes. Add 1 cup grapefruit juice and cranberries; bring to boil. Reduce heat and simmer until berries burst, about 10 minutes. Transfer to medium bowl. Stir in mint. Cover; chill until cold. DO AHEAD: Can be made 3 days ahead. Keep chilled.

Bon Appetit uses 2 grapefruits, I only had one on hand.  I didn’t feel like I was missing out on any grapefruit flavor (it was very pronounced, actually) but feel free to use 2 instead of 1.

¡Hola Fruta! ¡Hola Moving to a New Apartment!

The week before you move into a new apartment, you don’t eat much but pizza and ice cream. You’ve packed your pots and pans, cleaned out all the fresh food from the fridge, and your current apartment is a maze of boxes that you wouldn’t risk carrying a hot plate through.

Luckily for me, Pierre’s Ice Cream had me covered. A representative from a branch of Pierre’s, ¡Hola Fruta!, contacted me last week. ¡Hola Fruta! makes all-natural, low-fat sherbets of many Spanish-centric fruit (and drink mix) flavors—and they wanted to send me samples! I could hardly stop from jumping for joy—I knew I was in for some grueling days of packing and this would do just the trick to perk me up.

I’ve tried the strawberry and mango sherbets, which are deliciously light and sweet, with a creamy texture that you just can’t get with sorbet. Then I tried the pina colada and pomegranate-blueberry sherbet pops, which were intense and fruity and perfect for when you need to use one hand to pack boxes while the other holds your pop.

And then, after the packing was done, I tried the margarita… in a margarita. The ¡Hola Fruta! website gives a recipe using tequila, triple sec, ice, and the sherbet—and man, it is good. It is, like, forget all about how exhausted you are from packing and how sad you are that it’s only half-done good. It’s, by far, the best margarita I’ve ever had good.

Tomorrow’s the big moving day and I’ll be without internet until next week, but I urge you to go right on over the ¡Hola Fruta! store and buy some sherbet. I know I’ll be going back for more—which makes me think this whole offering samples thing is a ruse, because everytime some company offers me samples, I become a die-hard customer, spending even more money on food than I already do. Ah, well, let me forget about all that while I have another margarita.


recipe from ìHola Fruta!

6 oz tequila
2 oz triple sec
3 generous scoops of Margarita ¡Hola Fruta!® Sherbet
1 cup crushed ice

In an electric blender, blend crushed ice, tequila, triple sec and ¡Hola Fruta!® Sherbet. Blend at high speed for a short length of time until smooth. Pour into glass and serve.

The happy tedium of cherry jam.

I’m feeling a bit better this week—not better as in I can spend more time off the couch than on it better, or my life is going back to normal and I can sleep a whole 8 hours without being awakened by shudders of pain in my back and hips better, or even I no longer feel like I’ve gone bonkers better, but by now, I ain’t asking for much; and feeling as if there may be a teensy blip of light at the end of the tunnel is seriously uplifting. Almost as uplifting, I must add, as all your comments have been—I loved everyone’s caring words.

They helped me calm down, helped me realize that it will get better—if not physically (though that’s the hope, dammit!) then mentally. Everything that was happening was too much for me to see through—I couldn’t fathom ever getting better, or being happy again. You guys helped me realize that it was stupid ol’ depression talking, that I hadn’t gone totally nuts. Honestly, I started to feel better as soon as I published that post… and each comment that came in made me feel even better.

I realize now that it’s going to be an uphill climb. I’m not just going to one day wake up and feel 100 percent (though I’m not ruling out that possibility), but that gradually I’ll get better. I may not be able to go dancing anytime soon, but that’s okay. I’ve started to get the whole it’s been six months already so what the hell’s up thought out of my head, replacing it with a it’s been six months, that sucks, but let’s do something to get my mind off it kind of thinking. I’m no longer upset about not being able to cook elaborate meals or lavish desserts, spending hours in the kitchen. I’ve given up on that for a bit. I also gave up on my apartment patio gardening—opting to buy pre-potted plants that are, in truth, better looking than the ones I grew last year. I made food processor bread that didn’t need one knead. And I started taking pleasure in the slow, tedious cooking that you can do while sitting down.

There’s a happy tedium in pitting three pounds of cherries. And I’m grateful for that.

Cherry Jam

This is my recipe for one pound of cherries—since cherries are so expensive I never make much of the jam in fear that I won’t eat it all throughout the year. Surely though, double or triple if you want. Make sure to buy a little over the weight of cherries you want to use, to make up for any bruised fruit that you may find in the bag.

Also, I halve the cherries with a sharp paring knife and then pull out the pit—I’ve always heard that you should put pressure on the cherry with the flat side of a big knife and that it will conveniently split open and dislodge the pit. I find that technique too messy so unless you are bent on having plump whole cherries in your jam, cutting in half with a knife is fine.

  • 1 pound cherries, halved and pitted
  • the juice and zest of one lime
  • 1/8 teaspoon almond extract
  • 1/2 cup water, optional
  • 2/3 cup sugar

Put a small plate in the freezer.

Heat cherries in a 2 quart pot over medium heat. Add the lime and almond extract. Bring to a boil and then cook until cherries are tender, maybe 15-20 minutes. If not much juice has come out, add some water, up to 1/2 cup.

Add the sugar and stir for a few minutes. Test the jam by taking the pot off the heat and putting a bit of it on the plate from the freezer. Put it back in the freezer for a couple minutes, then take out and nudge the jam with your finger. If it wrinkled up a bit, or if it hardly moves when you tilt the plate sideways, your jam is done. If not, put the pot back on the heat and cook some more before testing again. Cherry jam sets easily, so you’ll probably only have to test it once or twice.

Pour the jam in sterilized mason jars with new dome lids and screw bands (leaving 1/4 inch of headspace) if canning, or in whatever container you like if you plan to eat the jam in the next few weeks.

If canning, screw on the lids and heat another pot full of water until boiling. Add the jars to the pot carefully and boil for 10 minutes. Remove jars–carefully–and place on a towel. The jars should make a popping noise soon, telling you they are properly sterilized. When you push down on the lid of a sterilized jar, it will not make a clicking noise. Store in a cool dark place and consume within one year.

Fills about 3 4 oz. jars.

A little spring in my kitchen.

Spring is being a bit cagey this year. She doesn’t know if she really likes the sun, warm breezes, outside picnics. I mean, winter can be attractive—he’s blustery, he’s frigidly cold but then again he’s inviting, enticing people to go inside and cuddle up by the fireplace with him and a cup of steaming hot chocolate, or maybe even a warm stew. He reminds people how good home is, since every time anyone steps outside he wallops them on the head with cold air. And he encourages everyone to eat and eat, foods with lots of butter and substance, without ever asking them to put on a bathing suit.

So, she doesn’t want to let him go. She thinks they make a great pair and we’re left with this unappetizing weather that’s a mix of winter and spring—damp, too-chilly, and grey. Until Spring realizes that she’s better off without him—that we’re sick of eating root vegetables, that our lips have been chapped for one too many days, that we want to sit outside and see the sun for flup’s sake—we’ll just have to make do with a little spring in our kitchens.

This green bean salad takes advantage of all the great things Spring has to offer—even if she refuses to admit it. It’s colorful, tangy, and crisp-tasting. All you need to do is say “sunflower seeds” and you feel warmer. The green beans hold their own amidst bold vinegar and citrus flavors and I even humor Spring and mix in a bit of the best Winter has to offer us culinarily—blood oranges.

It takes some patience and a little knife skills to cut the orange into pith-and skin-free segments, though you can find a good tutorial on how to do it here (I wish I saw this post before I made the salad!) If you’re in a hurry, just peel, take as much pith off as you can manage, and use the whole segments—the salad will still taste great. Also, this salad gets better by the next day, which made me quite chipper since I usually hate day old dressed salads.

Here’s hoping that the weather soon gets as sunny as our food!

Citrus Sunflower Green Bean Salad

serves 6-8//adapated from Techniques of Healthy Cooking

For the salad:

  • 1 1/2 pounds green beans, washed and trimmed
  • 3 blood oranges, cut into segments *You need 4 oranges total in this recipe
  • 1 sweet white onion, halved and thinly sliced
  • 4 ounces salted and roasted sunflower seeds
  • salt and pepper

For the vinaigrette:

  • 1 teaspoon cornstarch
  • 1/2 cup vegetable stock
  • 3 tbsp olive oil
  • 2 tbsp sherry vinegar
  • *1 blood orange, juiced
  • 1 tbsp dijon mustard
  • 2 shallot cloves, minced
  • 1 garlic clove, minced
  • salt and pepper

Cook beans in boiling water for a few minutes, until barely tender. Drain and run under cold water to cool.

Combine beans, blood orange segments, onions, sunflower seeds in a large bowl. Season a little with salt and pepper.

To make the vinaigrette, combine cornstarch with 1 teaspoon water and mix to make a “slurry.” Set aside. Bring stock to a boil in a small saucepan. Add the slurry and stir until the stock thickens, about 2 minutes. Cool to room temperature. Combine with the remaining ingredients and whisk well.

Pour vinaigrette over the bean mixture. Toss and serve. Can be made a day ahead of time. The leftover salad will last in the fridge for a few days.


As crazy as it seems for a girl who on any given day has 3 pounds of apples on her counter, I’ve never made applesauce. And I adore applesauce—the spices, the chunks of warm apple, the sweet tart taste—but cannot stand the canned commercial stuff. Why, then, did I wait so long to start making homemade applesauce (really, if you can help me answer that one go ahead, because I’m at a loss.)

This applesauce is based on a recipe from Cooking Light magazine—which gave me the idea to add cranberries, another sentimentally Fall ingredient. The cranberries lend the applesauce a tarter, intriguing taste, and give the applesauce a rich pink-red color, so if you are thinking of gifting your applesauce, this one looks beautiful! I used brown instead of white sugar, feeling like brown is somehow cozier, warmer, than white. I also added allspice and used extra ground cinnamon, because I like my applesauce spicy! Once you get the peeling and chopping done, applesauce is so easy to make—and so worth it!

Now, I’m off to sit on my patio in the crisp air with a bowl of warm applesauce, to ponder what to have for dinner. Oh, how I love Saturdays!

Chunky Spiced Cranberry-Applesauce

The amounts of this recipe are based on the amount of apples I had in my kitchen today—2 pounds. If you have more or less, however, just tweak the other ingredients to match and don’t worry about it—applesauce is very forgiving!

Makes 3 heaping cups

  • 2 pounds apples (anything on hand—I used Pippen, peeled and coarsely chopped
  • 2 cups fresh cranberries
  • 1/2 cup light brown sugar
  • 1/3 cup real maple syrup
  • 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
  • 1/8 tsp allspice
  • 1/3 cup water
  • lemon juice for sprinkling

Peal and chop the apples. Place them in a bowl with cold water covering them, sprinkle in lemon juice. In a dutch oven, bring the rest of the ingredients to a boil and stir until cranberries begin to “pop,” about 3 minutes. Drain apples and add them to dutch oven. Turn heat down to low-medium, cover, and simmer for 20 minutes. Uncover and bring back to a boil. Mash the apples to your chunkiness level—using the back of a spoon or potato masher. Cook for 15. Pour applesauce into a big bowl, throw on a sweatshirt and go sit on your patio, watch the falling leaves, and enjoy!

Peal and chop the apples. Place them in a bowl with cold water covering them, sprinkle in lemon juice. In a dutch oven, bring the rest of the ingredients to a boil and stir until cranberries begin to “pop,” about 3 minutes. Drain apples and add them to dutch oven. Turn heat down to low-medium, cover, and simmer for 20 minutes. Uncover and bring back to a boil. Mash the apples to your chunkiness level—using the back of a spoon or potato masher. Cook for 15. Pour applesauce into a big bowl, throw on a sweatshirt and go sit on your patio, watch the falling leaves, and enjoy!

What is a “Power” Bar, anyway?

“Power” bars make me hesitant. I just can’t believe that the little squares of grains and dried fruit, albeit delicious, will grant me “power.” To explain, I went to the dictionary:

Power is defined as (1) The ability to do or act; capability of doing or accomplishing something—OK, “power” bar, you have me there. Your yummy carbohydrates do motivate me for a short period of time, and every once in a while, I accomplish something with that burst of sugar.

(2) Political or national strength: the balance of power in Europe—Haha, showed you bar! A “power” bar will definitely not grant me political strength, and they will not keep Europe balanced. I don’t think Europeans even eat “power” bars.

(3) The great or marked ability to do or act; strength; might; force—Touche. I do get a bit of strength, but seriously “power” bar, I think you are exaggerating.

(4) The possession of control or command over others; authority; ascendancy: power over men’s minds—“Power” bar, if you could do this, I would buy you a beer. I’d buy you the beer factory.

(5) Legal ability, capacity, or authority—I’m not sure I know what this means, but I ain’t got it.

(6) A military or naval force—I don’t think my “Power” bar has very good military skills, he’s kind of a hippy.

(7) Energy, force, or momentum—Okay, okay, you get this one too, “power” bar, but it’s really just (1) and (3) worded a bit differently, don’t you think?

The list goes on and on, well for another 23 entries for “power” ranging from electrical units to orders of angels, and I’m convinced that my “power” bars will neither make me electrical or angelic (certainly not the latter.) But while I will not be granted the power to rule countries or read men’s minds, these power bars are pretty tasty. And maybe I’ll feel empowered enough to do some laundry, too.

Power (in a sense) Bars

These bars can be easily molded to your liking—exchange any ingredients you don’t like with comparable or it’s in-season counterparts.

Time: About 15 minutes, or as quickly as you can get out all of the ingredients!

Makes about 20 thick bars.

  • 3 cups crisped rice (a much more mature way of saying Rice Krispies)
  • 3  cups rolled oats
  • 1 cup toasted wheat germ
  • 1 cup light corn syrup
  • 1 Tbsp vanilla extract
  • 1 ½ cups dried cranberries
  • 1 ½ cups raisins
  • 2 mashed bananas
  • 1 cup chunky natural peanut-butter
  • 3 Tbsp shredded coconut
  • OPTIONAL: 2 Tbsp protein powder
  1. Bring corn syrup and vanilla to a boil in small saucepan.
  2. Mix all other ingredients in a large mixing bowl until well combined.
  3. Add just boiling syrup to large bowl and combine very well.
  4. Spread mixture into a greased baking pan—let cool completely and then cut into 20 bars. Will keep for about two weeks when individually wrapped.

WBB#12 (Spiced and Fruity) Cereal Bars!

My younger sister, Kathy, gave me a wonderful present for my birthday—a huge baking cookbook! She either wants me to bake for her or to bake better for her, and I couldn’t be more grateful. This book has bare minimum basics, like explaining what “knead” means—I’ve been trying to bake for a while without ever learning these basics. When we were kids and my mom (a great baker who reminded me just how great with a delicious birthday carrot cake) began teaching us, I always opted out. The measurements frustrated me and there were so many rules. Most of the time I would go play outside and wait for the food to be ready. My sisters were much defter than I, though I wouldn’t learn it until I attempted to start baking in my early twenties, and they learned in their childhoods the cakes and cookies, brownies, pastries, and crepes that I’m now struggling to figure out. All I really remember (vaguely) is zucchini bread—probably because of my fondness for green vegetables.

Since I keep a decently healthy or, at least, health-conscious diet now, I’m always on the look-out for nutritious baked goods. The cookbook has some gems: date bars, fig newtons, energy bites, and cereal bars. This weekend, I ate my last bran muffin, and decided to give the cereal bars a try for breakfast. My recipe ended up significantly different from the cookbook’s, but I value the base recipe given, which included mashed bananas and light corn syrup—things I wouldn’t have known to include.

I’m entering the bars into WBB#12, hosted by The Spice Who Loved Me. The theme this time is a breakfast food made with spice(s). The only spice in these bars is cinnamon but all the other flavors pack such a punch on their own, that many spices weren’t needed. I guess due to an American childhood of cinnamon toast and the occasional doughnut, I always like cinnamon in my breakfast baked-goods!

Cereal Bars

Oven Temp: 350°

Details: 11 x 7 x 1½ baking sheet. Prep 25 minutes, baking 30 minutes.

  • 2 mashed bananas
  • 1/2 dried, chopped apricots*
  • 1/2 cup raisins
  • 1/2 pumpkin seed granola
  • 4 tbsp. flax seed
  • 1/2 whole wheat flour
  • 1 cup oats
  • 1/2 tsp. cinnamon (plus more for sprinkling)
  • 1/4 light corn syrup
  • 1/3 cup butter

*The fruits, granola, and flax seed are subject to taste, and my measurements can be used as approximates. Next time, I think I’ll put in more flax seed, and maybe some chocolate chips!

  1. Grease baking sheet.
  2. Melt butter in a saucepan and stir in corn syrup.
  3. Add first 8 ingredients to saucepan and mix well. Spoon into tin.
  4. Bake for about 30 minutes or until golden brown. Sprinkle with cinnamon and, if you prefer, sugar.
  5. Slice into about 14 bars. The bars will keep in the fridge for a few days, or you can individually wrap (and then put in an airtight container) and freeze for about 2 months.