While you're planning other things

They say that life is what happens while you’re planning other things. When I left the house last Friday to pick up lunch for myself and my former babysitter/current mother figure, I had a whole To Do list on the dining room table—fill out cell phone rebate form, make dinner (flank steak, cauliflower mash), long walk (yes, I assiduously plan my recreation). I had also already laid out and measured the ingredients for an Earl Grey biscotti recipe I was eager to try.

It was an expensive lunch.

On the way, I opted for a route including an intersection I generally avoid, due to its measly two-way stop sign in lieu of a more equitable four-way stoplight. I waited patiently at the stop sign for a break in the driver’s side traffic, then passenger’s side, back to driver’s side again, and proceeded ac--- WHOMP. A Mercedes slammed into my passenger’s side. What happened immediately, I don’t recall, but my car somehow got parked on the other side of the intersection (gratefully, or ironically, no other cars were coming). The other driver and I traded information between my tearful phone calls to my lunch date and my parents—all of whom could not have been more wonderful.

In a gesture that took us all back about 15 years, my lunch date/babysitter drove out to meet me and held me while I miserably sobbed into her shoulder. (Mercedes man was deeply, and erm, less than politely, perplexed at the relationship between the tall, elegant black woman and the short, sniveling white girl he had just hit.) She followed me in her car as I drove home, white knuckled, and stayed with my father and me while I called the rightful owner of the car (the father of one of my oldest friends, who raised me collectively with my parents) and the insurance company. Again, all parties were phenomenally understanding and warm.

The paperwork completed, my father insisted that I ice a sore shoulder and rest for a while—which I dutifully did, obsessing about the car and the accident the whole time. When the ice pack’s usefulness had worn out, I decided to kick my own into gear. I baked those biscotti I had set out to make three hours ago. Because since the 8^th grade and my first set of academic finals, baking has been my respite when I’m stressed or distressed. It makes me feel productive, it occupies my hands and my mind. It usually makes other people happy, and we all know that happiness is contagious (the whole, Judy-when-you’re-smiling-the-whole-world-smiles-with-you-Garland thing).

So spread a little love. Give yourself a break. Make some biscotti (the dough comes together extremely quickly, and in a single bowl!). And you don’t even need a several-thousand-dollar car accident as an excuse.

Earl Grey Biscotti

From Tea Cookbook

The recipe says you should use a serrated knife to cut the biscotti between baking times—I found that a very sharp regular knife, applied with a sawing motion and very little downward pressure resulted in less crumbling. However, if you aren’t terribly worried about aesthetics, the serrated knife will give you more of a homemade, rustic look (albeit, with the actual side edges on most cookies missing). More finely chopped ‘chunks’ will also reduce the likelihood of crumbling.

2 ¼ c all-purpose flour

1 ½ tsp baking powder

2 tbsp Earl Grey tea leaves (you can also use the contents of tea bags if that’s what you have—but use good quality tea!)

½ tsp salt

1 stick (8 tbsp) unsalted butter, cubed at room temperature

¾ c. sugar

2 eggs, beaten

2 tbsp whole milk (I used half and half)

3 tbsp blanched almonds, roughly chopped

3 ½ oz. dried apricots, roughly chopped

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.

Put the flour, baking powder, tea leaves and salt in a food processor and pulse until the tea leaves are finely ground.  Add the butter and sugar and pulse or mix with yoru fingertips unti l the mixture resembles berad crumbs.

Pour in the eggs and milk and pulse or mix until the dough comes together. Take out and knead in the almonds and apricots. Divide the dough in half and shape into 2 flat logs, about 10 x 2 inches. Spaced them apart on an ungreased baking sheet and baked for 20 minutes, or until golden. (Don’t undercook—it will make slicing more difficult. They really should be golden.)

Remove from the oven and let cool for about 5 minutes. Using a serrated knife (see note), cut in ½ inch (mine were a little thicker) slices whiel the biscotti are still warm, and arrange cut-side up on 2 baking sheets (I’m lazy, I only used one—they were a little tight, but it was fewer dishes!). Bake for a further 12-15 minutes, or until the edges become tinged with brown and crisp up. Remove from the oven and let cool on wire racks. Store for up to 7 days in an airtight container.