My life and lunch in alliterations

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Ginger Junky

Back in cookie land, babes still dream...

While some swooned over the chocolate ones, a batch of gingery cookies actually won the cookie contest. Wanting to make something seasonally warming, I was particularly attracted to the recipe on page 38 of my library-loaned copy of The Ultimate Cookie Cookbook. The combination of candied ginger, vanilla, brown and sugar and baking spices made these an absolute must.

Watching them spread out thin and flat under the oven light, I knew they were developing the crispy texture I was after. Generally I’m a soft & chewy cookie lover, but the boy has been swaying me.

Always seeking to please, I knew these cookies were a success as I watched the boy gobble down all 4 off a plate. He claimed the crisp golden edges as his favorite while I savored the chewy center bite. It satisfied both our sweet desires. The only problem with these treats is that they’re such short-lasting treasures.


Candied Ginger Cookies

Adapted from The Ultimate Cookie Cookbook by Barbara Grunes and Virginia Van Vynckt
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter at room temperature
1/3 cup granulated sugar (I shorted it by few spoonfuls)
1/3 cup light brown sugar
1 egg
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 vanilla bean (optional)
1 1/2 c all purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon cream of tartar
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 cup minced candied ginger

 NOTE: My ground ginger (which had come in a friend's suitcase from Indonesia about a year ago) tasted off. Instead substituted 1 full teaspoon pumpkin pie spice for everything (it's a mixture of cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg and allspice). I also didn't have cream of tartar, so replaced that and the baking soda with 3/4 teaspoon baking powder. The results were still wonderful.

Cream butter and sugars on medium speed until light, about 2-3 minutes. As an alternative, it's also nice with vanilla bean. Add the scraped seeds when creaming butter. Blend in egg and vanilla. Whisk dry ingredients in a separate bowl. Slowly stir into butter-based batter to make a soft dough. Mix in candied ginger.


Either stick saran wrap directly to the surface of the dough, or gather in a ball in your hands and wrap completely in the plastic. Refrigerate for at least 1 hour and up to 2 days.

Cook on cookie sheet for a couple minutes before removing to a wire rack. And please, if you're intent on baking, buy a wire rack!

When ready to cook, preheat oven to 350. Lightly grease a cookie sheet or bust out your silpat mat. Scoop spoonfuls of dough and shape into 3/4-inch to 1-inch balls, then flatten slightly with your hand to make a thick disk. Set the cookie balls at least 2 1/2 inches apart on a cookie mat, as they'll flatten quite a lot in a cooking. These cookies really spread out, creating a sweet, crispy cookie with just a hint of chew in the center. Grunes and Bynckt say to bake for 8-10 minutes at 350, but these take at least 14 minutes in my oven. If baking for someone who likes crispy cookies (ahem, my sweetheart), you can push it until 16 minutes. The results are still fabulous - it's just a matter of taste.

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Dense Cookbook, Delightful Cookies

I was recently amazed to discover I can check out cookbooks from the library. It’s sounds quite obvious, but the applicability of it had somehow never occurred to me.

When I told Lacy, she said “Yeah sure, but I’m afraid of spilling all over it in the kitchen.”

“Naw....” I said, imagining my cleanly cooking adventures. I silently pledged even measuring, steady pouring and fastidious use of my plastic cookbook holder.

“You were totally right,” I said post-due date, having returned the recipe for Rich Fudgy Delights smeared with you-know-what. But these babies are worth the mess.

But my coworker said the cookies “had great chocolate flavor and chewy texture!” Via email. With lots of exclamation marks.

“They taste like the Triple Chocolate cookies at Grand Central!” Lacy gushed, pairing cookies with port at my kitchen table. I’ve yet to try Grand Central’s, but funnily enough, The Ultimate Cookie Cookbook reminded me of their recipe. Before making the cookies, I even pulled open both cookbooks to compare the ingredients and instructions for their most decadent, chocolate-thick goods. If it’s any recommendation, the following recipe requires less labor and fewer eggs.

Fudgy Rich Chocolate Delights
Adapted from The Ultimate Cookie Cookbook by Barbara Grunes and Virginia Van Vynckt
These delicious, brownie-like cookies require investing some time. I recommend making the dough the day before you plan on baking and serving them. Store in a bowl and stick saran wrap directly to the dough's surface before popping it in the fridge.

Ingredients
5 oz semisweet or bittersweet chocolate (I did 2.5 oz of each) I love Scharffen Berger, but buy a lot of Ghiradeli too.
1/4 cup (1/2 stick ) unsalted butter, room temp.
1 egg
1 egg white
1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons sugar
1 tablespoon instant coffee
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup chocolate chips (I did 1/2 white chocolate, 1/2 semisweet chocolate, cutting  blocks into very small chunks)
1 cup chopped nuts (I used almonds, though hazelnuts would be amazing)

Preheat oven to 325. Lightly grease a cookie sheet or bust out your Silpat.
Melt chocolate with butter in a microwave or over a double boiler, stirring occasional. Set aside to cool.  Ideally, you want it between 80 and 85 degrees, which could take up to 20 minutes.

Beat egg, egg white and sugar on medium to high speed until thick and light, 4-5 minutes say Grunes and Vynckt. I did it for a full 10 minutes. Grand Central prescribes a whopping 14 minutes, but at 2 am on a weeknight I deemed it unnecessary.

Add the instant coffee and vanilla. Slowly stir in the chocolate mixture until blended. In a separate bowl, whisk flour, baking powder and salt. Add to chocolate, but do not overmix. The batter will be loose, but thickens as it stands. Fold in chocolate chips and nuts. Using a tablespoon, scoop out batter. Shape into mounds using 2 spoons. Don’t do what. But if you have a salty palate, do top each mound with a few grains/flakes of finishing salt.

Bake at 325 for 14-16 minutes.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Crispy Chicken for Two

I’m a girl who finds extraordinary comfort and satisfaction in a whole roasted chicken. But last week as the weather cooled, my stomach stumbled upon a desire for crispy skinned chicken. I didn’t want to deep fry anything, though I craved the sound of crackling meat in a pan and crunchy, paper-thin skin between my teeth. Something to savor September.

What I had to do, I knew, was butterfly and flatten the bird for a good pan-frying, a dinner ordeal I’d previously undertaken with Lacy’s help. On Thursday, for the first time, I butterflied a chicken all by myself!

First I arranged the chicken, rinsed and patted dry, breast side down on a large cutting board (I prefer one with a “meat moat” and used the large butcher block Lacy’s grandpa made for me). Wielding my Henckle kitchen shears with fiegned confidence, I cut up one side of the spine, snipping away from me, tailbone to the back of the neck. Then I cut along the other side to remove the entire spinal cord. Turning the chicken over, wings tucked under for leverage, I used my palm to apply quick pressure on the sternum, cracking it open so I could flatten the entire chicken.

With the breast side still up and the legs pointing away, I exchanged my shears for a paring knife. Time to remove the wishbone! I find that doing away with this little bone makes slicing the breast meat a breeze later (and fun fact: the wishbone is similar in size and shape to the clitoris!). I like to feel for the bone with my fingers, then insert the paring knife on it’s underside, tracing the curve from left to right. Next, easing the knife into the same incision, I angle the point upwards and feel along the top side. With that little wish all stenciled out, I insert my pointer and middle finger, wrap them around the bone and give a good pull. It usually comes out with one tug, but sometimes it snaps in the middle and I have to grasp and yank each side separately.

Is it sick to admit I love the textiles of butchery? I feel a strange intimacy with my food when prodding it, scraping away extra fat accumulations and petting it down with salt. Well, clearly I don’t think it’s sick at all, considering I ate the entire chicken over the course of the weekend, with the help, be assured, of someone dear.  

Now bear in mind that this was Thursday and I was actually prepping for a Friday night dinner date. After mincing together thyme, rosemary, parsley, garlic and kosher salt, I rubbed it under the skin, rubbed lemon juice and salt on the outside of the skin, wrapped the whole plated thing up in saran wrap and let it live in my fridge for 24 hours. Of course, you could rub it down and let it sit out for an hour before patting dry and setting it to sizzle in your biggest skillet. To do so the next day, I threw a slice of bacon in my pan, rendering the fat and flipping it a few times to crisp and brown on each side. I removed the little piece of pork for later (to crumble sparingly atop the chicken and salad greens) removed any little brown bits, and supplemented the bacon fat with an extra tablespoon of olive oil. When jumping-but-not-quite-smoking hot, I add the chicken, splayed out, skin down. I then placed my stock pot on top and weighted the whole thing down with my blender (my kitchen is a place of improvisation) to press the chicken into the pan and brown up every inch possible. If you have two large cast iron pans that nestle together, they are the perfect tools for this job.

Trying to disturb the chicken as little as possible, I tune into my kitchen spidey-sense, lowering the heat slightly and checking under a breast when I think it’s approaching the right shade of golden. When achieved, I lift up the stock pot (thank goodness my sweet date had arrived by then to help me, but you can set it aside, assuming you have a clean sink or counter surface), flip to the ugly, skinless side, and brown up again. Check a small chicken for doneness after 30 minutes of total cooking time, but a large chicken could require an entire hour. You can pop the chicken, pan and all, into the oven, but do NOT cover or your crispy skin will lose its integrity.

Clearly Friday night dates are a serious prospect in my kitchen, but it all proves worth it when served with scalloped sweet potatoes and a bottle of pinotage, and the sweet boy sitting across from me gently places a linen napkin in his lap. I really enjoy eating this chicken atop a green salad, barely dressed in a lemony-mustardy vinaigrette.

On Saturday, after sex and french toast and adventures in Grand Central Bakery and Uwajimaya, we came home to pick apart the cold leftovers. I cubed up a collection of white and dark meat for chicken noodle soup and sliced up the rest for sandwiches. He sliced the rye bread sturdily, the tomato thinly, and assembled, meticulously, a spread of other fixings. Looking over at him I exclaimed “You have a perfect mis en place!” Beaming back, he confirmed my mustard selection (“Just the dijon”) and slathered on extra. More pepper and parsley, I decided, tasting my soup.

Finishing leftovers always feels like a bit of an accomplishment. With company, the completion is utter enjoyment.

“We had a really good weekend,” I responded on Monday to a coworker’s inquiry.
“We?” she asked incredulously. “I go on vacation for a week and come back and now you’re a we?”


The next words out of my mouth were “Oh, shit.” I felt caught. And by my own net, no doubt.  

Summer’s ending and we’re still standing here together, he and I. The cooling weather has me not just crisping chicken skin and browning sweet potatoes, but even baking pumpkin pie, his favorite. And more than food, I’m craving him. Sometimes I feel so saturated in sweet syrupy feelings, you could just pour me on a waffle.

When I’m with him, I feel so confidently that I’m in the right place. Across from a kitchen table or side by side in bed, what could feel more right? But later, after the Tupperware is empty of leftovers and my apartment void of his presence, I admit I feel even smaller than before. My body aches with indecision. I can’t even discern if it needs to be fed.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Smells Like Green Spirits

I've recently become enamored with the weekend cocktail. The past few weeks, I come home from work on Friday, gather together ingredients, perhaps prep up some herbs and garnishes, shake shots of liquor over ice and tinker up a tasty cocktail. I may tinker with it, but this little recipe becomes my go-to again on Saturday or Sunday, maybe a pre-funk drink before going out, maybe a cocktail with company after dinner or hell, after brunch.

I had bought a huge bag of pea shoots at my new favorite grocer - the super-cheap Hau Hau market in the international district. I came home with a $5 bag full of fruit and salad fixings and still-attached chicken breasts and I' think "how the hell does one person eat all these pea shoots?"

I found you can drink them.

Searching the internet, I realized I had all the ingredients for a cocktail called the Pea Shoot Gin Flower. The only odd part was combining equal parts pea shoots and cold filtered water in the blender to make a sludgy, vegetal puree. It tasted sweet and healthy and fresh, not very different from freshly squeezed wheatgrass juice. But let me tell you, this cocktail was bright green.


Green like absinthe in Moulin Rouge technicolor (though it totally lacked this ingredient). Green, appropriately, like new growth in a rainy spring. It even tasted like the color green. I made it, of course, on a damn grey day. In all the cocktail was very refreshing, and my only warning is that the delicate flavors can easily be overwhelmed by the ginger ale.

2 shots gin (or 1 if you're feeling wussy)
2 shots pea shoot puree
splash St. Germain Elderflower Liquer
giner ale
1 stick seeded cucumber and 1 sprig mint for garnish

Shake the gin, pea shoot puree and St. Germain over ice. The puree needs to be strained, and I had some trouble with it clogging my shaker - hopefully yours is better. Pour into a tall glass with more ice, garnish and top with ginger ale. Sip and feel refreshed.

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Turning Over A New Crepe

"A crepe is one of the few things I've never attempted to make," I told my new sweetness. We were wandering the horribly named BURP, Ballard's "urban picnic." We passed by lines for pizza and ice cream, crepes and cupcakes, finally happy to sink our teeth into a burger and some poutine ("Sure, we can make it for you," Skillet's server said when I asked for the latter off the menu), but in general the festival was pretty pathetic. The Maritime sponsored beer garden was a sad cage, created to keep the children out and the money in. We made a lap, lined up in front of my favorite airstream truck, then returned to his apartment to sit on the outdoor deck, burger in one hand and beer in the other.

Somehow, a few short hours later, I was running away from my sweet boy. He tried calling me back, freshly-showered and shirtless in his doorway, and I turned once to look at him before I descended the stairwell. I stalled at the intersection, a waiting pedestrian, but didn't look back again. Though I knew he wasn't following me, I broke into a run while crossing the street, heart pumping faster than my feet as I beelined for the closest bus stop. The right route came almost immediately and I soon realized I'd left my wallet behind in the boy's apartment. Without my bus pass, I decided I'd rather charm my way back home than return with my tail between my legs.

My stomach felt awful on the bus and after. Why did I run away?

It's scary, you know, liking somebody.

I stopped at the gym and then walked home the long way in order to ease my stomach. Cashless, cardless, my emotions in chaos, I took a quick inventory of my kitchen, knowing I would inevitably end in the pantry with the jar of Nutella.
Staring at the jar, I recalled Steven and our morning after the Built to Spill show when I lied to my work, saying I had a dentist appointment and would be an hour or so late. "I'm gonna to spoil you rotten," he said excitedly. "I'm gonna spoil you with waffles." After the late night of memorable music and less memorable whiskey, I emerging from his shower, drawn to the kitchen by the sent of Belgian waffles. A new jar of Nutella graced his kitchen counter.

"No, not waffles," I thought, flipping to a crepe recipe in Joy of Cooking.

After the first crepe, it was pretty easy to get the hang of it. I had the wrist-to-pan rotation movement down, having pretty much mastered it at the age of 10 when I learned how to cook omelets. The key, and the hardest thing for me, is to be present and conscious in the kitchen. No multi tasking allowed, as these suckers only take a couple minutes on each side. I placed them on a warm plate in the oven and after the next crepe was safely swirled in the pan, I would use a rubber spatula to spread a thin layer of Nutella over half of the warm crepe. I'd fold the crepe in half, give it another dab of Nutella, and then fold it in half again so each one was folded up in pretty little corners. Top with more Nutella and some whipped creme, or maybe just some lemon zest.

I particularly liked them folded into quarters and stacked one on top of the other so they form decadent layers of alternating dough and Nutella layers, then topped with a generous amount of lemon zest and a dollop of plain yogurt. I love the tangy contrast, though some freme fraiche would be equally fantastic and some unsweetened whipped creme (or grand marnier or hazelnut flavored!) would make it scrumptiously dessert-worthy.

I tried to settle my mind before bed, taking comfort in my kitchen staples, always there for me when I'm in a financial or emotional pinch. I feel like if my parents ever made crepes or if I'd learned to make them at an earlier age, they would have been my childhood favorite, surpassing even my beloved french toast.


Basic Crepes (makes 10 8-inch crepes) adapted from Joy of Cooking by Irma Rombauer, Marion Rombauer Becker and Ethan Becker
Combine in a blender or food processor until smooth:
1/2 cup all purpose flour
1/2 cup milk
1/4 cup lukewarm water
2 large eggs
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
1 teaspoon sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
fresh lemon zest

Pour the batter into a bowl with a lip or one that can easily rest a ladle. Cover with plastic wrap and let stand for at least 30 minutes or refrigerate for up to 2 days. This allows the flour to thoroughly absorb the liquid and fives the flatten int he flour a chance to relax. Place a nonstick crepe pan over medium to medium-low heat. Coat with a little unsalted butter.

Stir the batter and pour or ladle 2-3 tablespoons into the pan. Lifting the pan off the heat, tilt and rotate it so the batter forms an even, very thin layer. Turn the crepe over, using a spatula or your fingers and cook until the second side is golden. Remove to a piece of wax paper or to a warm plate in a low oven. Continue cooking the rest of the crepes, buttering the pan and stirring the batter before starting each one.
It's a comforting and comfortable pattern. The crepes go quickly once you get into a routine. I'm definitely making these again next time I plan on serving dessert or maybe just a sweet breakfast in my home.

P.S. I went back to the boy's apartment the next morning. We have since made crepes toghether - both the Nutella described and savory ones with brie, thyme and port-simmered mushrooms. New things are scary, esecially in all this post-Bugs business, but as Julia Child said when flipping omelets (or was it hash browns?) "All you need are the courage of your convictions." I thought about this while flipping crepes.

Sunday, May 9, 2010

Buttercream's Body

I apologize that April somehow slipped by without a post. I've previously mentioned that burlesque is a new hobby of mine and on April 17th I debuted as Betsy Dean Buttercream. Up until the performance, I was entirely consumed with choreography, costuming and cake props. I never knew that corset-shopping  and glue-gunning pink satin bows required so much energy!

I think of burlesque as the creation of a fantasy world where everything is more beautiful and sparkly and liberated than in real life. The main goal of my performance, which involved an Easy Bake Oven, a ridiculously oversized cake and tassel twirling while eating, was to be equally food positive and body positive. Though burlesque does raise a heightened awareness of the body, and the process certainly brought a few pangs of self-consciousness, I didn't change my eating habits in the weeks leading up to the striptease. I fully admit to some feelings of guilt after indulging in desserts, but part of Buttercream's achievement, I decided, is that she takes pleasure not just in eating food, but in the full bodily experience. Our bodies, after all, are inseparable from what sustains them.  

My relationship to food, and from food to body, is generally a stable and loving one, especially if I compare myself to some female peers, but it's always in flux. It's strange that my body should be a relative thing. Lying beside different men, my parts take on different proportions and my perspective of my own size can change dramatically depending on how tall or large or small my partner is. Burlesque has further altered my perspective,  forcing me to view and present myself as an object of beauty. First coming into this body, I never would have imagined such a thing, but the desire to dance crept up over the past few years, a secret, seductive itch.

I'm happy to've created two alternate identities, one a stripper and one a cook, and that their meeting place is somewhere inside me. Lucy and Betsy represent different facets of myself, but they both place the kitchen table center stage. 

Saturday, March 27, 2010

Chicken and pie, oh my!


The first thing to, when undertaking chicken pot pie, is to buy a chicken. Or maybe it's to buy an egg...

Let's start with the chicken, butchered, giblets and wishbone removed, all done up with your prettiest trussing twine. It makes me so happy, the potential of chicken.

I was inspired to make a good pot pie, one done right, after eating a terribly mediocre version at Knee High Stocking Co. The drinks were good, the company bearded and intelligent, but the pot pie was bland with a thin brothy filling and, sin of sins... No. Bottom. Crust. I wanted to fix all their wrongs.


Preferring a salt-based rub on my chicken, I started by mincing together garlic with thyme and parsley. These are some of my favorites for the purpose, but use whatever fresh herbs you have on hand. Next I poured quite a lot of coarse kosher salt on my butcher block cutting board and continued to mince. I rubbed my chicken, previously patted dry, inside and out and stuffed a halved lemon and some halved garlic into the cavity.

I roast my chicken, one wing up and one wing down, for about 30 minutes at 400 degrees, then rotate, using a wooden spoon stuck in the cavity or some paper towels to protect my hands, so the opposite side is facing up. Then I rotate the chicken breast up and brush the skin with my favorite roasted garlic and onion jam and roast for another 25-50 minutes, depending on the size of the bird. Brush more jam on the skin once or twice, heating it up or diluting with a little balsamic vinegar for easy spreading. The result is a flavorful bird, the skin sticky with sheen, more savory than sweet. You may want to dig it right away, but it's important to let it sit for about 15 minutes before carving.

I'm most happy when I'm able to eat a roasted chicken alone because I like to pull the bird apart with my hands. It's a delicate and careful process, but I like to relish in the textile feel of it and lick the greasy mess from my fingers. The wing tips are my favorite part of the whole bird. I get extraordinary pleasure from crunching on the delicate bones, tasting and swallowing the brittle little cavities of marrow.

After I've satisfied myself (eating and masturbating are so similar), I cut the chicken meat into bite-sized pieces to be used in another recipe. Perhaps chicken salad veronique or a chicken noodle soup, but today, chicken pot pie.

Always inspired by Sally Shneider, I used her creamy root vegetable velout
é, a riff off on one of my favorite soups and a healthier alternative to cream-based sauces, as the pot pie filling. Recipe follows. 

The crust was straight from Joy of Cooking, half butter and half shortening, rolled out, 2 disks per pie, for a top and bottom crust. The bottom crust was blind baked before filling and both crusts were brushed with an egg wash for a glossy appearance and added crunch.

In a restrained amount of butter, I sauteed chopped onions and coins of carrots and parsnips, cooked just until soft (5 or 6 minutes), then added some peas, fresh lemon juice and salt and pepper. I added my veggies and cubed chicken to the velouté and baked until the crust was browned and the filling bubbled up between the slits.



With Lacy and The D, my closest friends and some of my favorite dining companions, I cracked my crust and spooned up the thick hot filling. They both loved it and were impressed to hear that the filling wasn't thickened with flour or cornstarch. I loved that in the middle of this messy ramekin of warmth and flavor, the chicken was still the star.

Roast yourself a chicken. Do it. Pot pie is just one of so many possibilities.

Creamy Root Vegetable Velouté  (makes 3 cups)

1 medium waxy potato, peeled, quartered and thinly sliced crosswise
1 small celery root, same
2 medium parsnips, same
1 medium leek, white and pale green parts thinly sliced
2 garlic cloves, thinly slices
1/4 teaspoon each kosher salt and sugar
1 tablespoon unsalted butter, olive oil or rendered bacon fat
3/4 cup water
3 cups low sodium chicken or vegetable broth
freshly ground white pepper
1/4 cup chopped flat leaf parsley

Braise the veggies. In a medium saucepan, combine the vegetables, salt, sugar, butter and water. Bring to a simmer, cover and cook 15 minutes or until the water has almost evaporated.

Add more liquid and simmer until tender. Add the remaining broth and return to a simmer, cooking an additional 15 minutes or until quite soft.

Taste, adjust the seasoning, and puree in a blender. This soup is so thick and smooth it feels like it's full of cream. Add parsley last. 

This soup can be served on its own, with a drizzle of truffle oil or heavy cream (and perhaps a grating of nutmeg) if desired. 

Sunday, February 28, 2010

Cleansing Cucumbers

I needed something healthy and invigorating. 

I'd recently stuffed myself to the brim, eating my way through a weekend in Portland. On Saturday I lunched on Bijou's salad Nicoise, perfectly and minimally dressed though the herbs lacked fragrance and I longed for a few capers. Dinner began with the flaky biscuits piled high in the bread basket at Mother's Bistro, continued with Mother's roasted beet and blood orange salad and ended with her crab cakes. The decor impressed though the service did not, and the food, though slightly flawed, was rich and flavorful. I would return for the biscuits alone. Sunday started with Morning Star's eggs benedict, necessary after the night's libations. 


Back in Seattle, I came home to quietude, flipped through my cookbooks and went on a sunny stroll through Cal Anderson park, running into several neighbors on the way. We chatted on park benches until the shadows crept over us, relegating the sun to slender stripes on the grass and gravel. Still mildly hung over, faintly tired, I craved something light and cleansing. Cucumbers.


I played with David Tanis' Vietnamese cucumber salad, trying out a bias cut on my vegetables, adding rice vinegar and extra ginger, reducing the sugar. The results were flavorful and just short of fiery. I preferred all of my improvisations except for the bias cut. Simply sliced cucumbers make a more manageable mouthful. I garnished the salad with thinly sliced sweet onions and, though pretty, they were more delicious when tossed and marinated with the rest of the salad. I suggest taste over aesthetics on this one. 

After salad came sleep. A new week. A date with a new boy, even. I laughed at myself as I shared camera-phone images of my recent concoctions, lovingly pointing out ingredients like a grandparent naming children in a wallet photo. "I want that," the boy said as he pointed at the cucumber salad with his chopsticks, his gorgeous gray eyes lighting up. I smiled, remembering how the sweet crunch contrasted with the tangy, slightly salty dressing, the bite of onions and peppers. Suffice it to say, I hope to make it again soon. 

Vietnamese Cucumber Salad
Adapted from "A Platter of Figs and other Recipes" by David Tanis

4 large cucumbers
salt and pepper
vietnamese (nuoc mamma) or thai (nam pla) fish sauce
rice vinegar
2-inch piece of ginger, peeled and cut into fine julienne
palm sugar
3 serranos or jalapenos
2-3 limes
mint sprigs
basil sprigs
thinly sliced sweet onion

Peel cucumbers, cut them lengthwise in half and slice into half-moons. Place in a large bowl, add salt and pepper to taste, a dash each of fish sauce and vinegar, the ginger and a tablespoon of palm sugar. Toss well and let sit for at least 5 minutes.

David suggests finely chopping the chiles and adding them to taste by the spoonful, but I prefer them thinly sliced and added with a bold liberality. Add the onions, douse with freshly-squeezed lime juice and toss again. Cover and refrigerate till serving.

Just before serving, add a fistful of mint and basil leaves, roughly chopped or perhaps stacked, rolled and sliced into a pretty chiffonade. Taste and adjust the seasoning, adding more lime juice, fish sauce or salt as necessary. Though I halved this and enjoyed it as a hefty meal for one, Tanis serves it as a side to wild salmon. 


Thursday, February 11, 2010

Caketastic Birthday Blowout

Being an Aquarius and born in the ghastly year of 1985, I recently turned 25.


I didn’t really have a big birthday blowout, or anything as crazy as the word suggests. I did put on a pretty party dress and have a few friends over, though. I even received a singing telegram, compliments of my father, along with two noise complaints from neighbors. And I baked a cake.

A friend who bakes for a hobby and has made a few wedding cakes lent me her professional cake pans. I’d been planning on doing a big 3-tiered beast but when I saw the 6”, 10” and 14” square pans and realized I’d have to bake 2 layers of each if I didn’t want a squat-looking dessert, I decided to nix the bottom layer. It alone was supposed to serve 50 people! I may not be the most practical girl, but even I knew that would be entirely unnecessary.

Since I couldn’t decide between red velvet cake and traditional yellow birthday cake, I set about making both. I scoured cake recipes in my cookbooks and online and inevitably chose the ones with the most butter and eggs, deeming them “authentic.” My alarm set for 6 am on my birthday formally observed (since my real birthday was on a workday), I woke up and removed 2 whole packages of butter and 10 eggs from my fridge to bring to room temperature and went back to sleep. Don’t think I’d forgotten the half-pound of cream cheese or the pint each of buttermilk and heavy cream. I let them warm up and gave them some loving later on in my leisurely day.

Hours passed pleasurably as I oscillated between mess making and cleaning. When the cloud of sugar settled, I’d stained my white seat covers with red food coloring, spattered creamed butter on the walls and dirtied every bowl I owned. A birthday baking success!

After my cooked layers cooled, I frosted the yellow cake with a satiny chocolate frosting, easily made in the blender. The recipe that follows was actually my favorite discovery of the day.

I torted (divided each of my two layers in half) and frosted my red velvet tier with an airy cream cheese frosting. The whole cake was refrigerated with a crumb layer, then given a final frost a few hours later.

I piped melted chocolate onto parchment paper and then firmed it up in the fridge before transferring it to my cake. Atop the pristinely pale cream cheese screamed the words “Fuck Yeah 25.”



I declined to try my hand at prettily piped borders and instead tossed on some coconut, creating a fun effect that reminded me of Top Pot’s feather boa donuts. Lacy and The D, who showed up early with take-out Ezell’s fried chicken, helped my haphazardly throw some sprinkles on the side edges. Lacy made me the sweetest card - dedicated to 10 years of best-friend status, a gorgeous secretary pen necklace, and The D installed a dimmer in my kitchen, providing the perfect atmosphere for my birthday-candle-blowing-and-wish-making moment!


By the time Jamie and Niel of Seattle Singing Telegrams were wildly performing The Beatles' “Birthday” (which transitioned awesomely into “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds”), I was ready to cut my fucking cake, yo! Jamie and Neil passed, but I don't blame 'em. I’m sure they get offered a lot of cake. It's a job hazard.
Savoring a sample of each layer, I nestled into my couch with a White Russian cocktail and watched The Big Lebowski with my remaining friends.

The birthday girl abides.

Chocolate Satin Frosting
Adapted from The Joy of Cooking
By Irma Rombauer, Marion Rombauer-Becker and Ethan Becker

6 ounces unsweetened or bittersweet chocolate, broken into small pieces
1 cup heavy cream : )
1 ½ cups sugar
6 tablespoons (¾ stick) unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
1 teaspoon vanilla (or booze!)

In a small saucepan, bring cream to a boil. Remove from heat and add chocolate without stirring. Cover and set aside for exactly 10 minutes. Scrape into a food processor or blender and add the remaining ingredients. A drizzle of rum or strong coffee would be welcome additions at this stage, too. Process until perfectly smooth. Set aside until thickened to desired spreading consistency. This keeps in the fridge for one week. But if you're me, you'll find yourself pulling out the Tupperware two weeks later and spooning it up while you watch Thumbsucker and World's Greatest Dad back to back on a Friday night.


Sunday, February 7, 2010

Sunday Coffee

I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.
~T.S. Eliot                                        

Every Sunday that we weren't hung over, Bugs and I went to Stumptown for coffee. He didn't have to be at work, a respected wine shop in SoDo, until 11 so I would doze, listening to him shower and then watching him roll up the sleeves of a wrinkled button-up shirt. Around the time he selected a jaunty cap from the hat hooks in our bedroom, I would spring out of bed and hurriedly pull on jeans and tie back my messy hair. Leaving our apartment to round the block to P-Town (as the sign proclaimed from our point of view), he'd ask me if I had my keys. I did.

We took turns buying each other nonfat lattes, the best in town. I added raw sugar to mine; he never did. I always finished mine; he rarely did. He'd sip, but sometimes I think he just liked to hold the cup on his way to work, even though it was surely cold by then. 

Sometimes I'd feel whimsical and order a raspberry latte with a raspberry donut hole. 

Sometimes I brought my laptop or a novel I was engrossed in, but usually we read the New York Times together. Sometimes, if I was caught up writing or reading, I'd linger at our table after he left for work, watching people come in and out until I felt antsy and knew it was time to return home. But usually I'd walk with him to the bus stop or down the hill to the freeway, kiss him good-bye and then turn around and march back up the hill, looking forward to my little solitary Sunday.

Little, yes. The world seemed much smaller only a few short months ago. Is that what repetition does? Calm and comfort us as we slip into stagnation, letting our views of the world shrink? 

The last time I saw Bugs, five months ago, I was wearing latex gloves. Having agreed to help me clean the apartment formerly known as ours, he dutifully moved the fridge and oven so I could scrub away the splattered grease of over five hundred dinners. We sprayed and wiped up the sad, furniture-void spaces and said good-bye. There were no kisses and he left his keys behind. 

I haven't seen him since then but I'm going to today. For Sunday morning coffee before he goes to work.

The venue has changed. We're meeting at the Top Pot near my new apartment, where I've become addicted to the spicy chai. Today I think I'll get something new and chocolate covered and a cup of drip for dunking. I've been working my way through Top Pot's repertoire of donuts and so far the apple fritter, blueberry bulls-eye and chocolate-covered old fashioned are my favorites. It's good to mix things up sometimes. Though there's comfort, of course, in revisiting the old standards, those maple bars and rainbow-sprinkled pleasures of the past. 


Monday, February 1, 2010

Breakfast for a New Year

Determined to do something right, I started 2010 with clean sheets and freshly baked cinnamon rolls.

Actually, I inaugurated the new year running down a hill in the rain to catch the last glimpse of fireworks, drunk and disheveled, hauling a man in my wake and accidentally abandoning a fleet of friends.

I hosted a party and proceeded to be the wrecked hostess, forcing ramekins of rum-raisin bread pudding and cupfuls of truffle popcorn into guests' hands. Manically alternated between bossy and silly, stubborn and ridiculous. I was so fuckered-up I remember, as I kicked everyone out of my apartment at 11:45 (except for one party angel who had passed out on my bed), being astonished that no glasses were broken. Of course, the next day I broke a glass on my head. Some motha left a drinking glass full of red wine on top of my fridge (not a wine glass, mind you, despite the fact that there were actually clean ones). When will boys learn that shorties don't look up? I was bent down, rooting around in my crisper when it fell and broke on my head, shooting red wine and blue glass all over my kitchen! Very painful, but I learned my head is quite resilient.

The next day, cradling my bumped cranium and cleaning my apartment, I emptied out a half bottle of totally decent Mountain Dome sparkling wine and forsook my uneaten bread pudding. I suddenly and desperately missed my Queen B in California! She would have helped me be "on the ball" as we like to say, to be a better, tidier, more pulled-together hostess. Slightly mopey and missing my team mate, I gave her a call and we decided that a reunion was in order. So she bought tickets to Seattle for a 10-day stay in March!

Queen B, you already made my year.

So did the cinnamon rolls. I did all my prep work on New Year's Eve so I could enjoy a freshly baked bun slathered in cream cheese frosting for my first breakfast of 2010. I saved my remaining rolls and baked them up the following day, sharing them with a few girlfriends. Pulling apart the hot rolls, drinking spiked coffee, the conversation twisted from the sweet to the obscene and back again, wrapping tightly around our interwoven lives like dough spiraled around sugar and cinnamon. I love my friends and I love sharing meals with them. Here's to more of both in the new year!

Cinnamon Buns

Adapted from Piper Davis and Ellen Jackson's The Grand Central Baking Book (The main change was removing currants and adding marzipan):


Sponge

2 ½ cups tepid water (about 80 degrees)

2 teaspoons active dry yeast

3 tablespoons molasses

½ cup whole wheat flour

½ cup eight-grain cereal with cracked—not rolled—grain

2 cups unbleached white flour

Final Dough

2 ½ to 3 cups unbleached white or bread flour

¼ cup (½ stick) unsalted butter, melted and slightly cooled

1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon salt

Filling

½ cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, room temperature

¾ cup granulated sugar

¾ cup packed brown sugar

1 tablespoon ground cinnamon

¼ cup marzipan paste (optional)


To make the sponge, combine ingredients in a bowl with high sides and whisk or beat until smooth. Cover tightly with plastic wrap at let sit at room temperature for 2 hours or in the refrigerator for about 12 hours. It should bubbly and a bit stringy when you stir it.


Combine the fermented sponge with the flour, butter and salt in a fowl. Use a stand mixer with dough hook attachment if you have it. I like to knead by hand while listening to music.

When the dough is a shiny, smooth cohesive mass, turn into a bowl lightly brushed with butter. Cover with plastic wrap and let rise until doubled in size. If you have time, chill the dough for an hour. It will be stiffer and easier to form into rolls.


Combine your filling ingredients, reserving 1/3 cup to sprinkle on top of the rolls. If you’re addition the optional marzipan, a fork and some muscle are required to mix it into the sugar. Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface. Use a combination of gentle stretching and light rolling to shape into a 20”x12” rectangle. Spread 6 tablespoons butter over the entire rectangle of dough and top with the filling. I flexible rubber spatula would probably work well for spreading butter, but I decided to forgo tools and make a mess with my hands. This works fine, too.


Roll the dough tightly to create a log 20-24 inches long and 2-3 inches in diameter. Cut the rolls using a serrated knife. Gently tuck the tail under the center and goose to creat a conical shape. Arrange the rolls in 9”x13” pan, greased with your remaining 2 tablespoons butter. Cover the pan with plastic wrap and let them rise for 30-60 minutes in a warm spot (atop the preheating oven is ideal) or refrigerate overnight and let them rise in the morning. When the rolls have swelled, top with the remaining cinnamon and sugar and bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes, rotating the pan halfway through.


Enjoy with coffee and good company.


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I'm young and live in Seattle and love to eat. Please, come in, peer through my kitchen window.

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