Happy Earth Day! (Though technically yesterday, most of Israel is celebrating today.) Celebrations require desserts, we’re quite convinced, and since the citrus season is winding down we thought we’d talk about our absolute favourite thing to do with a lemon. Not lemonade (though we’re fans of that too) but lemon curd: smooth, custardy, tangy, riding that fine, perfect line between sweet and tart.

Lemon curd can get spread over scones, smoothed over a cookie crust for lemon bars, dolloped on pancakes, or licked straight off a spoon when you’re feeling especially indulgent. It tastes, quite simply, like concentrated sunshine.

Making curd is one of those languorous kitchen tasks which gives you lots of scope for daydreaming: you need to be around, gently stirring for quite some time, but your mind is free to wander all the while. It’s also worth doing in bigger batches as it’ll keep for several weeks in the fridge, and all that stirring time will have a greater payoff if you double the recipe below. Break out a favourite batch of biscuits, and spread with some of your freshly made lemon curd for an Earth Day afternoon tea.

Lemon Curd

• 6 large egg yolks (save the whites for egg-white omelettes, or make meringues and dip them in the curd)
• 3 large eggs
• 1 c granulated sugar
• 2/3 c fresh lemon juice (from about 5 lemons)
• 1/4 c finely grated lemon zest
• 1/2 stick (4 tbsp) unsalted butter, cut into pieces

1. In a medium-sized, scratch-proof saucepan (i.e. not teflon-coated), whisk egg yolks and eggs together until thoroughly combined. Whisk in sugar vigorously, then whisk in lemon juice and zest.
2. Set saucepan over a medium-low heat and cook, whisking constantly but gently, for five minutes. (Make sure to scrape the sides and bottom of the pan.) Add in butter and whisk until blended, then continue whisking until the curd thickens so that it holds the marks of the whisk as you swirl it through the pan – this will take about twenty minutes total cooking time.
3. Set a fine-mesh sieve over a large bowl and immediately pour the warm curd through the sieve, to remove all the zest and any lemon seeds or curdled egg bits. Transfer curd to small glass jars or other containers and store in the refrigerator.

A freshly baked batch of muffins may not dispel all these woes, but they can certainly take the edge off.

These, we are very happy to say, are a one-bowl, mixer-free, dead easy way to brighten up your weekday afternoons or weekend mornings. The batter comes together in ten minutes and the muffins bake up in twenty more. They are loaded with healthy ingredients like applesauce and whole wheat flour, and have warm brown-sugar-and-spice undertones for a bit of comfort on a cold day. The muffins call for mixing in, well, whatever strikes your fancy or you happen to have around: for this batch we used a handful of walnuts and chopped up the one lone pear aging un-gracefully on the counter. The point is to play a bit, and use whatever’s in sight, which is convenient when you didn’t feel like going out anyway.

Applesauce Muffins

• 2 large eggs
• 3/4 cup packed brown sugar
• 6 tablespoons of neutral vegetable oil or melted butter
• 1 1/4 cups unsweetened applesauce
• 1 1/2 cups whole wheat flour (all-purpose or pastry)
• 1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
• 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
• 2 teaspoons of mixed spices (think cinnamon, allspice, nutmeg, cardamom, etc.)
• 1 1/2 cups of chopped nuts, fresh or dried fruit, etc.

1. Preheat oven to 200°C. Oil a muffin pan.
2. Crack the eggs into a large mixing bowl and whisk them briefly to break up. Add in sugar and whisk thoroughly. Whisk in applesauce, then butter or oil.
3. Sprinkle the flour over the mixing bowl, then sprinkle remaining dry ingredients over that. Stir gently to blend. Fold in whatever chopped fruit or nuts you like.
4. Divide batter among the wells of the muffin tin and bake until the muffins are puffed and golden, about 20 minutes. Cool in pan on a rack, 5 minutes.

Kibbeh is one of the stalwarts of Levantine cooking, and comes in as many versions as there are towns or people who make it. Loosely, kibbeh refers to a mix of burghul (bulgur), ground lamb, and spices. It can be served raw (kibbeh nayye), spread flat and baked (kibbeh bis-sayniyyeh), or formed into small ovals and fried (kibbeh mekliyeh). Both the baked and fried varieties consist of two components: the bulgur and meat mixture, which forms an outer shell, and an inner layer of stuffing, comprised of more ground meat, fried onions, and various flavourings.

What on earth, you may be wondering, might a recipe calling for this much meat be doing here? Well, it’s actually less than you’d think, for starters – 300 grams for 4 people. And while we’re big advocates of cutting back on resource-intensive meat consumption, we’re not convinced that it needs to be cut out entirely. Echoing the sentiments of the fabulous Mark Bittman, who we were recently lucky enough to hear in person, “It would be better if our animal consumption went down to 10%, but that last 10% doesn’t make much difference.” Once in a while a bit of meat is just fine, and there are few better ways to indulge than this.

As with all the classic recipes we’ve been featuring lately, this one is meant as an introduction – a starting point to serve as the basis for experimentation. Play around with spice combinations, add in a bit of pomegranate molasses, or toss in some chopped herbs if you’re so inclined. We’re going in for the most familiar version of kibbeh – the stuffed, oval-shaped meatballs most often found on restaurant menus. Our one major change is to broil the kibbeh rather than deep-fry it. It won’t be quite the same, admittedly, as the more decadent original, but deep-frying involves more waste than we’re really comfortable with. If you crank your oven up high enough, and rub the kibbeh with a bit of oil, you’ll still get the essential crispy crust.

Kibbeh Mekliyeh

For the kibbeh (outer shell):

• 1/2 cup fine bulgur
• 225 grams ground lamb
• 1 1/2 medium onions, coarsely chopped
• 1 tsp salt
• 1/2 tsp ground allspice
• 1/2 tsp cumin
• pinch of cinnamon
• pinch of cayenne pepper
• 2 tbsp olive oil

For the filling:

• 1 tsp olive oil
• 2 tbsp pine nuts
• half an onion, minced
• 75 grams ground lamb
• 1 tsp sumac
• 1/2 tsp ground allspice
• pinch of cumin
• pinch of cinnamon
• salt and pepper to taste

1. First off, prepare the bulgur: rinse it in several changes of water, then leave to soak in fresh water for 20 minutes.
2. Meanwhile, make the filling: Put a small frying pan over medium heat to warm, then toast the pine nuts in the dry pan until golden and fragrant. Transfer pine nuts to a small mixing bowl, return pan to the stove and heat the olive oil. Gently sauté the onion until softened, then add the lamb and continue sautéing until the meat is just cooked through. Pour the meat and onions into the bowl with the pine nuts, then add in the remaining ingredients and stir to blend. Taste, adjust seasonings as necessary, and set aside.
3. Drain the bulgur through a fine mesh sieve, then get out as much excess water as you can by pressing down on it or by squeezing it in handfuls.
4. To make the outer shell, pulse the onions in a food processor (this is essential to the texture – it’s nigh impossible to get it right by hand) until finely chopped. Add in the spices and pulse again to distribute. Pour the onions into a large mixing bowl, then add in the bulgur and ground lamb. Knead by hand until the mixture comes together and all the ingredients are evently distributed. Refrigerate for about 20 minutes to let the mixture chill through.
5. Preheat your broiler to 200°C, and generously oil a cookie sheet.
6. To form the kibbeh, take a handful of the outer shell and press between your hands to get it to cohere, turning it over a few times to make an oval shape. (It’s a bit like packing a snowball, if that’s an experience you’ve ever had.) Gently press your index finger in to create a pocket for the filling, and then spoon in a small amount of the fried stuffing. Pinch the top closed to seal, and turn a couple more times in your hand to ensure the kibbeh will hold together. Lay on the greased cookie sheet.



7. Once all the kibbeh are formed, drizzle them with the olive oil and turn gently to coat. Broil until crisp and browned on top, about 8 minutes, then turn and broil another 6 minutes or so.
8. To serve, drizzle kibbeh with either a yogurt dipping sauce (stir a pinch of salt and some finely chopped cilantro, parsley or mint into plain yogurt) or a t’hina dipping sauce (mix some lemon juice, salt, and a clove of minced garlic into a bowl of well-stirred t’hina).

Why perilous? Well, my grandmother and grandfather couldn’t, between the two of them, agree on the best way to make charoset. Trying to come up with a recipe everyone can get behind? Totally hopeless.

But, as we said then, everybody needs to start somewhere, and it’s far better to get in the cooking game than to watch from the sidelines. Trying, as our grade two teacher told told us, is half the battle.

And with that, we plunge fearlessly into the wonderful world of… baba ganoush!

Baba Ganoush

• 3 small eggplants*
• 2 tbsp t’hina
• 2 tablespoons lemon juice
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• salt and pepper to taste
• some flat-leaf parsley (optional)

1. Preheat the oven to 200°C. Prick each eggplant a few times with the tines of a fork.
2. If you have a gas stove, turn on one of the burners and char the eggplants all over, turning them often as they blacken. (Skip this step if you have an electric stove, or do this on a grill if you have one and weather permits.)
3. Place the eggplants on a foil-lined baking sheet and roast until they are extremely soft and have collapsed in on themselves, about 30-40 minutes. Remove from the oven and carefully cut a slit down the centre of each to allow the steam to escape. Leave the eggplants to cool to room temperature.
4. Scrape out and discard as many of the seeds from the eggplants as you can, then scrape the pulp into the bowl of a food processor. Add remaining ingredients, and process until you reach your desired consistency: some people prefer smooth, others like to leave it a little chunky.
5. Taste and adjust the seasonings. Chill for a few hours, and preferably overnight, before serving.

* We’ve called for small eggplant because these tend to be less bitter, however you can easily substitute two medium/large eggplant if that’s what’s available.

More green food:
A Classic Muhamarra Recipe from Aleppo, Syria
Michael Pollan, In Defense of Food
Vegawarian Dinner
Tomato Confit Recipe

Winter cooking is often pantry cooking. When the rain is coming down at a 45° angle, the last thing most of us want to do is brave the elements to make a grocery run.

It’s handy to have a stash of recipes that rely on what you already have in the cupboard – and conversely, to stock your cupboard with great ingredients you can use whenever the spirit strikes. It’s especially great if those recipes aren’t last resorts, but lead to dishes that you find cozy and comforting and help you combat the stormy weather outside.

We’re obviously big fans of cooking with the seasons, using whatever is just fresh and coming ripe. But – even in the Mediterranean – there’s not always something to be harvested. Cooking healthy food made from the locally-sourced dry and canned goods is a great alternative.

In the hopes of fighting our own winter blahs, we thought it would be fun to try and work through some of the classic recipes in the canon of Middle Eastern cooking – the old standbys and familiar dishes that are especially soothing when you’re spending the weekend curled up inside.

Now, we’re not claiming that we’ll be able to reproduce your favourite hummus perfectly – that kind of standard is entirely beyond us. There are as many versions of hummus as there are people that make it, after all. If your grandmother has passed her secrets on to you, consider yourself blessed. (And share in the comments!) If you’re still trying to muddle your way through, however, consider these your yummy, customizable starting-points.

First up, muhammara: the garlicky, earthy, addictive red pepper and walnut spread that originally hails, so we understand, from Aleppo, Syria.

Muhammara

• 2 slices of bread (can be stale, whole wheat is good), toasted
• 4 whole roasted red peppers (preferably packed in oil), coarsely chopped
• 1/2 cup walnuts, toasted lightly and chopped
• 2 garlic cloves, mashed with 1/2 tsp salt
• 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice, or to taste
• 1 tablespoon pomegranate molasses
• 1 teaspoon ground cumin
• 1/2 teaspoon dried hot red pepper flakes
• 1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil

Place the toasted bread in the bowl of a food processor and pulse until it is reduced to fine breadcrumbs.

Add in all the remaining ingredients except the oil and process until the mixture is uniform and the ingredients are fully incorporated. With the motor running, add the oil gradually; continue blending until the dip reaches your preferred consistency – anywhere from smooth to slightly chunky.

Taste and adjust seasonings, adding salt if necessary and a bit more pomegranate syrup if you’d like more sourness.

Transfer the muhammara to a bowl and serve with pita triangles and veggies for dipping.

Don’t stop cooking here! For more green recipes:
Quinoa Salad Recipe
Make Your Own Ricotta
5 Reasons Why Preserving Your Food Is Good For The Planet

Whole Foods Companion is a dip-your-toe-in book rather than a cover-to-cover book: it’s great for delving into when you need a quick hit of information, and like any good reference or guidebook, once you’ve got a page open you’ll inevitably be delighted by the other random bits and pieces you find on the page.

It’s set up like a dictionary or encyclopedia – an alphabetical listing of ingredients, organized into groups by type (fruits, grains, spices, etc.).

While that description may lead you to believe this volume is dry and staid, nothing could be further from the truth. It’s charmingly written and chock-full of helpful and interesting information.

Each foodstuff has several sections: a general introduction, tips on selection and storage, culinary uses, and health benefits. Broader entries, like apples or peas, provide details on different varietals. By-products (peanut butter in the entry for peanuts, say) are also included whenever they are relevant.

The entries are rounded out with all kinds of whimsical extra snippets: mythological tales (the Roman god Mercury had a wand made of hazel, “whose touch would enable men to express their thoughts through words”), bits of history (did you know that the Egyptians worshiped the kidney bean because it resembles a testicle?), and quotes (everyone from Thoreau to 18th century botanists) turn what might otherwise be a practical quest to figure out what to do with the mysterious root veggies in your CSA box into a half-hour’s worth of diversion.

Entries are accented with old-fashioned line drawings; while photos would have kicked up the book’s visual appeal somewhat, keeping the book in black-and-white also keeps the price down.

All in all, this is an excellent book for anyone that wants to learn more about food and ingredients. Whether you like to geek out on culinary history or want to finally learn how to pick the best eggplants at market, you’ll be glad to have this one on your shelf.

Whole Foods Companion (revised edition)
Dianne Onstad
Chelsea Green Publishing, 2004

For more eco-reads in our series, see:
‘Field Notes from a Catastrophe’ by Elizabeth Kolbert, a Review
Carlo Petrini’s Slow Food, A Review
Fred Pearce’s “Confessions of an Eco-Sinner” on Where Stuff Comes From

Tomatoes are still, mercifully, quite readily available. Though we hate to think about it, this won’t always be the case. In just a few short weeks, tomatoes—at least the good, locally grown varieties—will be gone on winter hiatus. It always seems to come too soon, and it always somehow seems to take us by surprise. In order to combat those first painful weeks of tomato-less-ness, we thought we’d give you a recipe for extending the period of tomato goodness.

Basically, you slow-roast tomatoes with some oil and garlic and herbs, until they get fragrant and wrinkly and almost candied. It’s a great treatment for end-of-season tomatoes: the roasting sweetens and intensifies flavour which might otherwise seem a bit faded. Kept in the fridge these tomatoes will last a few weeks; put them in the freezer and you can enjoy them for three or four months.

Come a blustery day in February, you’ll be very glad to have planned so far ahead.

We made our confit with the very last of the decent cherry tomatoes we could find but you can use this method for any tomato you happen to have around. There are countless ways to use the confit once you’ve made it (besides snacking out of the jar, which we’ve found ourselves doing a bit more than we should): toss with pasta and goat cheese for a 10 minute dinner, spoon over steamed or pan-fried fish to make an instant sauce, toss with other roasted vegetables or cooked grains (rice, quinoa, wheatberries, etc.) for a hearty salad with rich, earthy undertones. The oil the tomatoes are packed in is grand, too: it’ll take on a hint of tomato sweetness, and is fantastic in salad dressing or for pita-dipping.

Roasted Tomato Confit Recipe
We’ve intentionally kept this recipe open-ended with respect to quantities: you can do this just as successfully with a half-kilo or a half-bushel. Keep in mind that the tomatoes will shrink an awful lot, so however many you think you want: double the amount, and you should be more or less on target.

• tomatoes
• olive oil (lots)
• salt and pepper
• a few cloves of garlic
• a handful of fresh thyme

1. Preheat oven to 150°C/300°F.
2. While oven is coming up to temperature, rinse and halve your tomatoes. Toss the tomatoes with a bit of olive oil, salt and pepper, and lay them out flat, cut side up, on cookie sheets or in roasting pans. (You don’t want them piled on top of one another as this will inhibit caramelization: if you’ve got too many to fit easily roast the tomatoes into batches.) Throw in the garlic cloves (no need to peel them), and strew the thyme about as well.
3. Roast the tomatoes until they are soft and golden brown at the edges, stirring every ten minutes or so to avoid sticking. Depending on the size and quantity of tomatoes this may take anywhere from 45 minutes to two hours.
4. Remove tomatoes from the oven and let them cool. Slip the garlic cloves out of their skins, and pick out the thyme stems (the leaves will have likely fallen off into the tomatoes, which is exactly what you want. Pack the tomatoes, along with the garlic cloves and any accumulated oil and juice, quite tightly into glass jars. Top the jars up with additional oil so that the tomatoes are completely covered.
5. Tomatoes can be kept for a couple of weeks in the fridge or for several months in the freezer.

‘Slow Food’ is one of those elusive yet still useful terms: we’re able to grasp what it’s gesturing at even though we can’t define it precisely. Most of us recognize slow food experiences when we have them and feel, moreover that they are genuinely special and distinctive – this is proof enough that term, and the movement which gave rise to it, are onto something important.

Slow Food was founded by Carlo Petrini in Italy about twenty years ago; its membership now numbers tens of thousands and spans over more than 100 countries, including a chapter in northern Israel. The Slow Food collection, first published in 2001, gathers together some of the best writing from the movement’s quarterly journal, and includes short pieces on everything from wine to cheese-making to biotechnology. Taken together, these stories and articles offer something more complex and ambitious than a mere definition, an accounting of what slow food is through a cataloguing of its principles (though the principles are included as well): they are rhetorical, aiming to inspire by painting pictures so lush we cannot help but be drawn in.

A firm defense of quiet material pleasure is the only way to oppose the universal folly of Fast Life. May suitable doses of guaranteed sensual pleasure and slow, long-lasting enjoyment preserve us from the contagion of the multitude who mistake frenzy for efficiency. Our defense should begin at the table with Slow Food.

The Slow Food Manifesto, from which the above is excerpted, appears at the front of the book, and establishes the book’s tone effectively. It also contextualizes the movement as a whole, which, it turns out, wants to take on something even larger than food: the predicament of human alienation in the face of modernity. Food is the entry point into a larger existential exploration, and the ultimate goal is not just to return to a certain way of producing and consuming food but to reconfigure the very nature of modern experience. Thus, in the wake of Slow Food we now also have Cittaslow (Slow City), Slow Design, Slow Travel, and a World Institute of Slowness, all geared towards changing the pace and priorities governing our daily lives. Slow Food is the originator of all these, however, and insofar as food is our most direct connection to the natural world, it is fitting that that is the case.

The Slow Food collection is at its best when it is most grounded. An article on the annual rooster sacrifice held in villages across Vietnam, for example, or another which takes readers on a guided history of the pickle, offer the oh-so-important telling details, the irresistible minutiae which allow us as readers to enter into other realms of experience and find them somehow familiar. The specific encounters which the more concrete stories convey are deeply compelling, and there will be few readers who aren’t left wishing to share in those moments along with their authors. If the aim of Slow Food is to inspire attentiveness, these are the stories in the collection which are most successful.

Where the book falters, however, is on the level of theory. Slow Food is a relatively young movement, and as such it is still beset by growing pains. It paints an absolutely captivating picture of an ideal relationship with food, but tends to fragment on the level of navigating most of our actual practical conditions, and fails to convincingly address the myriad of questions that we face in trying to get from the one to the other.

Slow Food has been criticized by some for elitism, offering a picture of a life that is only available to a privileged minority. The more fundamental problem, however, is that Slow Food seems to be confused about its identity. Is it primarily motivated by the aesthetics of food? Social welfare? Environmentalism? These are, we can surely hope, congruent with one another, but to try and develop a case for them all in one book is perhaps over-reaching. The collection raises many points that are familiar to anyone with even a passing acquaintance with sustainable food issues, for instance, but does so without the benefit of citing relevant scientific research in detail. It thereby does its own cause a disservice, for it makes a deep and well-founded theory of responsible food production seem less credible than it actual is. Likewise, while the need for protecting the well-being of farmers in developing nations is a frequently-mentioned theme, any concrete, quantitative analysis of the effects of different agricultural practises and policies on those farmers is noticeably absent. In short, the collection may be trying to do too many things at once: though extremely well-intentioned, it sometimes resorts to hand-waving where sustained arguments are called for.

Slow Food was born out of a desire to preserve a certain kind of experience; its writing succeeds most wherever it keeps that experience in the foreground. The chapters on street food, markets, and wonderful world of leftovers serve as a better introduction to Slow Food than any theoretical account ever could, and those alone are enough to make the collection worth reading.

Slow Food
Collected Thoughts on Taste, Tradition, and the Honest Pleasure of Food
Carlo Petrini, Slow Food Editore, Ben Watson
Chelsea Green (www.chelseagreen.com), 2001

Quinoa isn’t just for Passover anymore. Revered by the Incas as sacred, quinoa looks like a grain but is actually a plant related to beets, chard, and spinach. Its tiny seeds cook up into fluffy, nutty goodness in fifteen minutes, and can be used in any number of ways. Quinoa is fantastic for vegetarians and vegans because it is a complete protein (i.e. it has a full complement of amino acids). It also possesses the virtue of being rather seriously tasty.
We concocted this salad on a work-filled evening recently, when the fridge was barren and a grocery run seemed too much to take on. We’d run out of dinner recipes. It requires a bit of time, but almost no effort, and you can double or triple the recipe and have easy lunches for the week. Swap out other roasted veggies for the peppers and onions, if that’s what you like or have on hand: the basic idea is just to toss some happily caramelized vegetables with some quinoa and a bit of seasoning. It’s a rather high payoff for a really simple bit of cooking.

Roasted Vegetable and Quinoa Salad

• 3 red, yellow, or orange peppers
• 1 large or 2 small onions
• 4 tbsp olive oil
• 1 cup quinoa, well rinsed
• salt, pepper and lemon juice to taste

1. Preheat oven to 200°C/375°F. Cut out the stems from the peppers, and discard the seeds and inner membranes. Slice into thin strips. Toss the peppers with 1 tbsp of the olive oil and spread out on a cookie sheet or baking pan. Roast until browned in places and very soft, stirring every few minutes. (Total cooking time will be about 45 minutes.)
2. While peppers are cooking, set a medium frying pan over low heat; pour another 1 tbsp of the olive oil into the pan. Slice the onions thinly, and add them to the pan. Cover and let the onions soften gently, stirring every once in a while and adding a bit more oil if they stick. Once the onions start to take on a a tinge of colour uncover the pan and let them continue cooking, stirring as needed, until they are richly golden.
3. Meanwhile, cook the quinoa. Put 1.5 cups of water into a medium saucepan; salt lightly and bring to a boil. Stir in quinoa, lower heat to a bare simmer, and let cook until all the water is absorbed – about 12 minutes or so. Taste the quinoa and if it is still crunchy add a couple more tablespoons of water, cooking for a few minutes longer. Remove from heat and transfer quinoa to a large bowl.
4. Pour peppers, onions, and any accumulated juices over the quinoa. Pour in the remaining olive oil, grind in some pepper, and add a squeeze of lemon. Toss everything together thoroughly, taste, and adjust seasonings as necessary. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Serves 4 as a starter or side, or 2 as a main course.

Now, what if you don’t happen to have embarked on the previously mentioned cheese-making adventure, and thus don’t have a jar of whey kicking around in the back of your fridge? Fret not, for this recipe is charmingly adaptable, and you can use just about any liquid dairy product you happen to have on hand: milk, buttermilk, cream, even leben thinned down with a bit or water or milk would be great.

Biscuits are most often associated with the American South, but they are essentially just individual-sized quickbreads, and can go with any kind of food. Think dinner rolls, without the yeast and the waiting. The recipe comes together in ten minutes, and bakes in maybe twelve more. When the craving for an alternative to pita hits, these are just the way to go. Plus, they’re a great way to use up dairy on the verge: biscuit-making is the perfect rescue mission for a carton of milk that’s about to turn funky.

Whole Wheat (Whey) Biscuits

• 2 3/4 cups whole wheat pastry flour
• 1 tsp baking powder
• 1/2 tsp baking soda
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 110g (8 tbsp) butter, cut into small pieces
• 1 scant cup whey, milk, buttermilk, cream, or thinned-down leben

1. Preheat oven to 225°C/450°F.
2. Sift together dry ingredients over a large bowl.
3. Using a pastry cutter or your fingertips, work the butter into the flour until the mixture resembles coarse meal. You aren’t aiming for uniformity or trying to blend things together completely: the little bits of butter are what create flakiness. (See picture if you’re not sure what we mean.)
4. Add the whey/milk/whatnot and stir gently with a fork until the dough begins to come together. Turn it out onto a floured work surface, and gently knead into a cohesive ball: this should only take about 4 or 6 turns.
5. Using a rolling pin or your fingertips, flatten the dough to about 2cm thickness. Flour the rim of a glass and use it to cut out the biscuits. Re-roll scraps of dough and form more biscuits, until all the dough is used up.
6. Place biscuits on a non-stick or oiled cookie sheet, and bake until puffed and golden, about 12 minutes.

Makes about 12 biscuits (depending on the size of your cutter).