Tag : nuts
Tag : nuts
previous monthly muffins
It’s cherry season, y’all!!
I’m still working through about a pound of black cherries that I bought a week ago, even after making 48 ounces of cherry jam and many, many batches of these muffins. Half of my shirts are stained from pitting the cherries, I almost ruined a kitchen towel crushing the pits (to get the kernels out for the jam), and I’m bursting with roasty, toasty, hazelnutty goodness.
Hazelnut is one among my favorite flavors, but as much as I love it, hazelnut will never surpass almond. What’s more, almond is a more traditional companion for dark cherries. In fact, the kernels inside the cherry pits taste and smell like almond (and my cherry jam has heaps of Amaretto and Cognac.)
That being said, I used almond in my blackberry almond muffins, and I wanted to venture a little outside my comfort zone. Meaning, I wanted to buy hazelnuts for the first time.
I had actually found a bag of whole hazelnuts at my grocery store a month ago and I couldn’t resist buying them and storing them in the freezer. When I decided on this recipe, it was the perfect opportunity to start digging into the bag of nuts (and an excuse to buy Frangelico.)
The sweetness and tartness of the cherries is naturally complemented by the Kirschwasser, a German black cherry liqueur (the name means “cherry water”), and it pairs well with the sweet nuttiness of the hazelnuts (which are accented with the Frangelico, an Italian hazelnut liqueur.) You can swap out Cognac, another popular cherry companion, for either of the other flavors, but I recommend keeping the Frangelico for an extra hazelnut boost in the muffin batter. Lightly toasting the hazelnuts really intensifies their flavor. When using raw nuts in pastries, I almost always toast them first.
black cherry hazelnut muffins with kirsch and frangelico
based on my whole wheat rhubarb muffins
4 oz hazelnuts
4 oz all-purpose flour
4 oz whole wheat flour
3 oz almond flour
1/2 tsp salt
2 tsp baking powder
5 oz granulated sugar
4 oz canola oil
7 oz milk
1 tsp Kirschwasser (black cherry liqueur; can also substitute Cognac or Amaretto)
1 tsp Frangelico (hazelnut liqueur; can make the same substitutions as above, but the Frangelico is strongly suggested for more hazelnut flavor)
8 oz dark cherries, pitted and cut in half (pitting cherries and olives is easy with the right tool!)
Preheat the oven to 350 F/175 C and line a muffin pan with paper muffin liners.
Place the hazelnuts in a single layer in a small skillet or on a baking sheet, and toast them lightly on the stove or in the oven for about 5 – 7 minutes, shaking them around occasionally, until they start to brown a little bit and you can smell them.
Transfer the toasted hazelnuts to a cutting board and let them cool while you prepare the rest of the batter.
In a small bowl, combine the all-purpose, whole wheat, and almond flours, and the salt and baking powder.
When the hazelnuts have cooled down, coarsely chop them. They don’t need to be too small, but they should be smaller than a whole hazelnut. Cutting them in half is fine. Add the chopped toasted hazelnuts to a bowl with the pitted and halved cherries.
In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs, sugar, oil, milk, Kirschwasser, and Frangelico.
Add the dry mixture to the wet and quickly mix together. Mix in the cherries and hazelnuts.
Using a cookie scoop or large spoon, divide the batter evenly among the muffin cups and bake 30 – 35 minutes, until the tops spring back when pressed down lightly in the center or until a wooden toothpick inserted into the center of a muffin comes out clean.
Let the muffins cool for a few minutes in the pan, then transfer them to a wire rack to continue cooling.
Muffins last up to 48 hours wrapped individually in plastic. If they start to go a little stale, you can microwave them for about 15 seconds.
Anyone who knows me knows how much I love almond (and also hazelnut, for that matter.) Whenever I go out for coffee, I always ask for an iced (soy) almond latte, or hazelnut if they don’t have almond. Almond is, without a doubt, one of my top 10 favorite flavors (also: cardamom, blackberry, lemon.) During the holidays, I like to treat myself to fancy marzipan candies.
And I don’t share. (That’s totally a lie. I share almost everything.)
And then there’s lemon, another one of my Top 10 Favorite Foods. I published another lemon cake a couple months ago, a layered sponge cake with honey and lemon. I’m actually, surprisingly, not a big cake person usually. It used to be that the only cake I liked was lemon cake (like birthday cake but lemon-flavored). As much as I love sweets, my sweet tooth isn’t always the sweetest: sometimes I need bitter or sour, and lemon always provides the perfect amount of tartness. No matter how much sugar you add to something lemon-flavored, that bit of brightness will always balance it out, in my opinion.
Orange, however, is a different story.
This cake is one that I’ve been wanting to master and publish for probably a year now. I wanted something light and almond-y, something kind of snack-y that would go well in the morning with coffee, or after dinner…with coffee…or really any time of day…with coffee. The thing about this cake that makes it both difficult and easy to learn at the same time is that it’s a common Italian cake: there are hundreds and thousands of recipes online, from Italian and Italian-American sources (not all great sources), but at the same time, they’re all family recipes, which tend not to translate well when transmitted to other families. But one of the great baking mottos is, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it”: find a recipe that works for you or that you can adapt and then stick with that.
We all know what it’s like to learn to cook from our families. I’ve only just started moving away from strict recipes and measurements, but when I tried making my mom’s special pot roast for my dad’s birthday last year, I was indescribably frustrated by her “recipe” that had no measurements (“Oh, I don’t know. I just add stuff and hope the pot doesn’t boil over. You just cook it until it’s done cooking.”)
As with the sponge cake, I tried pulling from a few different recipes and adapting the flavors as I went. I had a lot more success initially than I did with the lemon-honey cake: almond is far easier to incorporate than honey. The question then was, what exactly was I looking for?
What I ended up with was perfect: a single-layer cake, with enough moisture from the ricotta cheese without actually tasting like cheese (one batch did taste like cheese) and just the right amount of the ricotta texture, plus some richness from the butter and almond meal, nuttiness from the almond extract, almond meal, and toasted sliced almonds, and tartness from the lemon. Light, but rich, sweet, but tart, nutty, and even kind of refreshing. I experimented with adding in chopped almonds but I actually prefer that the cake itself not have anything inside (the sliced almonds on top are heaven, though.) I couldn’t decide if I needed something more for a topping, so I played with glaze (meh), powdered sugar (not bad), whipped cream (eh), and fruit compote (a nice, bright counterpoint to the sweetness and nuttiness of the cake.) I settled on the sliced almonds and macerated berries.
The cake itself is best cold and it lasts for a while in the refrigerator, wrapped in plastic.
lemon almond ricotta cake
adapted from Bon Appetit, raspberry ricotta cake
makes one 9″ cake or two 6″ cakes
Note: Using 3 whole eggs made the cake slightly wetter than I wanted, but splitting eggs evenly is difficult. I normally prefer, if I need to split an egg, to separate the white and the yolk (it’s just simpler.) One whole egg is 1.8 oz on average, and 2 parts white to 1 part yolk. Two yolks, then, is about 1.2 oz. Another reason I prefer to separate the eggs and use the yolks instead of the white is that the whites can be aged or frozen for a really long time, and used in a ton of other recipes. Yolks don’t last as long. Plus, yolks are richer than whites. Finally, because this recipe fills two 6″ cake pans, and I use an even number of whole eggs and egg yolks, it’s easier to make a half recipe (I always use half recipes for testing.) If you haven’t figured this out already, you’ll see in my recipes that I’m obsessed with evenly-measured ingredients that can easily be divided in half.
~1/2 c sliced almonds, for topping
4 oz all-purpose flour
2 oz almond flour
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
7 oz granulated sugar
2 whole eggs
2 egg yolks
12 oz ricotta cheese
zest and juice of 2 large lemons (not baby lemons)
1/2 tsp almond extract
4 oz unsalted butter, melted and cooled
Serving suggestion: macerated seasonal fruits*, plus your favorite coffee or wine
Macerating basically means softening fruit with sugar and acid. It’s a common first step in making jams and compotes, but it can even be as simple as dusting fresh fruit with sugar right before serving. The sugar, which is hydrophilic, draws out some of the water from the fruit, making the fruit softer and then dissolves into the water to form a fruit syrup. If you let the fruit macerate for at least a few hours (like at least 3 hours), you’ll have plenty of syrup and very soft fruit. You could simmer or boil the mixture for a few minutes to thicken it into a compote, or serve as is.
For an extra kick, add a splash of your favorite liqueur (Amaretto might be too much to serve with this cake, but limoncello-macerated strawberries is a great combination.)
Macerating is something you can start ahead of time. In fact, so is the cake: make the cake and combine the fruit mixture the day before so you don’t have to do any work the day you’re serving everything.
Make the cake:
Preheat the oven to 350 F/175 C. Grease a 9″ or two 6″ cake pans and line the bottom with a parchment circle (How To Make a Parchment Circle.)
Using a skillet on the stove or a clean baking sheet and the oven, lightly toast the almond slices for about 2 – 5 minutes, until they brown a bit, tossing them occasionally to prevent burning. You don’t need any oil for this. Pour the toasted almond slices into a bowl and set aside.
In a small bowl, combine the all-purpose flour, almond flour, baking powder, and salt.
In a large bowl, whisk together the sugar, eggs, and egg yolks vigorously until the mixture starts to turn a little paler and fluffier. You’re not really making a sponge, but you do want a bit of air in the batter.
Add the ricotta, lemon zest, lemon juice, and almond extract and whisk until smooth and fully combined.
Fold the dry ingredients into the wet batter, and once the batter is fully combined, whisk in the melted and cooled butter. I find it easier to incorporate melted butter at the end to prevent the butter from chilling or breaking.
Scrape the batter evenly into the cake pans, scatter the tops with the toasted almond slices, and bake for about 50 – 60 minutes (regardless of the width.)
The cake will be a little bit wetter than you’re used to with other cakes, muffins, or cupcakes, but it will still feel springy and foamy. For this cake, the best indicators of doneness will be the edges and the color: the edges of the cake should pull away completely from the sides of the cake pans (there shouldn’t be any of the top outer edge of the cake still touching the pan), and the surface of the cake will be golden brown.
Remove the cake(s) from the oven and let cool in the pans for about 5 minutes. Gently run a flat knife or offset spatula around the sides of the cake to make sure it’s loosened from the sides of the pan. Place a flat, wide plate over the top of the pan and invert the cake pan so that cake falls out onto the plate, then place a cooling rack on top of the cake and invert the cake back onto the cooling rack, so the almond-topped surface is right-side up. Repeat with the other cake (if you made two small ones.)
Make sure you peel off the parchment round before cutting and eating the cakes.
La bella mandorla!
My relationship with cooking pork is much like the oft-debated “When was our first date? Was it the night on Lover’s Overlook when we fondled each other with our clothes on? Or was it the first time you took me out for dinner at Johnny Rocket’s and paid for my meal?”
Excluding bacon, the first time I cooked pork was soon after I moved home from Japan. I was just starting my individual foray into the world of cooking techniques and, intrigued by the idea of braising, I decided to try braising a pork belly. I expected something similar to Chinese spare ribs or those delectable slices of chashu/charsiu you get in ramen.
I had no idea what I was doing. I couldn’t even find pork belly. I braised some part of a pig in coconut milk and spices, and I was so excited to try this homemade delicacy. I had braised! I had made pork! It would taste sooooo delicious!
It tasted like Death.
Let me clarify: that’s Death with a capital D. It didn’t necessarily taste bad, though at the time I figured I might never braise a pork whatever-it-was again (it’s been long enough, I should give it another chance.) It just tasted…dead. Not like blood, not like mold (cough cough, lamb, cough cough), not like rot. But like flesh, or like dirt. Eating those chunks of whatever part of the pig I bought, I had a striking sense that this thing had lived, had skin, muscle, and bones, and then had died.
For my vegan and vegetarian readers, I apologize for the graphic imagery. For the rest of you, I rarely have qualms about what I’m eating, because as much as I can, I try not to eat things that would give me qualms (or salmonella, but that’s an entirely different monster.)
So it wasn’t that I felt psychologically or spiritually that this thing was dead. It just tasted dead. Like Death.
If I had to find a better analogy, I would say it tasted a little like dirt.
At the time, I figured that pork usually tasted like dirt, forgetting that I had actually eaten plenty of un-dirt-y pork in my life already, and I decided to focus on chicken instead.
That brings me to the second date, the one where he actually took me out in public, to a restaurant, as a couple, and paid for my dinner: Easter, 2016.
Knowing that pork and lamb are the common Easter dishes, I decided I would go out on a newly-blossomed limb and try one or the other. I gathered together a packet of spring pork and lamb recipes, attempted a shepherd’s pie well before the holiday to prepare, decided with certainty that I would never cook lamb again (that tasted like an entirely different kind of Death), and then picked out a pork recipe for the big celebration: Brunello Cucinelli’s pork tenderloin with garlic and rosemary.
I had to make a few tweaks to the process because Signor Cucinelli is far more skilled than I was, but when we finally cut into the garlicky, floral pork roulade, it tasted…like Life?
That’s tacky. Sorry. It tasted like spring. No capital letters.
Everyone who tried it (my grandma and my parents) agreed that it needed to come around again, so throughout the last 2 years, I found times to try the recipe again, or to try other (simpler) pork recipes (one of which will feature on the blog later this year), or, feeling super creative, to adapt that recipe for the season.
And so that’s what we have: in December, feeling the cold of winter deep down in places where cold should not be, I went whole-hog (not literally) and changed up the recipe to suit the season: rosemary became fennel and star anise; the garlic became garlic, apples, walnuts, spices, and honey; the white wine for roasting became apple brandy; and the white wine pan sauce became brandied apples with butter, shallots, and spices.
Basically, it’s baklava but with pork instead of phyllo dough, and savory-sweet instead of only sweet.
And if you’re wondering why the blog is titled “Winter Stuffed Pork,” I’ll give you a hint: cranberries are for autumn, spinach is for summer, and spring remains to be determined.
pork loin roulade with apples and walnuts
Learn from my mistakes: pork loin and pork tenderloin are not at all the same thing. They both go by many names, but what you’re looking for in this recipe is pork loin, pork roast, or center loin. It’s a big chunk of meat, shaped like a block, with a nice layer of white fat on top. If it looks kind of like a certain genital thing, it’s a pork tenderloin and will turn out completely differently in this recipe (so don’t use that one.)
Also, get yourself a good digital meat thermometer. When roasting meat, it’s easy to overcook the meat, and with pork more than anything else, it’s easy to dry out the meat too much. Anything you cook will continue cooking after you remove it from its heat source, so you can consider removing the pork from the oven when it registers between 140 – 145* degrees Fahrenheit. Adding brandy and cider to the roasting pan/Dutch oven will help, and if you think your pork dried out just a bit too much, then go heavy on the brandied apples on top.
*For anyone who doesn’t have a lot of experience cooking meat, make sure you cook pork all the way through (it’s not the same as beef, which has a wider range of safe temperatures.)
for the pork roulade
8 garlic cloves
1/2 c walnuts (2 oz)
1 Tbsp + 1 tsp fennel seeds, divided
1 tsp anise seeds or ground anise
1 tsp ground nutmeg
1 tsp ground ginger
4 Tbsp olive oil, divided
1/2 c honey
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt plus more
1/2 of one large granny smith apple, or any other red apple (save the other half for the brandied apple topping)
1 2-pound boneless pork loin or tenderloin
Freshly ground black pepper
1/2 c apple brandy
for the brandied apples
1 shallot, cut in half and sliced
1/2 of one large granny smith apple, or any other red apple
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 c apple brandy
1/2 c apple cider
1/2 c honey
4 Tbsp unsalted butter
1 Tbsp orange zest (zest from 1/4 of a large orange)
make the pork roulade
Preheat oven to 400°.
In a small food processor, pulse together the garlic cloves, walnuts, 1 Tbsp of the fennel seeds, a hefty pinch of salt, the spices, a splash of olive oil, and the honey, until coarse and chunky but not too pasty. Set aside until the pork is ready.
Place pork, fat side down, on a cutting board with the short end toward you. Holding a sharp knife parallel to board and about 1/2 inch up side of loin, make an incision along entire length of one side. Continue cutting, lifting meat with your free hand as you go, until loin is open and flat. Alternately, stand the pork up on one of the long sides so you’re cutting vertically, if that’s easier. This process is called butterflying.
Cover the butterflied pork with a sheet of plastic wrap or parchment paper, and using a meat mallet, pound out the meat until it becomes a little thinner and more even.
Spread garlic mixture over inside of loin and season with salt and pepper. Chop the half of the apple into small chunks, about 1 centimeter or 1/2″ wide. Place the apple bits evenly around the pork on top of the garlic mixture.
Roll pork tightly; using kitchen twine, tie at 1 inch intervals. Rub the outside of the roulade with olive oil and season with salt, pepper, and the remaining 1 tsp of fennel seeds.
Place the pork, fat side up, in a large cast iron pot, skillet, or roasting pan. Add the apple brandy; roast pork until an instant-read thermometer inserted into thickest part of loin registers 140 – 145*, about 1 hour (the pork will continue to cook a bit after you take it out of the oven.) *Start checking after about 40-45 minutes.
When the pork is done, remove it from the pot and set aside to rest. Pour the liquid and fat from the pot into a large measuring cup and scrape out any brown bits. If needed, bring the liquid and fat to a simmer before you pour it off so that you can deglaze the pot and scrape out any stubborn browned bits. Keep the mixture for the topping.
make the brandied apples
Place the emptied pot or a clean sauce pan on medium heat and add a splash of olive oil.
Chop the other half of the apple into small chunks just like the first half.
When the oil is heated, add the shallot slices and apple chunks and saute for 3-5 minutes until both start to brown a bit.
Add the minced garlic and saute for about a minute until you can smell the garlic.
Add the apple brandy and bring to a simmer, deglazing the pot again and reducing the liquid by half. Pour the roasting liquid and fat back into the pot and add the apple cider, then bring everything to a simmer. Add the honey, bring to a simmer/boil, and let it cook until it thickens slightly, about 10 minutes.
Add the butter and orange zest, and whisk until the butter melts. Taste and adjust seasoning as needed.
Slice the roulade evenly (slices about 1″-2″ thick), and serve with the apple brandy sauce.
previous monthly muffins:
11/17, pumpkin cranberry white chocolate muffins | | 10/17, vegan apple cider muffins | | 6/17, balsamic roasted strawberry muffins | | 4/17, cinnamon raisin english muffins | | 2/17, glazed lemon poppyseed muffins
This time of year makes me wish I lived in Canada…or Vermont.
I bought my first ever flannel last autumn…and lost it this autumn when we moved houses. So I bought my second ever flannel this autumn and it’s not as good as the first, but I guess that’s always the case, isn’t it?
I’ve gotten really into using maple syrup in vegan and gluten-free pastries. I can’t remember at this point why, because granulated sugar has neither gluten nor any animal products, but for some reason maple syrup has been my saving grace in such recipes as my vegan snickerdoodles and gluten-free sweet potato muffins.
Like using coconut oil or milk, when you use maple syrup but don’t want to end product to taste like maple, it doesn’t. It’s magical. Maybe there’s a science to the madness, but this is like my Santa Claus so let me believe in the magic of coconuts and maple trees, please.
When starting on this recipe, though, I admit I was worried about whether the maple syrup alone would be enough. I looked up how to make maple sugar (no time or energy for that, and also I don’t trust myself to successfully manipulate any type of sugar after my two months making crappy honeycomb candy in a professional restaurant), where to buy it (which I did and immediately regretted because it is way too expensive), and what else to use to enhance maple flavor (not much useful information there and I can’t be bothered to reduce the maple syrup before adding it to the muffin batter.)
Fortunately, I didn’t need anything else, though I did end up adding maple extract to the recipe for an extra boost. You could do without the extract and the maple will still come through, especially if you use it in the streusel crumb topping in addition to the muffin batter.
Warning: these will taste and smell like pancakes for the obvious reason (hint: maple syrup.)
maple pecan muffins with maple streusel
makes 1 dozen
loosely based on my blackberry almond muffins recipe
Note: You can (should) make the streusel in advance in a larger batch and keep it frozen unbaked until ready to use. You can even keep it frozen, unbaked, for months (six is probably enough), and then just pull out whatever you need whenever you need it. Or, if you have zero willpower like I do, you could just fill up a baking sheet with streusel and bake it without the muffins, then snack on that (see: gorge yourself on that.)
7 oz (200 g) all-purpose flour
2.8 oz (80 g) whole-wheat flour
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
6.3 oz (180 g) milk or buttermilk
2 large eggs
3.5 oz (100 g) granulated sugar (or maple sugar for a more intense flavor)
2.8 oz (80 g) maple syrup
1 tsp almond or maple extract
4 oz (1/2 c, 8 Tbsp) unsalted butter, melted and cooled to room temperature
4 oz (1 c) pecans, coarsely chopped
1.5 oz unsalted butter, softened
4 oz all-purpose flour
1.5 oz maple syrup
dash of salt
1 tsp ground cinnamon
Make the streusel
Beat together the butter and flour until crumbs form, then beat in the maple syrup, salt, and cinnamon. Don’t let it become pasty or too dough-y, because you want dry crumbs so you can sprinkle them easily on top of the muffins. If the mixture starts really clumping together, don’t worry: chill or freeze it for a few minutes, then break up the big clumps with a fork or pastry blender.
Chill/freeze the streusel until the muffin batter has been scooped into the muffin pan.
Make the muffins
Preheat the oven to 350 F/175 C, and line a muffin pan with paper muffin liners.
In a small bowl, whisk together flours, baking powder, and salt. Into another smaller bowl, break the pecans into pieces (break them in half or into quarters, roughly.)
In a large bowl, whisk together milk/buttermilk, eggs, sugar, maple syrup, and extract until smooth. Pour the melted and cooled butter into the mixture while whisking, and using a rubber spatula, scrape out any melted butter still clinging to the bowl/cup into the wet mixture. Whisk until smooth.
Dump the dry mixture into the wet and quickly mix together until almost fully combined. Fold in the pecans.
Using a large cookie scoop, measuring cup, or spoon, fill the muffin cups about 2/3 – 3/4 full and sprinkle liberally with unbaked streusel crumbs.
Bake the muffins 20 – 25 minutes until springy to the touch like a foam ball, or until a wooden toothpick inserted into the center of a muffin comes out clean.
They look delicious, eh?
previous monthly muffins
My first year in college, a friend of mine wanted to show me around Los Angeles, so we drove all over, exploring his favorite places (ie., his favorite date spots…) One of the places we visited, a place in which I would end up spending a significant amount of time over the next three years, was Little Tokyo. At this point I had been to Japan once, on a 2-week guided, structured tour, and was in the honeymoon phase of my infatuation with the Land of the Rising Sun.
We wandered around a Japanese grocery store in the little shopping village of Little Tokyo (Maru-something or other), where I found bags of powdered tea. This wasn’t green tea or matcha, mind you, but powdered Royal Milk Tea, one of my absolute favorite things from Japan (though technically it’s from England…and if we’re really splitting hairs, it’s originally from India.) I loved Royal Milk Tea. I still do, but due to developing lactose…problems…I can’t drink it unless I make my own non-dairy version (which I have done, and is almost as good as the dairy version.)
This excursion was in April, just before final exams and summer vacation, so I grabbed a box of the powdered tea and brought it back to North Carolina. The first thing I did when I got home was make earl grey muffins. It was an inspired act, and a brilliant decision: they were heavenly. Possibly the best muffins I had ever had. I haven’t been able to find powdered milk tea since then, but I’ve experimented a bit with black tea pastries (black tea spiced apple pie, black tea butter cookies, and a failed attempt at an earl grey bundt cake.)
The winter before last, December 2015, I dreamt up a recipe for black tea butter cookies, spicy shortbread discs with whole, loose earl grey tea leaves, perfect for balancing on the saucer of a cappuccino mug. After the November and December 2016 muffins, laden with chocolate and other delicious things, I wanted something light, something bordering on celestial.
Right on cue, in sauntered these muffins: earl grey nut muffins. Inspired by a long-ago memory of Royal Milk Tea and Royal Milk Tea muffins, and based on the black tea butter cookies, these muffins are subtly sweet, with the pleasant flavor and aroma of tea, none of the bitterness of caffeine, and an accompaniment of sweet, crunchy walnuts. As with most of my muffins, these are half all-purpose and half whole wheat flour.
And they’re a perfect breakfast treat.
earl grey nut muffins
makes 1 dozen
150 g all-purpose flour
150 g whole wheat flour
2 tsp baking powder
a hefty pinch of kosher salt
4 bags of black tea (8 grams of tea)
1 tsp ground cinnamon
180 g granulated sugar
180 g milk
1 tsp almond or walnut extract
2 large eggs (~50 grams each)
120 g canola oil
120 g chopped walnuts
Preheat oven to 350 F/190 C, and line a muffin pan with paper muffin liners.
In a small bowl, combine all-purpose and whole wheat flours, baking powder, salt, loose tea (cut open the tea bags with scissors), and cinnamon.
In a large bowl, whisk together sugar, milk, extract, eggs, and canola oil.
Dump dry ingredients into wet mixture and combine, then whisk in chopped nuts and mix until almost completely combined.
Using a large spoon or cookie scoop, scoop the batter into the muffin pan so each cup is 2/3 – 3/4 of the way full.
Bake for 25 – 30 minutes, until the muffin tops spring back when pressed lightly, or a wooden toothpick inserted into the center of the muffin comes out clean.
Remove the muffins from the oven and let them cool in the pan for about 5 minutes, then remove them from the pan and let them cool on a wire rack.
Cheerio and all that,