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. 

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.

More Than A Trifle

Several Saturdays ago, Hilarity gave me a ride home from Olive’s birthday party at a totally trashy Belltown venue. Giggling and somehow setting off her car alarm and breaking my umbrella at the same time, I bid Hilarity and the night adieu, always a hard thing to do. Arriving home alone (or hand in hand with myself, as I like to think of it. Thanks, Lou Ree) to an apartment rich with possibilities, I knew the night was not yet through. Turning on the lights, the space seemed quiet, just faintly buzzing, waiting for me to make the floors and bed creak and stir up something delicious in the kitchen.

With several dark beautiful hours still ahead before the sun and I began our struggle, I decided to bake a cake for a trifle. I used towels to muffle the sound of my egg beaters, which have woken the neighbor below me before.

I've definitely been indulging my sweet tooth lately. Beating my butter, whipping my cream and licking up the leftovers, I've been delighting in the days and nights, letting each one unwrap slowly like a concealed piece of candy. Taking delight.

Admittedly, midnight baking is a coping method of mine, a reverted-to routine during every breakup. I remember staying up all night once, baking batch after batch of prettily piped meringues and watching Wes Anderson movies. I was giving tupperwares of chewy, heart-shaped meringues to friends for weeks. All for the memory and forgetfulness of red-headed androgynous Jamie. Sometimes egg whites and sugar are a girl's best friend.

Especially considering "Dessert at my place?" rarely fails as a pick up line.

The following recipe is just one of my favorites from Piper Davis and Ellen Jackson's Grand Central Baking Book, which I purchased at 30% off from Powell's Book Store. If you're going all the way and converting this cake to a trifle, the recipe says to refrigerate for 24 hours before eating. I only prepared the trifles 10 hours in advance. Though tasty, I have to admit that the following evening's leftovers were even better, so stick to at least 24 hours marination time if possible and know that the leftovers will still be delicious for a couple days. I don't recommend champagne glasses.

According to Davis and Ellen this “rich white cake is glazed while it’s still warm, giving it a doughnut-like appearance. It gets volume from additional egg whites and longer whipping… Use the leftover egg yolks to make a simple crème anglaise, which you can use, along with fresh berries, to dress up this cake.”

That’s exactly what I did the first time around, cutting cake slices with a glass and stacking them with the crème anglaise, raspberry lavendar jam and fresh raspberries for a tasty, whip cream-topped trifle.

*I've been procrastinating posting this because I really wanted to include photos. I had them, good ones, and picture to add to past posts, too, but I somehow deleted all the photos on my phone, include those of my trip to New York. I was trying so hard to overcome my fear of technology and do a simple thing like upload photos on my own and I failed completely. Now they're gone. Poof. Le sigh. Maybe some cake will cheer me up. Here's the recipe:

Glazed Vanilla Bundt Cake

I scaled down the original recipe (intended for a 12-cup bundt pan) for a tea-loaf sized cake, perfect for 4 servings of trifle. If you’re making one though, you might as well just make a second cake for consumption on its own. I’ve made three so far. One for trifle, one for the boss, and one for my pears poached in red wine.

1½ cups all-purpose flour

1/3 tablespoon baking powder

1 teaspoons salt

1/8 8teaspoon ground nutmeg, preferably freshly grated

1/2cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, room temperature

1 cup granulated sugar

3 egg whites, room temperature

1 teaspoons vanilla extract

2/3 cup whole milk, room temperature

Glaze

1/ 4 cup confectioners’ sugar

2 tablespoons heavy cream

1/8 teaspoon vanilla extract

The first time baking, my only deviation was to use vanilla bean instead of extract in the batter. The second time, I used the extract along with just a touch of almond extract. Also, since I had taken to storing my leftover vanilla bean pods in my sugar, I had vanilla-sented sugar.

Preheat the oven 350. Grease and lightly flour a 4-cup loaf pan. I tried cooking 2 cakes together. I don’t recommend it, but it works in a pinch.

Measure the flour, baking powder, salt and nutmeg into a bowl and sift or whisk to combine.

Using an electric mixer, beat together the butter and sugar until very light in color – almost white – and the texture is fluffy, 7-10 minutes. Scrape the bottom and sides of the bowl a few times during the process.

Combine the egg whites and vanilla in a liquid measuring cup. With the mixer on medium speed, add the egg whites slowly (about ¼ cup at a time) completely incorporating each before adding the next. Scrape the bowl several times.

Reduce the mixer speed to low. Add 1/3 of the dry ingredients and incorporate on low speed, then increase the speed to medium. Add 1/3 cup of the milk and mix briefly to incorporate. Reduce the speed to low again and add half of the remaining dry ingredients. Mix and repeat with the remaining milk and then the remaining dry ingredients. Stop mixing just before the flour is fully incorporated. Finish mixing by hand using a sturdy spatula, scraping the bowl.

Pour into your prepared loaf pan. Bake for 35 minutes, then rotate the pan and lower the over temperature to 325. Bake about 30 minutes more. It’s ready when the sides pull away from the pan slightly and it springs back when pressed lightly in the center. The top will probably split. Use a toothpick to check for doneness.

Make the glaze while the cake is in the oven. Whisk the confectioners sugar, cream and vanilla until smooth. Let the cake cool for 15 minutes before turning it out. Whisk the glaze again until completely smooth, then apply immediately. The authors recommend using a pastry brush, but I like the effect of drizzling it, too.