There are so many cookbooks in the world today, churned out every minute by our latest superstar chefs or directed by our palate’s latest obsessions for Paleo or gluten-free or raw or rustic French cuisines, so I tend to turn a blind eye to building my own collection because of the overwhelm. I am already behind in the few that I have. I’ve made under a dozen of the dishes in Dorie Greenspan’s Around My French Table and the collected recipes from one of our favorite restaurants in L.A., Scarpetta (heartbreakingly-deceased) glowers intimidatingly from its place on our shelf adjacent to the Cute Gardener’s French Laundry bible. These are further accentuated by my slim volumes of Middle Eastern delights and tiny glimpses into the jewels of the Mediterranean and a random Thai or grain bowl assortment bought because the deal was just to good to pass up. But the truth is I am not a big cookbook kind of girl.
But when Clint Marsh, co-editor (along with Karima Cammell) of The Troll Cookbook asked if I would like a review copy, I was pleasantly intrigued. A book not centered on the latest fashionable food trends or embedded with highly personal musings of an egocentric Michelin-man or woman? Yes, please. What I discovered after reading the book from cover-to-cover in one afternoon, hilariously enough, is that I just might have some troll within me.
Trolls get a bad rap in polite society. Yes, they may be strange in visual appearance ranging from the gnomish to the gigantic, and yes, they may eschew participation in the regular world, but it’s only because they burn up in casual daylight! They are highly feared and disregarded due to one particular delicacy of their diet. According to the book, trolls like many people are carnivores, although unlike our human predilection for pig, duck, cow, turkey or chicken, their tastes are geared toward us—the man and woman. WE pique their biggest cravings. So yes, I understand our aversion yet to judge would position me as a hypocrite because everyone knows there is not a pig belly I can refuse. So I will not, judge that is. Yet this is apparently what renders trolls scary in all the folklore and fairy tales that are delightfully peppered throughout the book amongst the conversion tables—what does a gnome-handful equate to in person form? Or a slip, drip, flicker or fist?
On the lighter side, trolls sing to my heart with their gleeful foraging spirits that follow the seasons of the year to plan their menus full of locally available ingredients that can be found on forest floors, in musty, mushroom filled caves, and on many a mountain side or slab of tree bark. I found myself loving every recipe in this book and finding my taste buds teased by the idea of making some old fashioned griddlecakes this past weekend. The recipe is below—it turned out three days worth of breakfast plates overflowing with oat-nutty, tart buttermilk, salt of the earth goodness. Next on my agenda? The dog-eared pages for porridge fritters, quick bread, sourdough, limoncello, creamed winter greens, spring vegetable soup, sweet carrot soup, grilled figs and cheese, beets and eggs, eggs in oil with sumac, ricotta tart, jam bars and fig salami. And of course, the complex and unique Srikund (a strained yogurt with cardamom and saffron dessert) and Rumtopf (a rum pot combining a medley of alcohol, fruits and sugar made in a crock.)
(Word for word from The Troll Cookbook with * addendum notes of mine below.)
Greasy griddlecakes made from oats (or any rolled grain) are a favorite troll meal for breakfast or lunch. The trolls show off by flipping the griddlecakes without a spatula. (Which I was tragically unable to do.)
1-1/2 c. rolled oats (or any flattened grains)
2 c. buttermilk or whole milk
1 spoon vanilla extract
6 spoons of maple syrup
¼ c. melted butter or cooking oil (plus more for the pan)
½ spoon salt
An open handful of flour
¼ spoon of grated nutmeg
¼ spoon cinnamon
In a large mixing bowl, stir together all the ingredients in the order listed. Add more flour until the batter thickens to your liking but is still runny enough to pour easily. A thin batter will give you crispy griddlecakes, and a batter that’s too thick will make your griddlecakes doughy. Add berries if you’d like.
Melt some butter in a griddle over medium-low heat and splash on scoops of batter. Flip the griddlecakes just once and only after they are riddled with bubbles. The second side of a griddlecake cooks faster, but if it offers any resistance let it cook a little longer before lifting it off with a spatula. Serve your griddlecakes as you cook. If any of your fellow trolls like greasy griddlecakes, serve them the first few from the batch, as these will have soaked up more butter.
Cover griddlecakes with syrup, honey, chocolate, fruit, jam, yogurt, whipped cream, or anything you think tastes good. If you’d prefer a savory meal instead of a sweet one, make larger griddlecakes and roll them up with slices of meat and cheese.
I used oats bought in the bulk bin at Whole Foods.
“Spoon” means teaspoon in troll speak.
I used a cast iron pan rather than a grill so it was important to pour tiny rounds rather than a big flapjack disc in order to get the cakes to cook nicely. The first side took about five minutes to bubble and then 30 seconds on the second side.
Use as little flour as possible as to avoid damp cakes in the middle. These are very nice that way, dependent more on the taste of the buttermilk and oats.
I threw blueberries into the raw batter and it was awesome!
I topped mine with a mere drizzle of organic maple syrup, delicious.