You're Turning Violet, Violet

Gosh dang, I'm a slacker. Not in the cooking department or in the blogging department, for that matter. But when it comes to blogging what I cook, yikes, I suck. Perhaps you'll forgive me when you enjoy a slice of old-fashioned buckle for breakfast tomorrow. No? Well, what if it's full of blueberries and topped with the most perfect streusel topping you've ever experienced?


I was feeling a bit remorseful after convincing my mom to buy me a giant, not so cheap, tub of blueberries. It's not that they weren't delicious, but I can only eat so much in so many days. I knew they were going to go soft on me if I didn't use them fast. I couldn't bear the waste. Fortunately, I stumbled across a Cooks Illustrated recipe for a Blueberry Buckle from the American Classics magazine edition, before I had to gorge myself a la Violet from Charlie and the Chocolate Factor.

The recipe is simple, and the streusel is divine. In fact, if I didn't have better manners I might have kept the entire lid of the cake for myself.


Blueberry Buckle, from Cooks Illustrated

Streusel Topping:

1/2 cup flour
1/2 cup light brown sugar
2 tbsp. sugar
1/4 tsp. ground cinnamon
pinch of table salt
4 tbsp. unsalted butter, cut in 8 pieces, softened but still cool

Cake:

1 1/2 cups flour
1 1/2 tsp. baking powder
10 tbsp. unsalted butter, softened
2/3 cup sugar
1/2 tsp. table salt
1/2 tsp. lemon zest
1 1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
2 eggs, room temperature
4 cups, fresh blueberries

1.For streusal: In mixer, combine flour, sugar, cinnamon, and salt on low speed. Add butter and mix on low speed until the mixture resembles coarse sand. There shouldn't be any large pieces of butter. Set aside.

2. For cake: Preheat over to 350. Butter a 9 inch round baking pan. Fit parchment paper in the bottom, butter, and dust with flour all over.

3. Whisk flour and baking powder in a small bowl. In mixer, blend butter, sugar, salt, and zest until well combined. Add vanilla, blend. Add eggs one at a time on low speed until just incorporated. Slowly add in flour mixture until barely combined.

4. Remove the bowl from your mixer and add the blueberries by hand. The batter with be very thick, so you'll have to fold the berries in very slowly. Scoop into the pan and gently flatten out. Top with streusal by clumping it between your fingers first before breaking it apart.

5. Bake for 55 minutes or until the top is dark golden brown and the center is firm. Let cool for 30 minutes to an hour before removing from the pan.

Polenta, Food for the Poor

Because of certain circumstances (ahem, lack of jobs), The BF and I have been eating out less and less, which means our kitchen is getting put to good use. Whereas once we might have cooked one or two exceptional meals once a week, supplemented by take-out, now we cook a lot of basic weeknight dinners and one pot wonders, with a truly stellar, time-consuming meal once every other week. Our bellies are angry, but our bank accounts thank us!

I whipped up this hearty meal of polenta topped with a spicy tomato sauce for myself when I was enjoying a night alone. It's simple, delicious, cheap, and something that I love to make for myself: no fuss and just the flavors I enjoy. Plus, these rainy days have left me longing for foods that I can enjoy in a dim-lit room, curled up on the couch. The sauce is as basic as it gets and very forgiving--I don't think it's possible to screw up tomatoes and garlic!--so feel free to add your own mix of ingredients.


Oh, and don't let the anchovy scare you off! It cooks down into nothing so that all you're left with is a nutty undercurrent.

Polenta with Spicy Tomato Sauce, for one

1/2 cup polenta, and water for cooking
1 tbsp. olive oil
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 anchovy, finely chopped
1/2 tsp. red pepper flakes
1 14 oz. can tomatoes, chopped.
Salt & pepper, to taste
Juice of half a lemon
1 tbsp. parsley (basil would be just as appropriate, but it's far better in the

1. Cook the polenta according to package instructions. This will take about 25 minutes, unless your using quick-cooking polenta, which I've found to be just as good for a small meal such as this one. If you choose the latter, you may to keep it warm while your sauce is cooked.

2. Heat the oil in a medium sauce pan over medium might heat. Once hot, add in the garlic, anchovy, and red pepper flakes. Gently stir and allow to cook for a minute or two. You want to anchovy to melt into the oil and the garlic's aroma to ignite.

3. Once the anchovy has all but disappeared and the oil has taken on a rich yellow color, add your chopped tomatoes. (If you're adding in any other hearty ingredients, like mushrooms or kale, you may want to give them their own turn in the garlic-pepper oil before you add the tomatoes.)

4. Allow the tomatoes to simmer for a good 15 minutes. It's important your flavors have time to meld together. Add a hefty pinch of salt and bit of pepper, and taste for flavor. If you need more salt, don't be shy. You want the flavor to be distinct against the polenta.

5. Finally, hit the sauce with the lemon juice and the parsley. Let it cook three to five more minutes, just long enough for the acid of the lemon to develop. Spoon your hot polenta into a bowl and top with your sauce. Enjoy!

No Chopsticks Needed

Anyone who knows me is probably well aware of the fact that I can be fairly controlling. Control freak may be too strong of a title, but I could do with a little loosening of my grip, which is what I decided to do today!

The BF and I cook a lot together, but he often has his own projects, which are usually spicy (as in lots of spices, not necessarily heat) and involve red meat. So in honor of one of his more recent fabulous dishes, I decided that he should be allowed to guest post. So here I go, relinquishing control . . . Take it away, BF. And don't screw it up (just kidding!)
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My first exposure to this type of Asian-style ribs came when I was taken on a trip to Jennie Low’s Chinese restaurant in Marin County when I was about 8 years old. Thinking back on my first encounter with Chinese barbecue spareribs, I remember how thrilled I was at the prospect of being allowed to use my hands in what at the time seemed like such and\ exotic restaurant. No chop sticks are needed to devour this type of pork rib preparation as the beauty of this dish comes in the form of the sticky, sweet resin of barbecue sauce that accumulates on your fingers while enjoying.


These mouthwatering baby back ribs deliver all the same bright flavors as traditional Memphis-style ribs, only with a pungent Asian twist. However, don’t expect them to taste like your typical barbecue spare rib; these are a bit more refined. Delicious meaty pork baby back ribs are rendered fall-of-the-bone tender as they are continuously lacquered in a tangy and sweet Mongolian marinade over two and half hours of slow cooking in the oven.


Sticky Asian-Style Baby Back Ribs adapted from Cindy Pawlcyn’s Big Small Plates


Mongolian Marinade:

½ cup hoisin sauce
1 ½ tsp. sugar
2 ¼ tsp. tamari or soy sauce
2 ¼ tsp. sherry vinegar
2 ¼ tsp. rice vinegar
1-2 scallions, white and light green parts only, minced
½ tsp. hot sauce (I used Tabasco)
¾ tsp. black bean chili sauce or hot garlic sauce
2 ¼ tsp. grated peeled fresh ginger
2 ¼ tsp. fresh garlic, minced
¼ - 1/2 tsp. ground white pepper
2 tbsp. minced cilantro leaves and tender stems
1 ½ tsp. sesame oil

1 slab pork baby back
1/2 cup soy sauce
1/2 cup water
2-inch piece of ginger, sliced into coins
2 cloves garlic, peeled and smashed


1.Whisk all of the marinade ingredients together in a bowl.

2.Slather half of the marinade over the ribs and wrap snuggly in plastic wrap. Refrigerate over night.

3.Preheat over to 275º. Remove the ribs from the fridge, and allow them to rest for a half an hour at room temperature.

4.Meanwhile bring a half cup of soy sauce and half cup of water to a simmer, with the remaining garlic and ginger. Set aside.

5.Set the ribs on a rack in a roasting pan larger enough to accommodate the length of the ribs. Pour the soy sauce mixture into the bottom of the roasting pan. Place in oven and roast, basting every hour with remaining marinade, for approximately four hours.

6.After four hours, remove the ribs from the oven and preheat your broiler to high. Caramelize the ribs under the broiler, turning and basting several times, until you’ve used up all the remaining marinade and the ribs are sticky and have formed a crust. Slight burnt patches only add to the flavor.

7.Allow the ribs to rest ten minutes before slicing.

Preserved Meyer Lemons

It's been a while, a long while since I've written. Perhaps the shorter days are bringing out the food blogger in me again, but whatever it is, I'm ready to write (and cook and eat). In preparation for the winter months I decided some preserved lemons were an absolute necessity. They're found in practically every recipe I'm determined to try over the next few months. And the best part of making these pungent salt-pickled lemon peels is that it's incredibly easy as long as you're willing to wait a few weeks.



I got this particular recipe from the A16: Food + Wine cookbook, but most recipes are fairly similar as far as I've seen. I used homegrown Meyer lemons, and I recommend avoiding the waxy grocery store variety.

Kosher salt
Lemons (ideally thin-skinned)
Freshly squeezed lemon juice as needed.
One glass jar

1. With a pairing or chef's knife slice each lemon from the blossom end cutting down through the flesh, stopping just before you break through the stem end. Make a second slice perpendicular to the first.

2. Carefully, open the four segments of each lemon and pack generously with salt.

3. Place the lemons in a glass jar leaving as little room as possible. They should really be stuffed in there. Cover with another generous couple tablespoons of salt.

4. Cover the jar tightly, and let it sit in a cool dark place (unrefrigerated) two to three days. The salt will draw out the juice from the lemons' flesh during this time.

5. When you feel as though the lemons have given up most of their juice, open the jar and top off the lemons with extra lemon juice until they are completely submerged.

6. Cover the jar tightly and leave it in your refrigerator three to four weeks.

When ready to use take a lemon from the jar and slice away the slice from the rind. Discard the flesh and use the preserved lemon rind as desired.

Lemon Wishes And Meringue Dreams

Well it's been about a month since my last post, and my excuse, should any of you care, is that I started a new job and while I was out of school I got lazy. It seems somehow backwards that when I have far more time than usual, I find less time to blog, but that's how I work I suppose. Laziness is always chasing me, and as soon as I slow, even for a moment, it catches up to me. It's only when I'm forced to fight my way from it's grip--when my semester begins again--that I start to be productive again.

But I'm back, and I don't think there could be a better way for me to start back up again then with the newest Daring Baker delectable expedition. This time I was taken for a wild ride with lemon curd and meringue, in a combination so classic that it shames me to say, until now I'd never tasted lemon meringue pie.


The recipe and idea came from Jen of Canadian Baker, and I have to say, I was absolutely excited about making this, if for nothing else than being able to say that I had made (and tasted) a lemon meringue pie. Truth be told, I'm not crazy about lemon desserts. I eat them, but they're just not my number one order off the dessert menu. But there's something about lemon meringue pie that's so dreamy. Maybe it's the sticky meringue cloud, piled about four inches high, or maybe it's just because they remind me of roadside diners and hot, white mugs filled with steaming coffee.

Even slipping this tangy, yet gentle sweet in my mouth made me nostalgic for an era that I wasn't even alive to see. What a pleasure it was as it all came together--the beautiful daisy pie grew taller with each layer. What a treat.

Can't wait to see more of everyone this month.


Lemon Meringue Pie
Makes one 10-inch (25 cm) pie

For the Crust:

¾ cup (180 mL) cold butter; cut into ½-inch (1.2 cm) pieces

2 cups (475 mL) all-purpose flour

¼ cup (60 mL) granulated sugar

¼ tsp (1.2 mL) salt

⅓ cup (80 mL) ice water

For the Filling:

2 cups (475 mL) water

1 cup (240 mL) granulated sugar

½ cup (120 mL) cornstarch

5 egg yolks, beaten

¼ cup (60 mL) butter

¾ cup (180 mL) fresh lemon juice

1 tbsp (15 mL) lemon zest

1 tsp (5 mL) vanilla extract

For the Meringue:

5 egg whites, room temperature

½ tsp (2.5 mL) cream of tartar

¼ tsp (1.2 mL) salt

½ tsp (2.5 mL) vanilla extract

¾ cup (180 mL) granulated sugar

For the Crust: Make sure all ingredients are as cold as possible. Using a food processor or pastry cutter and a large bowl, combine the butter, flour, sugar and salt. Process or cut in until the mixture resembles coarse meal and begins to clump together. Sprinkle with water, let rest 30 seconds and then either process very briefly or cut in with about 15 strokes of the pastry cutter, just until the dough begins to stick together and come away from the sides of the bowl. Turn onto a lightly floured work surface and press together to form a disk. Wrap in plastic and chill for at least 20 minutes.

Allow the dough to warm slightly to room temperature if it is too hard to roll. On a lightly floured board (or countertop) roll the disk to a thickness of ⅛ inch (.3 cm). Cut a circle about 2 inches (5 cm) larger than the pie plate and transfer the pastry into the plate by folding it in half or by rolling it onto the rolling pin. Turn the pastry under, leaving an edge that hangs over the plate about ½ inch (1.2 cm). Flute decoratively. Chill for 30 minutes.

Preheat oven to 350ºF (180ºC). Line the crust with foil and fill with metal pie weights or dried beans. Bake for 20 to 25 minutes. Carefully remove the foil and continue baking for 10 to 15 minutes, until golden. Cool completely before filling.


For the Filling: Bring the water to a boil in a large, heavy saucepan. Remove from the heat and let rest 5 minutes. Whisk the sugar and cornstarch together. Add the mixture gradually to the hot water, whisking until completely incorporated.

Return to the heat and cook over medium heat, whisking constantly until the mixture comes to a boil. The mixture will be very thick. Add about 1 cup (240 mL) of the hot mixture to the beaten egg yolks, whisking until smooth. Whisking vigorously, add the warmed yolks to the pot and continue cooking, stirring constantly, until mixture comes to a boil. Remove from the heat and stir in butter until incorporated. Add the lemon juice, zest and vanilla, stirring until combined. Pour into the prepared crust. Cover with plastic wrap to prevent a skin from forming on the surface, and cool to room temperature.


For the Meringue: Preheat the oven to 375ºF (190ºC). Using an electric mixer beat the egg whites with the cream of tartar, salt and vanilla extract until soft peaks form. Add the sugar gradually, beating until it forms stiff, glossy peaks. Pile onto the cooled pie, bringing the meringue all the way over to the edge of the crust to seal it completely. Bake for 15 to 20 minutes, or until golden. Cool on a rack. Serve within 6 hours to avoid a soggy crust.

These Muffins Are Healthy, I Swear

Well look at me posting two days in a row. I guess this really means I’m on vacation with time to spare. I could certainly get used to this life. And (and this is truly worth a tad of bragging), I said I was going to make something and then I DID. Within twenty-four hours. I’m really on a roll.

Those lemon poppy seed muffins I was drooling over last night from my new Dorie Greenspan’s Baking From My Home To Yours, well, it’s confirmed they are drool worthy. Sneaking two at time up to your room to eat alone worthy too. They’re damn good. So moist, lemony, and soft. Even the kids, who usually say things like “what are those black things?” didn’t question. They just ate, and then said “these are really good.” You heard it here folks: these are really good. Even my nine-year-old sister, Chuckie, liked them.


Let me tell you something about Chuck, she’s a sugar fiend. She doesn’t like apples without peanut butter; she doesn’t like strawberries without sugar (who heard of a child that doesn’t like a plain strawberry?); she asks for a bagel with cream cheese, only to lick every ounce of the cream cheese off without a bite of her bagel. My mom cooks kale into her spaghetti sauce, pays her to eat spinach, but she won’t have it. She wants twizzlers, jello, pretty much anything with fructose corn syrup as the first ingredient or red dye #40 lingering somewhere near the end. It’s concerning.

I’m not trying to pretend that lemon poppy seed muffins are health food. White flour, butter, sugar…not exactly legumes and veggies. But at least it’s homemade. At least I know what went in to it. And she ate it. Maybe next time I can sneak in something or better yet, just bribe her with them (extra glaze and all that).

Because you know what? These are bribe worthy.


Lemon Poppy Seed Muffins out of Baking From My Home To Yours

Muffins
2/3 cup sugar
Grated zest & juice of 1 lemon
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 tsp. baking powder
¼ tsp. baking soda
¼ tsp. salt
¾ cup sour cream
2 large eggs
1 tsp. pure vanilla extract
1 stick unsalted butter, melted and cooled
2 tbsp. poppy seeds

Icing
1 cup confectioners’ sugar, sifted
1.5 tbsp. fresh lemon juice

1.Preheat the oven to 400F. Butter a regular size muffin pan.

2.In a large bowl, rub the sugar and lemon zest together with your fingers until the sugar is moist. Whisk in the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.

3.In a separate bowl whisk the sour cream, eggs, vanilla, lemon juice, and melted butter together until blended. Pour the liquid ingredients over the dry ingredients and whisk until just blended. Stir in the poppy seeds. Divide the batter evenly among the muffin cups.

4.Bake for 18-20 minutes (mine were actually done after 16 min.) or until tops are golden brown. Transfer the pan to a rack to cool. Remove muffins from the pan and place directly on the rack.

5.For icing, whisk the sugar and lemon juice together until just liquidy enough to drizzle over the muffins when completely cool.

Now What?

Christmas has come and gone. How did that happen? I’ve had six days off work. I’ve spent time with my family, chaotically Christmas shopped, wrapped and wrapped some more, baked pie after pie, not to mention a few dozen cookies, roasted a turkey, napped (maybe once) and yet, it feels as if I’ve done absolutely nothing.

When I’m at work, I fantasize. Really good fantasies too. Waking up early. Heading down to the coffee shop and getting a lemon scone and latte. I sip slowly, and pinch crumbly bits into my mouth, while I thumb through my newest book (Faulkner, or something just as academic). Maybe I even write brilliant thoughts in a small, worn notebook. Then I stop at the market, pick up ingredients for dinner that night—a meal I’ve methodically planned the night before—and then head home for a quick snooze. I wake up and cook. Perhaps watch an episode of The Office while I wait for my chicken to roast or my water boil. Eating is insanely satisfying (a nice glass of wine helps) and then I fall into bed. I’m out like a light, ready to do it all over the next day.


But when I actually get that day off, I don’t manage anything like that. It’s much more spontaneous and chaotic. And I think now I’m in some kind of post-holiday stupor. I keep making pumpkin pies in the hopes of perfection, stuffing cookies down people’s throats one day and throwing them out the next, and all to what avail? I’m not sure. Trying to figure out what’s next, I suppose.

Based on my Christmas present from The BF, Dorie Greenspan’s Baking From My Home To Yours, I’m guessing the next thing will be something baked, first thing tomorrow morning, or the thing after the first thing, you know, in lieu of the latte and scone. Reading in pajamas is way better than reading at a coffee shop anyways.

How I Finally Became A Joiner

I'm not a joiner. I'm just not good at it. I'm much better at being a bystander and watching from the sidelines. I'm an observer by nature, and I tend to shrink in large groups. But today, I'm starting over. It's nearly the new year, and with it I'm starting, a new, more DARING me.

I've joined the Daring Bakers. I know, but it's true. I've joined. I'm a joiner. There, I said it. And you know what? I feel really great about it. I feel like I could spend three hours in my kitchen on a Sunday whipping up buttercreams, sampling fillings, and pressing my fingers onto spongy genoise cake. Oh, wait. I already did that. It's only as glamourous as it sounds when you're showing off a Yule Log to all your coworkers, and then watching them devour it. (Secretly, laughing about all the butter and sugar they just consumed. No, I'm not better than that.)


The truth is buttercream is unglamourous. It's downright dirty work. I was up to my elbows in egg whites and butter. I had to make the buttercream three times. I'm not a joiner, and I'm sure as hell not a quiter. So finally, on the third try I had the best buttercream ever. Was it worth it? Without a doubt. I now have a showstopper dessert. Not too mention the glory of being a real, homemade Daring Baker.

We had the option of filling the cake with whatever we wanted and I immediatley thought of something I had seen from past Daring Baker entries: hazelnut cream filling. Only, I couldn't find hazelnut cream (anywhere on the planet), so it became chestnut, chocolate cream filling, which couldn't have been a better fit.

Here's to joining! And shamelessly eating butter and sugar.


Yule Log

Plain Genoise:

3 large eggs
3 large egg yolks
pinch of salt
¾ cup of sugar
½ cup cake flour - spoon flour into dry-measure cup and level off (also known as cake & pastry flour)
¼ cup cornstarch

one 10 x 15 inch jelly-roll pan that has been buttered and lined with parchment paper and then buttered again

1.Set a rack in the middle of the oven and preheat to 400 degrees F.

2.Half-fill a medium saucepan with water and bring it to a boil over high heat. Lower the heat so the water is simmering.

3.Whisk the eggs, egg yolks, salt and sugar together in the bowl of a heavy-duty mixer. Place over the pan of simmering water and whisk gently until the mixture is just lukewarm, about 100 degrees if you have a thermometer (or test with your finger - it should be warm to the touch).

4.Attach the bowl to the mixer and, with the whisk attachment, whip on medium-high speed until the egg mixture is cooled (touch the outside of the bowl to tell) and tripled in volume. The egg foam will be thick and will form a slowly dissolving ribbon falling back onto the bowl of whipped eggs when the whisk is lifted.

5.While the eggs are whipping, stir together the flour and cornstarch.

6.Sift one-third of the flour mixture over the beaten eggs. Use a rubber spatula to fold in the flour mixture, making sure to scrape all the way to the bottom of the bowl on every pass through the batter to prevent the flour mixture from accumulating there and making lumps. Repeat with another third of the flour mixture and finally with the remainder.

7.Scrape the batter into the prepared pan and smooth the top.

8.Bake the genoise for about 10 to 12 minutes. Make sure the cake doesn’t overbake and become too dry or it will not roll properly.

9.While the cake is baking, begin making the buttercream.

10.Once the cake is done (a tester will come out clean and if you press the cake lightly it will spring back), remove it from the oven and let it cool on a rack.

Coffee Buttercream:

4 large egg whites
1 cup sugar
24 tablespoons (3 sticks or 1-1/2 cups) unsalted butter, softened
2 tablespoons instant espresso powder
2 tablespoons rum or brandy

1.Whisk the egg whites and sugar together in the bowl of an electric mixer. Set the bowl over simmering water and whisk gently until the sugar is dissolved and the egg whites are hot.

2.Attach the bowl to the mixer and whip with the whisk on medium speed until cooled. Switch to the paddle and beat in the softened butter and continue beating until the buttercream is smooth. Dissolve the instant coffee in the liquor and beat into the buttercream.

Filling and frosting the log:

1.Run a sharp knife around the edges of the genoise to loosen it from the pan.

2.Turn the genoise layer over (unmolding it from the sheet pan onto a flat surface) and peel away the paper.

3.Carefully invert your genoise onto a fresh piece of parchment paper.

4.Spread with half the coffee buttercream (or whatever filling you’re using).

5.Use the parchment paper to help you roll the cake into a tight cylinder.

6.Transfer back to the baking sheet and refrigerate for several hours.

7.Unwrap the cake. Trim the ends on the diagonal, starting the cuts about 2 inches away from each end.

8.Position the larger cut piece on each log about 2/3 across the top.

9.Cover the log with the reserved buttercream, making sure to curve around the protruding stump.

10.Streak the buttercream with a fork or decorating comb to resemble bark.

11.Transfer the log to a platter and decorate with your mushrooms and whatever other decorations you’ve chosen.

Chestnut Chocolate Filling (adapted from Martha Stewart)

2/3 cup heavy cream
6 large egg whites
1 2/3 cups sugar
1 3/4 cups (3 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, cut into pieces, softened
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/3 cup chestnut cream
¼ cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1/3 cup chestnut cream
1 tsp. salt

1. Put cream into the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the whisk attachment; beat on medium-high speed until soft peaks form, about 4 minutes. Transfer to a medium bowl. Refrigerate 1 hour.

2. Whisk egg whites and sugar in the clean bowl of mixer set over a pan of simmering water until sugar has dissolved and mixture registers 160 degrees;, 2 to 3 minutes.
Attach bowl to mixer fitted with the clean whisk attachment; beat on high speed until slightly cooled and stiff (but not dry) peaks form.

3. Fit mixer with paddle attachment. With mixer on medium-low speed, add butter, several pieces at a time, mixing well after each addition (meringue will deflate slightly as butter is added). Add vanilla, hazelnut cream, and salt; mix until mixture comes together, 3 to 5 minutes. Fold in whipped cream with a rubber spatula. Use immediately.

Marzipan Mushrooms:

8 ounces almond paste
2 cups icing sugar
3 to 5 tablespoons light corn syrup
Cocoa powder

1.To make the marzipan combine the almond paste and 1 cup of the icing sugar in the bowl of an electric mixer and beat with the paddle attachment on low speed until sugar is almost absorbed.

2.Add the remaining 1 cup of sugar and mix until the mixture resembles fine crumbs.

3.Add half the corn syrup, then continue mixing until a bit of the marzipan holds together when squeezed, adding additional corn syrup a little at a time, as necessary: the marzipan in the bowl will still appear crumbly.

4.Transfer the marzipan to a work surface and knead until smooth.

5.Roll one-third of the marzipan into a 6 inches long cylinder and cut into 1-inch lengths.

6.Roll half the lengths into balls. Press the remaining cylindrical lengths (stems) into the balls (caps) to make mushrooms.

7.Smudge with cocoa powder.

Going Steady With A16

Now that my semester is over, I have no excuses for not posting more. Except that, as previously mentioned, I have a tendency to be lazy and gluttonous. For example, the past two weekends I have managed to eat at A16 twice. TWICE. For those of you who haven't heard me go on and on about A16 or have been there yourselves, A16 is a Southern Italian restaurant, specifically based on cuisine in Campania, on Chestnut Street in The City. Definitely one of the most highly reviewed places in The City without being one of the most expensive or white table cloth-y. Then again, white table cloths are out, at least around here. In fact, table cloths in general are getting harder to come by. It's pretty much earth toned paper on wooden sheen or just the clamorous clank of your silverware on worm wood. We're very rustic these days. Needless to say, A16 is rustic, both in food and style. It's certainly a pleasurable rustic. You see it in their appetizers--we enjoyed their Minestra Maritata, which is pretty much the Italian name for Bomb Ass Meatball Soup--all the way to their sides--it's probably bad to say that I've had three of their five sides currently available; I especially loved the anchovy kale.

While I will warn that their pasta dishes can leave something to be desired--we concluded that they are truly meant as a pasta course and not a main entree, they're certainly delicious, but often drastically more mild then their pizzas, entrees, and even appetizer--obviously I truly enjoy every meal I have at this establishment. But even so, twice over two consecutive weekends, is even wild for me. The first was just a celebratory dinner with The BF, and this Saturday, The BF's sister and brother-in-law were coming into town from Wisconsin and just really needed to go there, which of course I respect deeply. You know when you're first dating someone and they seem really wonderful. You hardly notice the annoying way they have of sweeping their hand through their hair or saying "um" before beginning a long thought. They're just down right perfect, until a few weeks go by, a month or two, and then you start to see it all more clearly. Have you really been dating this person all along? Sometimes you shrug it off; it ain't a deal-breaker. But then sometimes, you can't. Sometimes it changes the way you see that person permanently. Well, with A16 and me, I guess I've finally started to pick up on some small flaws. And they are small, but still. The problem is that they're not A16's fault. It's locked in a burden of circumstance I suppose.

Okay, so what is this gripe of mine? The clientele of course. Though not all of them, namely just the overtly snobby ones that crowd the bar and make sniffling comments about wine that I can't stand. These are the kind of people that drive me nuts. People who are uptight and just plain rude. The BF and I witnessed a scene go down involving two of these said gentleman and another couple of (normal) gentlemen over two of the seats at the bar. No, there were no near brawls; there wasn't even any up-in-the-face action. There couldn't of been, since the two stick-up-ass men wouldn't even turn and look at the other guys and have a discussion with them. And the other guys were so very nice and accommodating. But no, stick-up-ass man one would only remark (loudly) to stick-up-ass man two, things like, "Um, should we give them these seats? I think no." Even their A-hole moves were lame as can be. I have Kharma Police Syndrome; basically I can't take it when people get to act mean with no repercussions, so of course, I was upset about the incident all night. I mean I was still able to lick my plate and dessert bowl clean, but you know, it wore on me. A16 isn't supposed to be about being mean for one seat at the bar. It's about noise, wine, burrata, pork and a wood fire oven. It's about eating seasonally and overdoing it on Salted Carmel gelato.

But maybe it's not. Maybe I've been living a lie, and I'm finally seeing it for what it is: all white table cloth-y or not even that, just plain snooty (there, I said it). I really want to make it work though. The way I feel about the pizza bianca and the tuna conserva salad, well, that's love. I can't just let it go. But without out a doubt, the honeymoon period is over. I guess we're in it for the long haul, fights and all.

The Thought Really Does Count

In case you hadn't noticed, Christmas is only two weeks away. That's fourteen days. I don't say that condescendingly either, I really didn't realize how soon it was. Until now of course, when only two of the eleven people I must buy gifts for are taken care of. And I've even narrowed it down big time. I cut out my usual holiday baking for extended family and friends. I even cut out Christmas cards, which (in case you're wondering) I feel horribly guilty about. I'm not lazy, I swear. I 'm just busy. Heard that before? Eh, me too, but it's true, for the most part. (Sometimes I do have free time to do productive things and choose not, and that's definitely lazy, but doesn't everyone do that?)

Then all of a sudden it’s present time, and not only do I feel too emotionally fragile to head to the hellish, overly-crowded zoo that is my nearest mall, but I don't have any ideas. NONE. Seriously, notta one.

If it wasn't already apparent from this post (please read sarcasm), I love giving gifts. No really, I do. But not just for the sake of gift giving. I like to put thought into things. I practically can't give a gift to someone, if real thought hasn't gone into it. I'll get guilt-ridden, anxious, and I'll think about it all year long. I'd rather just give nothing--a big hug and a "Happy Holidays." But you can't do that, which is why I'm so distraught. Isn't it better to not get anything one year but know that the next gift will really be just meant for you? I'm guessing, based on the shockingly long lines on December 26th, that I'm alone on this one. I'm thinking of mounting a campaign in '08: Presents with Heart or something. I suppose in the meantime, I better start shopping.

Sunday Night Blues

Sunday’s are hard for me. Pretty much always have been. I have a tendency to get more and more down as the day goes by The BF and I made a pact this past summer: We can’t be sad until 8pm. At 8pm we can be complete grumps (read: A-holes) and snap at each other for no real reason, except that it somehow relieves the Sunday pain, even though it really doesn’t. When I say "we" what I really mean is "me", as usual The BF is far better at controlling himself then I am.


The only problem is that in the winter it gets dark sooo early, and 5pm feels more like 8pm then 8pm does when the time changes. And then I get confused. And the confusion only compounds my Sunday night blues. In fact, The BF and I have determined, through intense scientific testing and research that he does indeed suffer from SAD.


So lately we’ve found that cooking for Sunday night meals eases the pains. Mostly because we’re just too distracted and stressed out with cooking disasters (grease fires and the likes) to notice the sun fading, the time just ticking away, another weekend.


This weekend we decided to really embrace the distraction making an entire Indian feast. Let’s see there was Raita, Saag Paneer, Chicken Tikka Masala, Cilantro Chutney, Vegetable Dal, & Naan. I’m still full. But it was good. It was like we-couldn’t-believe-we-made-it good. Also, I think we just wanted to give ourselves some props after an entire day of cooking truly from scratch—we made the paneer (cheese) & Naan from scratch.


I’d include recipes if recipes hadn’t gone straight out the window as soon as we got going. And so did note-taking, right around the time the second gallon of curdled (but not curdled enough) milk was tossed down the disposal (along with a variety of expletives by The BF) during cheese making.

So though I can’t offer recipes this time, I do recommend that you join in a little food therapy next time you’re feeling blue. If you're not up for Indian, you could try these, I think they would help.

The View I Miss Already

Thanksgiving is over and now the true holiday season begins. I’ve returned from a few short days at home (as in where my family is) with a sense of nostalgia. It’s true that around this time of year I oft ponder those Turkey Days of childhood. At the time they seemed so picturesque: long wooden table, big family gathering, cousins galore.

Of course as I’ve gotten older I can see more clearly the falsity in those images I’ve maintained, like picking only the best photos for the album. But it doesn’t make that loss any less of one. In fact, as I write this I realize that sensation of nostalgia is actually one more akin to disconnection. Where is that family now? When did I last sit down for that Thanksgiving?

Part of being a child of divorcees is learning to take disconnection in stride. You disconnect from a bed, a house, a parent to take on the other. And as you get older home becomes less of a place and more of a concept. But I’m still just muddled with longing for the images that I remember, and yet lately find myself realizing are untrue. People change but then don’t change at all, so it’s easy to find yourself disappointed, but places? Some places never change.

Friday Shirley and I, along with another friend of ours spent one final night at the place of childhood fantasies (or mine at least): the Skyview Drive-In. It was an amazing time just lying in the back of the car, covered in blankets, stuffing ourselves with candy, while the cold, fall air chilled our cheeks. But it was so sad too. The drive-in is no longer, not as a gathering place to catch a flick and or specifically in Santa Cruz, where it soon becomes a hospital.

We knew it would be our last night time there, beneath the stars, amidst that big glowing screen. How many movies I’ve seen there, I can’t begin to count, but I can remember watching them from my car-seat as a child. So yeah, another thing lost.

Later that night I dreampt about someone I loved dearly as a child. Someone who flits through my mind rarely, but always brings a smile to my face. In the dream, this person had to tell me that nothing would ever be the same. I didn’t want to, but I knew I had to let my idea of them go. So I did…in the dream.

And I now I need to try to do the same with the drive-in. The one good thing about being [dreaded word to follow] an adult is that you get to finally make some of your own traditions. And stick to them. Or try your damndest to. Then when I’m eighty I can bore my grandchildren with stories about the drive-in.

“The last time I went was November of 2007. You weren’t even a twinkle yet. Can you believe I was worried things might not turn out okay back then?”

How Food And Multiple Homes Don't Work Together

So I'd love to show you all the beautiful Vietnamese dinner that The BF and I made last night. The pure white noodles, nestled beneath the mounds of green herbs, lettuce, carrots, and jalapeño, carrying the heavy load of caramelized-to-perfection pork. I wish you could have seen it as the glistening pink/orange of the nuoc cham spilled over the top, cascading to the depths of my bowl, creating a pocket of sweet amongst my noodles. Yeah, it would be nice for you to see that, but since I didn't have my camera available you can't.

Say hello to one of the many problems that face those of us that live in limbo between two locations: not having the things you need when you need them. It's a frustrating thing, especially when you stay that extra night and you have absolutely nothing left to wear. And you have to run into your own place before work and get completely dressed in a massive hurry. And then, if you've cooked a big meal, you have to move the leftovers to the appropriate house as well, so you don't waste them (and you get your damned moneys worth from that grocery trip that cost far more than eating lunch and dinner out for the next three days would have, but you do it because you love it).

Anyways, there's no point in posting the recipe because without the pictures it just doesn't have the same appeal. Even if I describe it as best I possibly could, it's just never going to do it for you. I understand that, because I'm the same way. Which leads me back to my gripe about not having all my things readily available to me when I'm at The BF's and vice versa. It's not something that can be helped right now. So we must overcome. I must not think about the bottle of Calvados that's sitting nearly full in my cupboard that was bought for just a tablespoon that was needed, and may never be used again. Or about the broth that needs to be made before Thanksgiving dinner at The BF's house that involves using 1/2 cup of Calvados. The same 1/2 cup that is sitting at my own house. Sure, just bring the Calvados from one place to the other. But it's not that simple. It involves planning out the week. Who's house will we stay at what night? Are there plans any night in The City that we must be around for? Is the commute from San Rafael worthy of that damn bottle of Calvados?

Conclusion: if you're going to do the whole food thing you need to either be single or you need to live with your significant other. Or, as an alternative, you need to be super rich so you don't have to feel bad about buying multiple bottles of esoteric alcohol.

Well, There Goes Another Weekend

So this is the post I talked about last time, where I was going to be all positive and "I love life" and stuff, but then decided I just wasn't a good enough faker. Basically, I removed the trite, happy paragraph that led into it, and put this in instead. Isn't honesty always the best policy anyways? I guess sometimes I'm honest to a fault. It was a good weekend though; sure as hell beat this last one...


The weekend before last, The BF celebrated his 25th birthday in the form of a surprise weekend getaway. When he found out on Thursday night that he wouldn't have to be going to work on Friday and that we were going up to Sea Ranch, he was shocked, to say the very least. (Apparently he doesn't give me enough credit for manipulative capabilities.) Needless to say, when we made it up to Sea Ranch and I informed him that we were actually going to be joined by his closest friends (and some of mine too), he was catatonic with astonishment, which was followed with complete panic.

"But, we don't have enough food. I have to clean. Where are they all sleeping? How are we going to entertain them?"


Both The BF and I happen to be Type A personalities; we have a hard time relinquishing control to fate. However, after I assured him that everything was taken care of and everyone showed up, we had a great time. We ate more than I care to recognize, but it was all fantastic. The men cooked a potluck with a variety of food that could never possible go together anywhere else, like short ribs and red chile beans, steamed salmon, flanks steak with chimchurri, as fresh as you can get abalone ceviche, and fish tacos. It was quite the smorgasboard.




We could not have dreamed of better weather, espcially in November, daylight savings weekend, on the northern coast of California. We played out our fantasies of moving up there for a few months or even a few weeks like we always do. And though a good majority of me wanted to just stay up there forever, and pretend The City was just a place I visited, the sunset on our drive home, reminded me that are defintely some things worth coming home for, even with work, all the projects, and daily life dramas (like my Mac costing $700 to be repaired). I wouldn't have wanted to miss that sunset for the world, even if it meant that I didn't have to deal with rent or my crazy clients anymore. Wait, now that's a bit extreme. It was good, but certainly not that good. I'm pretty sure nothing is that good.

Heels On Hardwood

I had my post for today all written out about how I'm all set to enjoy my final weeks of the semester instead of willing them to go by faster, cause I'm "all positive and stuff." But you know what, eff that. It just ain't my style, never has been. Maybe I'll post it, but certainly not today. I'm not feeling "all positive" at the moment, especially when I awoke to the sounds of heels on hardwood this morning, brought to me by who else but my lovely neighbors. I pretty much wake up to their sounds everyday, which is fine. I get it, they have hardwood floors, it's gonna happen, but at 4:45 in the frickin morning? WTF?! Does Ms. Noisy Neighbor really need to stomp around the apartment in heels before 5am on her way to the airport or god knows where? Can she not just place them on her nyloned feet as she walks out the door? Is that so damn difficult?

I fantasize...

Dear Noisy Neighbors,

I do not mean this letter to be an attack on your lifestyle, but rather an informative message so that you might make more considerate daily choices. From downstairs your short runs to reach a telephone in time sound like the violent tremors of giant's feet. Your patterned romps and bed creaks sound both depressing and disturbing. Oh, and are you really moving furniture nightly? Cause it sure as hell sounds like you might be.

PS: Hearing the steady whir and then buzz of your dryer is just plain cruel as we stuff our three week old laundry into overflowing hampers and netted bags to far off locations.

PPS: It's called a space rug. Try it.



I'm bitter, I know. I'll work on it. I mean I won't but, you know, I'm at least aware of it.

Wholesome Fun With Whole Grains

Admittedly, mistakes were made last Friday. So perhaps to atone for my sins, I spent the rest of the weekend as wholesome as can be, holding babies, lot’s of family time, and of course, cooking. The BF and I spent Saturday in Santa Cruz feeling far worse than we had intended. Needless to say, when we woke up on Sunday we knew we had some amends to make, the first to our disgruntled bods, who were still, yes still, angry about the gin and vodka and gummi bears. We needed something that would heal our weary souls.

Soup, we determined immediately. The BF was outvoted two to one (when I really want something I count as two). It just so happened that I had been wanting to try the Mushroom Barley soup from November’s Food & Wine.

We had a mission, and with all missions, there are obstacles, namely in our case, the grocery store. As much as The BF and I would like be those kind of food people who can whip up something from nothing or cook based on ingredients just “lying around,” it’s not our forte. Unless it’s a sandwich, but that’s a different story altogether. Instead, we must drag our day two hangovers to the grocery store on a Sunday evening , at just about the time when every other person in Marin County is doing the same (sans hangover, I assume). It was foiled from the beginning.


We hit Whole Foods first; we wanted quality meat and mushrooms. My bad mood immediately sets in from crowds and it’s only exaggerated by the types of people you find at Whole Foods in San Rafael (see previous post on snobbery). And then: no pearled barley. Can you imagine? All those effin bins filled with granola, nuts, rice, grains, basically everything you could ever think of, but no pearled barley. I got that panicked, glazed look in my eyes and rushed to find The BF at the butcher counter. The headache was pulsing

“There’s no pearled barley.” I was deranged; I know because my voice hit those high octaves.

“Calm down, just calm down.” I took deep breaths as he followed me back to the dry good aisle, so that he could confirm that there really was no pearled barley.

Forty-five minutes later, after considering using hulled barley for close to ten minutes, we were at grocery store numero dos, United Market, ready to purchase pearled barley and the extra beef broth we forgot (go figure). While The BF ran in—I just couldn’t bear it—I called my mom, who in her endless quest to make sure I know just how overly indulged I act, reminded me that they always have pearled barley at Safeway. Thanks mom, noted.

At home, finally, we began to cook, and though I thought I’d at least have a couple of hours to whine about how much I hate crowded grocery stores while the soup cooked, it turned out I had less than an hour. Hence, this post; I just gotta get it out somewhere, right?

Based on just how damn delish that soup turned out, it seemed that somehow, among the aisles and people and carts, we finally undid our wrongs. If you’re looking for a little redemption yourself, I highly recommend that you make this, especially with the suggested changes. It may be the only thing you won’t regret this weekend.


Mushroom Barley Soup with Mini Meatballs adapted from Food & Wine
5 cups good beef stock
2 cup water
1/2 cup pearled barley
3 large thyme sprigs
2 tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil
1 lb. mixed wild and cultivated mushrooms, stemmed and thinly sliced (We used cremini, oyster, chanterelle, & porcini)
1 large shallot, finely chopped
1.5 lbs. ground sirloin
1 large egg
2 tbsp. dry bread crumbs
2 tbsp. freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano
2 tbsp. chopped flat-leaf parsley
salt & pepper

1. In a medium pot combine the stock, water, barley, & thyme. Season with salt and pepper and bring to a boil. Cover and cook over at a simmer until the barley is almost tender, about 18 minutes.

2. In a large nonstick skillet heat the oil. Ad the mushrooms and the shallot, season with salt and perpper and cook over high heat until browned, about 10 minutes.

3. In a medium bowl combin the sirloin, egg, bread crumb, cheese, 1/2 tsp. salt, & 1/4 tsp. pepper. Mix until just blended. Roll into sixteen 1-inch balls, about bit-size.

4. Add the meatballs & mushroom mixture to the soup and simmer over medium heat until the meatballs are cook through and the barley is tender, about 10 minutes. Discard the thyme. Stir in the parsley and serve.

I'm Sorry I Called You A Snob

I love the City; I truly do. But sometimes I start to think that the snob factor is just way too high. Maybe it’s because I’m from good ol’ alternative Santa Cruz where we boastfully yell “Go home Trannies” [Trannie is a slang term for a transplant, ie. not a local] to people asking where they might locate the beach—admittedly a form of reverse snobbery—but I can’t get used to the uppity attitude of so many people around here. The food snobs, sure, they're my people; the designer brand snobs, also close friends; the Whole Foods snobs; the Marina snobs; the non-hippy hippy snobs, the higher education snobs, found all the way on the other side of the City where I believed there were no snobs, they all drive me nuts.

However, I’m not going to lie, I think I might just be better than those people. See, that’s where I’m a snob or at least was a snob. One long evening of drinking on an empty stomach can really change a girl.

I’d like to say that it all started innocently enough, but in truth, our company’s Halloween party had most of us drinking before 4:00pm. Post party we headed over to Voda, a vodka bar tucked away on Belden Place. Quite picturesque outside, less appealing inside. Nonetheless, we jovially sipped on (gulped down) quite delicious $3.00 happy hour Lemon Drops, before deciding we needed a change of scenery.

Okay, I’m a lightweight, which is great for the pocketbook and less wonderful for me when I’m out on a drinking night with friends. By the time we made it to Toxic, the Lemon Drops had done their trick. That trick being stealthily intoxicating me without my gag reflexes or mental capacities realizing it. Of course I immediately ordered a vodka tonic and decided that the gummi bears in glass bowls lining the bar (Haribo, no doubt. I love this place now) were a perfectly reasonable dinner.

Since it was just 8:30pm when we got there, the bar was nearly empty, and so we had only one choice but to continue to drink. Only some of us didn’t just drink. Some of us (as described the next day by witnesses) decided to dance rather inappropriately, launch a gummi bear war across the bar, and shamelessly sing karaoke at the top of our lungs. In other words, humiliate ourselves in public. I wish I could blame all of this on an alter ego, but alas, there is only me. Humbled and embarrassed me. Some of you may be used to nights such as this one, but I am not. I was shocked with myself and mildly disgraced.

Thus, I must leave my snobbery at the proverbial door, because I have to face it. I’m no better than anyone else; I can be a real idiot too sometimes. All it took for me to come to my senses was one night in this City with its vodka bars, gummi bears, and oodles of snobs. It just wouldn't be the same without us.

Please note I did pay for my snob prejudices all weekend...

Weather Woes

Disclaimer: Throughout the following post, I will mention the weather in Northern California several times. At no point will I actually be complaining about the weather. I do realize just how damn good we have it up here, over here, or however you want to look at it.


I think the weather, in the Bay Area at least, is copying me. It's all back and forth and this way and that, summer, fall, no actually winter. The weather itself I don't mind. I can appreciate a rainy days interspersed with 70 degree days no problem; it's the mimicking that's pissing me off. I don't take kindly to having all my uncertainty and wavering displayed for the entire City to see. I know, it's not like anyone's going to make the connection, but I do... And that's enough for me. I don't need the constant reminder that I'm indecisive--just standing on the edge of a ridge somewhere scoping out both sides, debating about which will hurt more when I finally fall? The thorny bush side? Or the poky stick side?--I KNOW this already.

Now, what am I so indecisive about? That's an entirely seperate blog that has absolutely nothing to do with this weather. But I will tell you this: I started my Master's program at San Francisco State almost precisely two months ago. So that means that since applying in January, accepting in May, and going to classes since September, that entire time, until about five days ago, I've believed that I was in a two year program. OnlyI'm not. Three years. Three. Count 'em: One. Two. Three. As mix-ups go, this one doesn't have much effect on my outward being becuase I sure as hell ain't dropping out now, but regardless, I can't help describing this feeling as akin to (and I'm just speculating here) finding out that you're actually a year older than you thought.

Internal monologue goes like this: You've got to be kidding me. How? But...That means...Then....Damn. Dammit all to hell.

Once you're managed to accept it, you have to face the facts.

For me that went something like this: Okay, seriously, how am I that stupid? How did I not realize this before? How? HOW? Calm down. "How" doesn't matter; it's just that I'm that stupid. I am that stupid.

And so on. Hopefully, you can see how that kind of realization along with the "other" things I can't even begin to summarize, can leave one (me) in a state of absolute confusion. The weather just taunts me. Is it going to be rainy? Sunny? Bitterly cold? Will she or won't she? There's just no telling.

Apple Pudding Cupcakes, with Bourbon-spiked Buttercream Frosting

It’s not often that I have an idea I’m so passionate about that I need to share it with the world. But a few weeks ago, just when summer was lingering into the chilly evenings of fall, The BF and I enjoyed a divine dessert at Boulevard. I had heart amazing things about this restaurant, and I was definitely not let down; however, it was their dessert that lingered with me the most. Essentially a reinvention of all-American Apple Pie: thick, delectable square of apple terrine; I liken it to the pudding-ed juices that would dribble out as you wrung out a freshly baked apple pie (if that were possible of course), spiced ice cream, sandwiched between two sugar cookies and rounded out with pecans, a final sprinkle of candied apple pieces. There are not words. Let’s just say that The BF was not ashamed to scrape his finger along the leftover bits on his plate.

So how did this lifechanging sweet motivate me? Within a week after eating it, when it was still on my mind, and I could remember it’s textures on my tongue I ran into Cupcake BakeShop’s cupcake contest, with the theme “Reinvention.” I’m not competitive, never have been, I’m all too happy to let others take the gold, but when I saw that contest, my first thought was, I could win. Now whether that’s even moderately true or not, doesn’t really matter. What matters is that I had an idea that I just I had to try.

An apple cake was easy enough, but I desperately wanted to try that to recreate that terrine in the form of a pudding I could dollop inside my moist cake. Well I dug through the internet like I would if I were Googling an ex-crush, but no firm signs of an apple terrine. I did, however, find recipes for apple pudding and one for a terrine that sounded somewhat similar to what I had eaten. I managed to rework them to create the exact flavor I needed and the pudding texture that would set up just right in the cupcakes. My final step was frosting. Buttercream was an obvious choice since it immediatley conjured up the buttery goodness of apple pie, but vanilla? That didn’t seem right, and I already had a lot of spice going on, so what’s the next best thing to vanilla and pie spices…bourbon, of course.

So that was that, and thus, my re-invented Apple Pie cupcakes were borne. Oh, and they tasted amazing too. The perfect Autumn cupcake.

Apple Pudding Cupcakes, with Bourbon-spiked Buttercream Frosting

Cake from Williams-Sonoma Essentials of Baking
2/3 cup sugar
2 Tbsp. Cinnamon

1.5 lbs. Granny Smith Apples, peeled and grated
2 1/3 cup cake flour
1 tsp. baking powder
½ tsp. baking soda
3 eggs
2 cups sugar
1 cup canola oil
1 cup sour cream

1. Preheat over to 350 F. Sprinkle half of the cinnamon over the apples and let them sit for 15 minutes to expel some of their juices.
2. Sift the flour, baking powder, and baking soda into a medium-sized bowl.
3. Pour the apples over a fine mesh sieve and let the juices drain. Don’t press down, just let the natural juices leak through. Set Aside.
4. Beat eggs and sugar together in a mixer on medium-low speed until thickened and pale yellow, about two minutes.
5. Add the oil, pouring slowly, until just incorporated.
6. Add the sour cream on low speed until the white streaks are gone.
7. Pour in the dry mixture in two separate batches. Mix until just incorporated in the batter.
8. Finally, add the apples. Stir in by hand to prevent over-mixing. The batter will be runny, but don’t fret, that’s normal.
9. Spoon the batter half way up cupcake liners. Sprinkle the cinnamon sugar in a thin layer on top. Top with batter until just below the liner.
10. Bake for 25 minutes or until a toothpick comes out clean.
11. Let cool to get ready for the pudding and frosting.
    

Apple “Terrine” adapted from frenchgardening.com

2 lbs. sweet apples; I used Fuji
½ cup hard local cider; I used Aces here, local to Sonoma County
1 ½ tsp. fresh lemon juice
½ cup sugar
1 tbsp. Calvados (apple brandy)
2 eggs, beaten
6 tbsp. butter

1. Preheat oven to 350 F.
2. Peel and chop apples into two inch pieces and place in a baking dish along with the lemon juice and cider. Bake for 45 minutes to an hour, until they are soft enough to mash down with a potato masher or a fork (if you’re feeling particularly ambitious.
3. Remove from heat and mash, along with the butter, Calvados, eggs, and butter. Cover in tin foil, bake for another 40 minutes, until much of the liquid has been absorbed.
4. Remove from oven and chill.
5. Once chilled use an immersion blender to finish off the smoothing process of the apple. Set aside.
   

Brandy Buttercream Frosting adapted from Williams-Sonoma Cakes: Fillings & Frostings
3 cold egg whites
¼ tsp. cream of tartar
2/3 cup plus 2 tbsp. sugar
¼ cup water
1 tbsp. light corn syrup
1 ¼ cup unsalted butter, at room temperature, cut into 2 tbsp. pieces
2 tbsp. high-end brandy; I used Knob-Creek

1. Stir together the egg whites and cream of tartar, until the cream of tartar completely dissolves. Set aside until the sugar is ready
2. Clip a candy thermometer to a small saucepan. (Make sure it’s immersed in the liquid but not touching the bottom.) Combine the 2/3 cup sugar, the water, and the corn syrup. Cook over low heat, partially covered until the sugar dissolves, about 5 minutes. Stir often. Raise the heat to high and let the syrup bubble vigorously, until the thermometer reaches 240 F; this is soft ball stage. Wipe down the sides of the pot with a damp pastry brush. Remove from heat.
3. As soon as the sugar is off the heat, begin to whip the eggs and cream of tartar mixture with the 2 tbsp. of sugar on medium speed until soft peaks form. About 5 to 10 minutes.
4. Reduce the mixer speed to low while you pour in the hot sugar mixture. Try not to let it hit edges of the bowl because it will harden on contact. Once all of the syrup has been added increase the speed of the mixture. Beat until stiff peaks form.
5. At this stage, you can begin to add the butter one-piece at a time until combined. Using a spatula wipe down the edges as the butter has a tendency to hang on the edges of mixing bowl. If you notice that the butter is forming tiny lumps, place the mixing bowl over a saucepan of boiling water and whisk vigorously by hand until combined.
6. Once the consistency is right, add the brandy and give it a final stir. Using immediatley or set in the fridge until ready.
   

Assembly…

1. Cut a small circle from the top of the cooled cupcakes, going about an inch down. Remove the circle and fill with a dollop of the apple “terrine.” Cover up with the remaining circle of cupcake.
2. Top the cupcake with a generous swathing of frosting.
3. Sprinkle with cinnamon and enjoy.
   

Neighbors or How I USED To Love People-Watching

I'm admittedly a lurker. I look through countless websites weekly, reading articles, comments, scoping out new pictures and posts, and very rarely do I actually make my presence known with the responses that are brewing in my mind. Maybe that's one of the reasons I started this blog to begin with. I'm an observer by nature, a big time people-watcher. (This is probably related to the melancholy I feel when I look into other's glowing windows on Thanksgiving evening--but that's entirely different post, I'm sure.) But getting that momentary glimpse into someone else's life when they pull back their curtain, leave their garage door open, or have that ridiculously loud phone call in public is intriguing.

In fact, people-watching is one of the only things that I like about big crowds. It's also one of the things I like more about the city then anywhere else around here. The people-watching is constant, endless, and very entertaining. People are nuts, and yes, I do lump myself in with that statement. I'm sure if my own conversations were taken completely out of context, I would seem crazy too. The sidewalks and buses are just rife with the satisfying tidbits of other peoples' lives. But even I have limits. Sometimes it's just too much. Case in point, I was talking to my good ol' pal Scrap Lazy yesterday via IM, and she was transcribing the fight that was taking place between the guy who lives next door to her and his girlfriend.

SL: Thhhhhank you, Ryan. Thank Youuuuu. (Her reenactment of the fight)
LP: HAHA
SL: I seriously hate her. (Her personal commentary on the situation)

And she seriously does, because this is this tenth time Scrap Lazy's had to listen to one of this upset girl's rants. Knowing the intimate issues of her neighbor's relationship isn't as exciting as it is annoying. I've hit this point with some neighbors of my own as well. The wooden floors so common in the city are gorgeous if you have them, and excruciatingly noisy if you live below them. The first time you hear your neighbors, uh, coupling (floor against bed posts, bed frame against wall, steady, rhythmic) at 9:15 on Tuesday night, it’s funny. The second time it’s gross. The third, it’s just annoying, and every time after that, well, it’s just too much information.

I find myself suddenly wondering things about them that I know I shouldn’t: Is it more then just once a week? Is it always at the same time? Is THAT normal? And every time I see them I find myself wanting to blurt it out, “9:15 on Tuesdays.” It’s so wrong. I’ve been taken too far into their world. They’ve pulled back the curtain, but it’s gotten stuck like that. Now instead of enjoying the momentary fascination with their life, I’m caught up in it. It’s the kind of people-watching that’s just not fun anymore. It leaves nothing, literally zero, to the imagination. I can’t make bitter assumptions and judgments like I usually do. I have to remember that even though they have loud, painfully boring sex above my room, they still let me park my car in driveway when I can’t find parking.

The city’s taught me a lot about people. The biggest lesson learned? That there is a certain group of people that fall somewhere between stranger and acquaintance: neighbors. Beware. They city is crawling with them, and they take all the fun out of feeling anonymous.