Stack of Cookbooks

Russ & Daughters

2012-01-22T09:47:00.000-08:00

Guess what. New York and me? We're almost through. I can't believe it, but I will be heading home a week from today. I feel a mixture of despair–What will I do without street food on every corner? How can I bear to leave my sister and my friends?–and relief–What joy to have laundry in my basement! How peaceful and cozy it will be in my Saint Paul house. When this rush of emotions comes over me (which is almost an hourly occurrence now), I realize that I can't say goodbye.

This city won me over sometime last summer. At some mysterious point, New York's charms overcame it's faults in my mind (doughnuts may or may not have had something to do with it). Now I realize I will never have enough time to do everything on my list, because the list just keeps growing. I just have to come back.

In the meantime, I am trying to pack in as many New York experiences as time allows. A few weeks ago I saw The Artist at The Paris Theater (An enchanting film. You should see it.), followed by a drink at a sky-high bar overlooking Central Park. I saw an incredible documentary at Lincoln Center that changed the way I think about dance. I finally paid a visit to the Sullivan Street Bakery (worthy of it's own post). And I went to Russ & Daughters.

Consider this place a must. Step up to the eye-level marble counter, half a dozen bagelmen looking imperiously back at you, and you will feel its history. Lower East Siders have been ordering bagels and lox from Russ & Daughters for nearly one hundred years. For good reason. The deli case is full of luscious, thick slabs of rosy smoked salmon. Half the fun is choosing the variety for your bagel. Peter and I sampled three, before deciding on the Norwegian. Paired with the double-whipped horseradish cream cheese, flecked with dill, our bagel sandwich was complete. I could have stayed for another hour, perusing the salads, old-fashioned hard candies and the dry good delicacies, but we were hungry.

There's no place to sit inside Russ & Daughters. This is by no means a deterrent, but it does create an interesting problem when it's 30 degrees outside. The solution, we found, was to pick up a cheese knish a few doors down from Yonah Schimmel's and take both to a nearby park bench. The knish–my first!–was a formidably sized hunk of potato wrapped in pastry, with the heft of a softball. I had doubts until I took my first bite. What's not to love about a plump cloud of whipped potato, laced with chives and salt, and topped with sharp cheddar cheese? Sold.

The brisk winter air was softened by the sun's bright rays. We sat, taking alternating bites of the toasty knish and the cold, creamy bagel. The combination was ideal, and not just because of the temperature. Looking around at the centuries-old tenement buildings around me, it felt right to be eating this humble, timeless street food right where it originated. It was freezing cold on that bench, but add this to the list of New York moments I will carry with me.

My Food Resolutions in 2012

2012-01-02T20:59:00.000-08:00

Normally I'm not a fan of New Year's Eve. For every satisfying, fun-filled celebration, there are four under-whelming, borderline depressing ones. Maybe it's because the evening lacks a real purpose. Is it a night for drinking, for dancing, or for really good food? To go out or not to go out? And is there anything to the superstition that the person you kiss at midnight is who you'll spend the rest of the year with? (I hope so.)

I always suspected the key to my New Year's Eve happiness lied in food. And this year I found out I was right. I spent the evening with my husband and some good friends, feasting on an incredible five-course meal cooked by the men. The women looked very pretty, making sure champagne and wine glasses were kept full. We ate leisurely right up until the ball dropped in Times Square at midnight. After taking a break to watch the revelry on TV (taking place just a few blocks away from our peaceful dinner), we had dessert. I made individual sticky toffee puddings and learned that it's a fine idea to put that buttery lava of a sauce on anything (even in your coffee).

Now that I think of it, last year's New Year's Eve was a success, too. And all because of the oysters and smoked trout spread that we ate on a balcony overlooking the Gulf of Mexico (celebrating the holiday in Florida certainly helped, too). Big surprise, right? Good food = happiness in my book. In consideration of that fact, I'm going to commit to eating well in 2012. So without further adieu:

My Food Resolutions in 2012

Learn more about how to pair wine with food. What To Drink with What You Eat has pointed me in a good direction. Drink This: Wine Made Simple is also very promising.

Add more FAST + EASY (but delicious) dinners to my repertoire.
Obey my cravings.
Master le Macaron Parisienne.

Make everyday dinners more special. Candles, cloth napkins, and low lighting.
Commit to memory the proper way to set a table (forks on the left!).
Learn to love grapefruit.

What are your food wishes for 2012? Forget the New Year/New You diet, I want to know what you plan to cook, eat and enjoy in the coming year.

An Apple a Day

2011-12-10T07:58:00.000-08:00

There is a 24-hour produce market just down the street from my apartment. Next door to the market there is a special Apple Room. At least, that's what I call it. Shipped from the orchards upstate, the wooden crates are filled to the brim with Jonagold, Cortland, Empire, and Red Delicious apples. Northern Spy, Cameo and Rome. Walking into that room is like taking a sip of a cold, crisp glass of cider. The sweet smell of many apples is an instant antidote to the dingy city grime just outside its doors. Sometimes, when I'm walking by, I'll just go inside that room for a minute and breathe deeply. It's enough.

Some of my favorite things to do with an apple:

* Slice them up and dip them in peanut butter (or better yet, nutella...)

* Make a quick and dirty apple crisp with lots of cinnamon and an oat-strewn topping

* Hollow out the core of an apple, fill it with brown sugar, butter, cinnamon and nutmeg, top it with raisins and pecans, then bake covered, with a little water in the dish, until the apple is tender and fragrant.

I suppose, despite all this talk of apples, the season is on the wane. So what's up next? Pomegranates?

Happy Weekend!

2011-12-09T09:53:00.000-08:00

I am crossing something off my list today. Starts with a D, ends with a T... oh yes, doughnuts! I'm heading over to Greenpoint in a bit for a treat from Peter Pan and a visit to WORD books. Although the warmish weather in New York can be disconcerting to this Minnesota girl, today I'm not complaining. It's bright and lovely out and I plan on enjoying it. What are you up to this weekend?

Image from my trip to Storm King a couple of weeks ago.

Up Next: Externship at Craft

2011-11-28T07:12:00.000-08:00

The vacation is over. And really, that's a good thing. If I had a TV, I'd no doubt be watching episodes of The Chew in my pajamas and drinking way too much coffee. After a week of rest, it's time to start the final phase of pastry school–my externship. Giving weight to the idea of learning by doing, an externship is an on-the-job internship where a student works alongside regular staff members for a period of time.

Image from Craft Restaurants Inc.

The stars were shining down on me when I met Jenny McCoy, the Pastry Chef at Craft. Not only is she hilarious and supremely generous, she's a rock star chef. I've been testing recipes for her forthcoming cookbook for the last few months. No spoilers, but I now have a dessert I will make every single year when apricots are in season, it's just that amazing. I'm very excited to join her and her staff in the Craft pastry department. I start my externship this afternoon!

Chocolate Caramel Sea Salt Tart

2011-11-22T19:34:00.001-08:00

Just in case your Thanksgiving line-up is missing its starring actress, I wanted to let you know about my favorite holiday dessert. Meet the Chocolate Caramel Sea Salt Tart:

Yes, I know it's late in the game. You probably have plans for pie. What Thanksgiving is complete without a golden-hued pumpkin or a cinnamon-rich apple? There's a place at my table for both, because they remind me of all the warm holidays of my childhood. But since last year, there's a sophisticated new addition to my Thanksgiving repertoire.

This sweet and salty tart is a dessert that appeals to my adult palate, with layers of dark chocolate ganache and rich caramel cooked almost to the brink of burnt. On top is the best part of all: crackly flakes of Maldon sea salt that dissolve like fat snowflakes caught on the tip of your tongue.

Tempted? I promise, once you add this one to your line-up, you won't look back. You might even wish you'd made two.

Chocolate Caramel Sea Salt Tart

Adapted from Bill Yosses and Melissa Clark's excellent book The Perfect Finish

Tart Shell

(Yosses recommends a Pâte Sablée for this tart, which is a crisp, cookie-like dough. You can use a flaky dough if you prefer.)

10 Tablespoons unsalted butter

1/2 cup granulated sugar

2 large eggs

2 cups all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon salt

For the caramel layer:

1/2 cup heavy cream

1 cup sugar

Pinch of Maldon sea salt

For the chocolate ganache layer:

12 ounces bittersweet chocolate, or about 2 cups (Look for chocolate labeled 60-66% cacao)

2 cups heavy cream

Pinch of Maldon sea salt

1. Make the tart shell. Using a standing mixer fixed with the paddle attachment, cream the butter and sugar together. Once combined, add the eggs one at a time and mix until incorporated. Add the flour and salt and mix on low speed just until the dough comes together. Wrap the dough up into a ball, cover with plastic wrap, then flatten into a disk. Refrigerate for at least 1 hour before rolling it out.

2. Toss flour onto your work surface and roll the dough out until it's a quarter of an inch thick. Make sure the circle is large enough to fit a 9" tart pan–a 12" circle should do. Press the dough into your tart pan and refrigerate the shell until you're ready to bake.

3. Pre-heat the oven to 350 degrees F. Line the tart shell with aluminum foil and fill it with pie weights (or dried beans, which is what I use). Bake for 30 minutes, then remove the weights and the foil. Bake for an additional 10 minutes uncovered, until the crust gets a little color. Transfer to a wire rack to cool.

* You can do all of this the day before you plan to make the tart*

4. Make the caramel. Warm the 1/2 cup of cream in a small saucepan. Bring to a boil, then remove from heat. Meanwhile, in a larger, heavy saucepan, dampen the sugar with 5 tablespoons of water and a squeeze of lemon juice, if you have it. Bring the caramel mixture to a boil without stirring. If you have a candy thermometer, the caramel will be done when it reaches a dark amber color, or about 374 degrees F. It won't take long. To check the color, you can drop tiny spoonfuls of the caramel onto a light surface until it reaches the color you want. Sometimes it's hard to tell what the actual color of the caramel is when you're looking in the pot. When it reaches the right color, take the pan off the heat and slowly whisk in the hot cream. Stand back as you pour, because the caramel will sputter. Whisk until smooth, then add the salt. Swirling the pan, pour the caramel right into the tart shell, covering the bottom. Let cool. Refrigerate until you're ready to pour in the ganache.

5. Make the ganache. Place chocolate and salt in a heatproof bowl. Bring the cream to a boil in a small saucepan. Pour the cream over the chocolate and let it stand for 3 minutes. Then whisk until smooth. Be careful not to whisk with too much vigor, or you will create air bubbles in the ganache. Set aside.

6. Scrape the ganache into the tart shell and give it a light rap on the counter, to remove any air pockets. Let the chocolate set at room temperature for at least 3 hours and up to 12 hours. After the chocolate has set completely, sprinkle with sea salt. Or to be safe, wait until just before serving to sprinkle the salt. Be generous! It's the best part.

The Lady Hamilton

2011-11-21T10:33:00.000-08:00

I'm in between things this week. Pastry school is over, but I haven't started my externship yet. So me and the Lady Hamilton have been getting to know each other. That's right, check out my new place– it's in Queens!

I'm living with my talented, artistic, lovely sister Kate in Astoria. Our place is a furnished sublet and the theme of the place is books. Hundreds, maybe thousands of them: lined up on shelves, tucked into drawers and shoved into cupboards. No room is without something to read. The minor theme is music. There are CDs, records and an iMac computer filled to the brim with MP3s. It's like having a jukebox in the living room, only instead of Lady Gaga and Ke$ha, we've got obscure bluegrass and Charles Mingus.

The streets surrounding Lady Hamilton aren't fancy.

But I have witnessed beautiful sunrises.

And the old Greek men hanging out in "Athens Square" rival Chicago's crankiest.

Best yet, I am just blocks from a huge grocery store that covers almost every type of ethnic cuisine you can imagine. I could stop in and buy pickled lime rind, stuffed grape leaves, habanero marmalade and seven varieties of eggplant.

I'm loving the cultural diversity of this neighborhood, and not just in terms of food. It's common to walk down the street and hear five different languages. And people of all ages live here, which is harder to find than you'd think. The stroller to walker ratio is roughly 1:1.

Manhattan: check. Queens: check. Next up, Brooklyn? My apartment in January is still up in the air, so we shall see.

Happy Weekend!

2011-11-18T07:03:00.000-08:00

Life is just grand today. I'm still coasting on the relaxed, happy feeling of finishing something big! I'm an expert at starting projects, but rarely do I have the patience and work ethic to see them through to the end (Note to self: accomplishment feels really, really good. You might want to try it again sometime.).

This afternoon I'm going to head over to the West Village and pay a visit to Bonnie Slotnick Cookbooks and then meet a friend for hot chocolate and a giant homemade marshmallow at City Bakery. Eventually, I will get back to work. I swear. Probably later today. But until then, I just want to savor this calm feeling, which is actually quite a lot like this:

My Final Project: Wedding Cake

2011-11-17T14:00:00.001-08:00

Without further adieu, here is the cake:

Two tiers. Eight layers. Yellow cake covered with a fondant marzipan and filled with vanilla buttercream. The white piping is royal icing. The orange "gems" I made by melting and dying isomalt, and flicking pools of the hot liquid on to a piece of parchment paper to dry.

The flowers on top are made with edible gum paste, which I colored with gel paste and brushed with petal dust. I wish my camera picked up the tinge of gold on the lilies, but all you can see is screaming ORANGE. It's okay, because I loved how my colors turned out. Gum paste flowers are gorgeous, but incredibly time consuming. Each rose took several days to make, as you have to let the interior petals dry before adding on to the flower.

My favorite part of the entire process was sitting down with my array of flowers, paintbrush in hand, brushing color onto each petal. It's amazing to see a rose transformed from a static sculpture to a nuanced, life-like thing. Cake decorating is precise, labor-intensive and costly, but the end result is undeniably gorgeous (if done right)... and worth all the work! It was so gratifying to design a cake and have it turn out almost exactly as I'd envisioned. Now if only I had a bride to deliver this cake to. Because to be honest, after over a week of work, I don't really want to eat it. Is that terrible?

Congratulations to all of my classmates! Each and every cake was beautiful.

Countdown to Cake

2011-11-15T13:49:00.001-08:00

It's finally starting to hit me. Tomorrow is my last day of pastry school. Like it or not, it's here! And there will be cake. Oh yes. There will be a giant cake. In the morning, I will have four hours to put the finishing touches on a two-tiered wedding cake. At 4:15pm, we start plating the chocolate truffles and candies we spent the last few weeks making. And at 5:30pm our family and friends arrive to join in the celebration. A little preview of my cake is below. Final pictures to come!

A Living Thing

2011-11-14T22:30:00.000-08:00

The language of breadmaking is alive with movement. It's no coincidence. Before you start, you must be careful not to kill the yeast. You have to feed your starter. To develop gluten, you knead your dough and you punch it down once it's risen. Before baking you stretch and shape the dough into a loaf. Breadmaking takes muscle. By day two of the module, my shoulders ached, my forearms hummed and my hands stung. Were the rewards worth the pain? Yes. I'm going to say yes, with a caveat.

French bread rolls or "boules"

There is an undeniable romance to breadmaking. The sweet smell of it alone is enough to create a flood of warm memories, whether the kitchen of your childhood involved homemade bread or not (For the record, mine did. Thanks Mom.). It's also a very ancient art. Unlike cakes and chocolate, breadmaking has been around since the early stages of civilization. There's no artifice. Just a humble, wholesome answer to humanity's need for food.

I didn't anticipate enjoying the bread module. Perhaps its wholesomeness was a turn-off. My holy grail of pastry is a flaky pie crust, which goes hand in hand with a sweet filling. But I got excited about bread once I realized how alive the dough is. Forget semi-sweet chocolate, yeast can be one sexy ingredient. It's like a magic trick: sprinkle yeast over some warm water and combine it with flour. This mixture will expand and grow and take on a life of it's own.

I can imagine returning to breadmaking once I'm home, in my own kitchen, with several months of winter left to unfold. The caveat to breadmaking, I think, is that it takes time. It is not a hobby for the hasty or the stressed. It's not a passion for me, not just yet. But there is delicious potential.

90 Lessons Down, 10 to Go

2011-11-07T15:12:00.000-08:00

It is Monday, November 7th. In less than 10 days, I will be putting the finishing touches on my final project (a cake–details TBD), putting on a fancy dress to wear underneath my chef's coat, and graduating. Forgive my nostalgia, but it feels like just yesterday that I had all of pastry school ahead of me. Now here I am on the other side, with very few lessons to go. After 360 hours of pastry classes I know some, but hardly all. Actually, I'm humbled by all that I have yet to learn.

We still haven't talked about bread or cake or really, chocolate, for that matter. Do you mind if I take you back a few lessons? It's as much for me as it is for you. I'm not quite ready to hop in the next open cab and head off to what lies beyond.

"Taxis at Night" by Eye Poetry

Happy Weekend!

2011-10-14T13:16:00.000-07:00

Friday. Is. Here. I am beyond happy that it's the weekend. After a very full, challenging, exhausting week, I'm ready for some frivolity, aka macarons. Melissa dropped in for the weekend from Saint Paul and we have a very delicious agenda: visit The Doughnut Plant, checking out La Maison du Macaron on the way, and if this gray weather keeps up, noodles at Momofuku. A trip to Smorgasburg may also be in the cards. On Sunday we're going to a French-themed brunch. I'm feeling a bit of pressure to make some fabulous pastry, but what I really want to do is make a classic quiche. You can't go wrong with a bit of gruyere, ham, spinach and an ultra-flaky pie dough, can you?

These beauties are from Mille-feuille.

Under Construction

2011-10-10T20:40:00.000-07:00

Meet Miss Lemon-Scented White Cake. Isn't she a beaut? This was the first layer cake I baked, filled and frosted in class. It was also my last.

The success of a layer cake can be measured in one slice. Although I've probably spent the equivalent of a month's time ogling pastry cases, I realize now that I had no idea what I was looking at. When it comes to construction, a bad cake is easy to spot, but what separates the decent from the good from the truly excellent?

To illustrate, let me present my instructor's slice compared to mine.

First, notice how the cake is sliced. Chef Gerri made a clean sweep through the cake with her serrated knife, while I hesitated and it cost me some crumbs. Next, consider the proportions. The cake layers should be the same height. The buttercream frosting in the middle should be no wider than the cake layers and it should be spread evenly. The striping, that thin layer of raspberry preserves, should also be evenly and smoothly spread. Now, take a look at the buttercream on the outside of the cake. My chef's slice features an even layer on top and on the sides. My buttercream exterior is thick on the top and a bit thin on the sides. The cake critique ends with the rosette on top. Chef Gerri's rosette is perfectly piped–a sprightly decoration. My piping leaves something to be desired. The raspberry on top of my cake looks like it's stuck in a mound of mayonnaise.

So, here is the $64,000 question. After a month of baking, slicing, filling and frosting cakes, did I learn from my mistakes?

Here is my final slice from the module. You decide.

p.s. As you can tell from above, I am possibly my own worst critic.

p.p.s. Will you ever look at a pastry case the same way again? I know I won't.

A (little) Break from Cake

2011-09-27T09:41:00.000-07:00

I'm the punchline to a joke I don't even know. Almost everyday for the last two weeks I've been lugging home large cake boxes from school. Filled with.... you guessed it. Cake. Roulade, Chiffon, Angel Food, Sponge, Genoise, Genoise Mousseline. Towering layer cakes and mammoth rectangular almost-cakes filled with creamy mousse to make tiramisu, charlottes and bavarians. It sounds like both a dream and a nightmare, right?

On one of these recent afternoons, I shoved my cake box deep into the fridge and pulled out a bunch of vegetables. I grated and sliced until I had this:

Resulting in this:

This is my current favorite sandwich. Something to calm down my crazy sweet tooth.

Start with:
Pita bread
Hummus

Slice:
Avocado
Radish
Cucumber

Grate:
Carrot
Beet

To Dress:
Olive Oil
Balsamic Vinegar
Salt
Pepper

I like to toast the pita and then spread with hummus. You can eat this sandwich open-faced, or if you don't mind a delicious mess, stacked. Build layers of vegetables, starting with flat slices of cucumber and radish. Sprinkle liberally with salt and pepper as you go. Near the end of the vegetable layering, drizzle a generous amount of olive oil and balsamic vinegar (lemon juice would do, too). And if you have any salad greens, place them on top. Then, eat your vegetables! You will be very full. Then much later, you can have a piece of cake.

The Road to Birthday Happiness is Paved with Cake

2011-09-26T09:41:00.000-07:00

Last Friday was Peter's birthday. Naturally, I made him a cake.

He requested something with pistachios or almonds. The field was open wide. When I have a special cake to make, one book I really love is Sky High: Irrisistible Triple-Layer Cakes, by Alisa Huntsman and Peter Wynne. Birthday cakes should be grand. They should make the birthday boy or girl look at you wide-eyed as if to say, "This is for me?" You sacrifice a bit of elegance for wonderment. The French may not approve, but I say go for the triple-layer cake if you want to make someone feel special.

This one was not just impressive, it was delicious. A pistachio butter cake with layers of marzipan and apricot preserves is covered in a bittersweet chocolate ganache. As you can see, I hastily sliced into the cake (we were so anxious to try it), so excuse the crumbs. It was even better on the second day.

p.s. Wow. I had no idea this cake had been around the food blogger block a few times. You might have seen it on Smitten Kitchen or Leite's Culinaria. Recipes are posted on both sites.

Petits Fours Day

2011-09-19T19:20:00.000-07:00

I think I know where my sweet tooth came from. Like a psychotherapy patient stretched out on a couch, a memory of poring over the Swiss Colony catalog with my Great Grandma Vi suddenly came to me. I remembered my absolute obsession with their Petits Fours– the precious scale of these miniature layer cakes seemed ordained by fairies. For Christmas, Grandma Vi would order me a box of chocolate covered toffee, which of course I'd devour, but I always yearned for the tiny cakes.

In class, we are in the thick of the cake module. Sorry–I completely skipped over breads! I'll return to that soon, but first, check out the results of our Petits Fours day:

A Petit Four is the French word for a bite-size dessert. The term dates back to the 19th century. It means "little oven," because petits fours were once baked at the end of the day using residual heat left in a wood-fired oven. Petits Fours are most often thought of as little cakes, but they can be any kind of diminutative sweet, including cookies and pastries.

My petits fours are the Tiffany blue rounds topped with candied orange peel and almond.

I was delighted to see my classmates' artistry shine through, just as it did with the rainbow of tarts. We all started with layers of frangipane cake, baked in sheet pans, then cut into very small circles or squares. We made a sandwich of cake layers with raspberry or apricot jam. After this basic structure was assembled, we were free to experiment with color and toppings. Our only requirement was to make seven identical petits fours using a non-"vulgar" color. The French don't do fluorescent orange, so pastels were it.

Like oil painters, we tinted white fondant frosting with food coloring, trying to get just the right shade. I struggled for what felt like an hour to arrive at the perfect Tiffany blue. Once the desired color was mixed, we poured the fondant over each cake, covering it completely. And after the struggle of working with fondant came the fun part–decorating. Some of my favorite toppings were candied violets (seen above, on the purple petit four), finely crushed pistachios, candied orange peel and chocolate glaze.

These tiny cakes were beautiful, but a lot of work. I daydreamed about tea parties while I steadily decorated mine. I pictured a lace-covered table, blue-green hydrangeas and tall milk-glass cakes stands dotted with petits fours. Mismatched china, a silver pot of strong Earl Grey tea, and a stack of linen napkins. No need for Swiss Colony. Now I know how to make my own tiny cakes.

Not in Kansas Anymore

2011-09-13T14:06:00.000-07:00

My Dorothy moment came and, just as quickly, went. The moment when I realized that I am living in a city like no other. Isn't it strange how you can spend time in a place without absorbing it? I've been renting an apartment, going to school, and exploring as much as I can of New York during my free time, yet I didn't feel its magnetic pull until a few weeks ago.

It was the earthquake that started it all.

I didn't actually feel it, but I felt the city's reaction to it. A seismic shake, just a few seconds long, and an entire population is abuzz. The way that news travels through this town is electrifying. Everyone has a story, everyone has a perspective. Imagine it. The earthquake was but a preview of the hurricane hysteria to come.

Eerie and empty, 6th avenue the Saturday before the storm.

Thank god Hurricane Irene wasn't a catastrophic event. I know there are communities still suffering from its effects and I couldn't be more grateful that my particular spot on the map was spared. But when I think about the days leading up to the storm, I cannot believe how anxious I was. It's this city. It sucks you up in a gritty tumbleweed of collective anxiety and fear, with just a tinge of excitement.

The day before the hurricane hit I was at the store, among a hundred others, buying food I could eat (and also stomach) if there was no electricity or gas. Peter overheard a couple arguing about a can of garbanzo beans. She insisted they could make a meal out of them; he said she was crazy and reached for a bag of Doritos (we had had a similar argument in the aisle of Gristedes just the day before).

The day of the storm I spent baking. I took the train to Carroll Gardens in Brooklyn, before the entire MTA system shut down, and I baked brownies, fruit crisp, clafoutis batter, cheesecake, bundt cake and more for a photo shoot scheduled for Monday. Optimism. Yet what else can you do? The chef I was working for had a living room full of gorgeous produce that would surely perish if we didn't laugh in the face of Irene and proceed as scheduled. So bake, we did.

The night of the storm I took a taxi back to my apartment and waited. And waited a little more. The sky was so calm and the empty streets beckoned. Plus there was a Red Sox game on and we had no TV. So Peter and I ventured out, with just a few pre-storm hours to go, and we had a slice of pizza from Ben's, then holed up at Professor Thom's to watch the game. While walking home the rain started to come down in sheets. A few blocks from the apartment, I ducked into the last bodega open and bought a six-pack of beer. Then home to bed and whatever the next day would bring.

The storm roared through town in the middle of the night. For hours the window panes rattled and dark shadows from reeling branches darted across the bedroom walls. I didn't sleep very well at all. When morning came, the lovely trees around the park stood tall and the streets were nearly dry.

Of course New York survived. It's been through much, much worse, after all. Yet for a moment, I really felt it. I got swept up in the city and it's surge of neurotic energy. For the rest of the time I'm here, I can no longer avoid it. Hello, New York. You've got me.

p.s. For a glimpse at how eerie and beautiful the empty streets were during Hurricane Irene, check out this short film.

Battle of the Italian Pastries

2011-08-23T13:32:00.000-07:00

Last week I wrapped up my pastry dough module with two Italian heavyweights. Meet the contenders:

V.S.

Both are classic Italian pastries. Cannoli, with its deep-fried shell and creamy ricotta filling, you have likely seen. Sfogliatelle, also known as a Lobster Tail, is the dark horse–and for good reason. I rarely get frustrated in class. Give me a block of strudel dough and I'll patiently pull it. Puff pastry? I'll beat the butter into submission and carefully roll out layer after layer. But Sfogliatelle required a combination of techniques that had me cursing like a sailor (under my breath, of course).

Here's the match-up in gory detail:

Cannoli Technique

1. Make the dough; a combination of flour, sugar, salt, cinnamon, butter, eggs and dry vermouth (so Italian!). Several cannoli recipes can be found here.

2. Spread a little flour on your work surface, knead the dough briefly, then divide into three pieces.

3. Take each piece and pass it through a hand-cranked pasta machine, on its widest setting, until the dough is smooth and elastic. Then allow the pieces of dough to rest overnight.

4. The next day, make the ricotta filling and set aside. Take each piece of dough and run it through the pasta machine starting with the widest setting. Pass it through until you reach the second to last setting and the strip of dough is long and thin.

5. Cut out as many 4-inch disks from the dough as you can.

6. Take a disk of dough and wrap it around a cannoli tube. Seal the cannoli by overlapping one edge on top of the other with a thin layer of egg wash spread on the bottom piece of dough.

7. Fry! Drop the cannoli (tube and all) into a pot of 375 degree oil. Fry until the cannoli shell is golden brown.

8. Carefully remove the tube, using a cloth towel, because the tube is HOT. Then let the cannoli cool down before you fill.

9. Using a pastry bag, pipe ricotta filling into both ends of the cannoli. Dip the open ends in chopped pistachios, if you like. I love the pop of bright color this brings.

Cannoli Flavor

A real treat. The best cannoli have a crisp outer shell and creamy, cold, barely sweet ricotta filling (all the better if its studded with candied orange peel). The moment you fill a cannoli is the moment it begins to die, or rather, get soggy and old. You can measure the quality of an Italian bakeshop by how fresh their cannoli are. The best ones pipe cannoli shells to order.

Sfogliatelle Technique

1. Make the dough; a combination of flour, salt, and warm water. A recipe can be found here.

2. In similar fashion to the cannoli, knead the sfogliatelle dough until it comes together, then divide into four pieces and pass through a pasta machine until it becomes smooth. Allow it to rest overnight.

3. The next day, make the ricotta filling and set aside. For the dough, combine butter and lard (yes, that's right) in a bowl and beat until the mixture is soft.

4. Take a segment of dough and pass it through the pasta machine starting with the widest setting and ending with the second-to-last setting. You will have a long, thin rectangular strip.

5. Paint the long strip of dough with the butter/lard mixture. Try not to think about how much fat you're using, just go for it.

{Now comes the frustrating part, though bakers with more fortitude than I may see it as a challenge}

6. Like you would if you were making strudel, take the sfogliatelle dough and carefully stretch it out so your 3-inch wide piece is 10-inches wide. You're going for a paper-thin layer. The dough will tear, but if you're nimble and you work quickly, the holes will be small. As you work, roll the newly stretched dough up into a cylinder, pulling the dough tightly as you move upwards.

{I stretched and I rolled; I stretched and I rolled; and no matter how carefully I worked, my little tears turned into giant holes. I'm positive a dough becomes more defiant the more you curse at it.}

7. When you're left with just a 1-inch strip of stretched out unrolled dough, stop! You're not done. Get out your second strip of sfogliatelle dough and roll it out using the pasta machine. You need to connect the second strip to the first strip. Brush it with butter, then stretch out the first part of the second strip, strudel-style. Next, brush a layer of butter on the first strip and press both strips together, linking them. Stretch and roll and continue on until you've connected all four pieces of dough.

8. You will end up with a log of tightly rolled dough that is about 10-inches long and 2.5-inches wide. Wrap well in plastic and chill.

9. At this point sfogliatelle becomes kind of fun. Take out your dough and trim off both ends, so the log is uniform. Cut the roll into slices that are 1/3-inch thick. To form the pastries, take one slice of dough and carefully stretch it into a cone shape. Push the layers apart just so you lengthen the pastry, not so much that any cracks appear between the layers. The shape you're after is a witches hat.

10. Once your dough is stretched into a cone shape, pipe a generous amount of ricotta in the center and crimp the top edges to seal.

11. Brush the pastries with egg wash (or the remaining butter/lard, if you can stand it) and bake in a 400 degree oven until they are deep golden, about 20 to 25 minutes.

Sfogliatelle Flavor

I'll admit it. I liked the fragile shards of dough, which tasted almost croissant-like. The contrast between the brittle exterior and the smooth ricotta filling inside was lovely. And once baked, the little sfogliatelles were just too cute to dislike.

And the winner is...

Cannoli! Fun, but not pokey to make. Better filling to shell ratio. And it's one of Peter's favorite treats. So, for sentimental reasons, it's mine too.

Happy Weekend!

2011-08-20T09:12:00.000-07:00

This is what a typical Saturday morning looks like in our New York apartment:

Some kind of caffeinated beverage (I'm back on coffee now) + the paper. Peter at his desk. Me at the dining table. All is peaceful. All is calm. Except for the sounds of sirens, car horns and screeching brakes wafting through the window.

This is our second-to-last weekend together in the city. So now that the coffee has been drunk and the paper has been read, it's time to get outside. I think we're going to start with a walk south toward Soho and see where the day takes us from there.

What are you up to this weekend?

A Walk Across the Brooklyn Bridge

2011-08-08T19:01:00.000-07:00

No one can prepare you for a walk across the Brooklyn Bridge.

Sure, it's one of the most touristy things you can do in New York, but there's a reason poets have been inspired by the bridge since 1878, when its construction was nearly complete. It's magnificent. And humbling.

We started at sunset on the Brooklyn side. After a couple of coal-fired pizzas from Grimaldi's, my friends and I wandered down to the waterfront to admire the Manhattan skyline.

Ice cream cones in hand (a natural accompaniment to any walk, no?), we pulled ourselves away from the gorgeous view and headed toward the bridge. The sun was sinking quickly behind a wall of wispy clouds, casting a warm pink glow over the entire city.

The scale is simply magnificent. When staring at the miles of tension wire, gracefully elongated above, walking the length of the bridge feels like an impossible feat. I felt like a tiny figure in history, just a lone woman among so many people before me, stepping across this famous bridge. I also felt like a bird with the most envious view.

Of course there were quite a few people who had the same idea that evening. The bridge was congested with people strolling, as well as bike commuters who unceremoniously parted the crowd while zooming downhill. For once, the sea of people didn't bother me. Suspended over the East River, with a magic view of Manhattan on one side and Brooklyn on the other, this bridge had me under its spell.

A Rainbow of Tarts

2011-08-07T20:52:00.000-07:00

Why hello. I'm sorry for the radio silence these last few weeks. I have been Busy with a capital B! Baking, yes. But not just that, baking (and eating) all of my favorite things. You see, we are in the pastry dough module at school, which means pies, tarts, and galettes of all shapes and sizes. Flaky dough, buttery crumbly dough, and dough that tastes like a crisp sugar cookie. I am in heaven.

Just look at this rainbow of tarts:

Isn't that the most beautiful sight? One day last week our single task for the morning was to assemble a fresh fruit tart. The dough was pate brisee (flaky dough). The filling was vanilla pastry creme. The fruit variations? Endless. I loved seeing the creativity of my classmates shine through in each individual tart. Apricot slices fanned out like rose petals. The perfect symmetry of a row of raspberries. The classic French edging of toasted almonds with a dusting of powdered sugar.

So many gorgeous tarts! I felt like I was in a Parisian bakeshop.

Here is what I made:

Believe it or not, up until this point I've been very good about tasting just a few bites of everything I make (the creme brulee doesn't count). This week it's a different story. If Oscar Wilde was right–the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it–soon I'll be rid of tarts for good.

A Cup of Coffee with Laurie

2011-07-19T19:49:00.000-07:00

I am excessively shy around writers. A funny thing, considering I'm married to one, but it's true. In direct proportion: the greater my adoration, the greater my silence. It doesn't matter if the writer is funny or gracious or kind. It doesn't matter if we're the only ones at a party standing out on the front porch, plastic cups of wine in hand. My nervousness would overtake me (and did in that instance) and I'd rather bolt, than speak to the writer I admire.

But I would face my fear if it was Laurie Colwin.

After too many recommendations to count, I finally started reading her book of essays, Home Cooking. From the very first page, it felt like I was having a conversation with a friend. An incredibly funny, honest, self-effacing friend. There's no need for me to embellish, her essay titles say it all:

Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant
Bread Baking without Agony
Stuffing: A Confession
Repulsive Dinners: A Memoir
Easy Cooking for Exhausted People

Colwin writes about odd cravings, spontaneous dinner parties, the vagaries of cooking for loved ones, horrible failures in the kitchen that only Chinese take-out can remedy, her love of gingerbread, and other matters of home cooking made fascinating and so hilarious, coming from her voice.

Near the end of Home Cooking she writes, "At night some people count sheep and others read mysteries. I lie in bed and think about food." It broke my heart to read this, because I couldn't agree more. And for this I would be brave enough to talk to Colwin, on a front porch, or in her kitchen over coffee, or anywhere I could, but she died in 1992. There is something so bitter, very little sweet, in falling for a writer after they've written their last book.

I still have More Home Cooking to look forward to. Besides her food writing, Colwin wrote several novels as well. And the next time I'm faced with the aftermath of an utterly disastrous cooking mistake, I have her words about kitchen horrors to comfort me: "A really first-rate disaster passes into legend."

Who You Gonna Call?

2011-07-18T08:04:00.000-07:00

On Saturday afternoon I found myself alone with nothing pressing to do. I'd already read the paper from front to back, sipped as many cups of tea I could handle, and listened to a few hours of my favorite radio station. It was time to get out of the apartment and go for a walk.

I walked south on 7th Avenue, toward Tribeca. My destination? The Ghostbusters Firehouse.

Now, is it just me? Or did you look at this picture differently as soon as I mentioned Ghostbusters? While several yards away, I could swear that elaborate gold sculpture at the top of the entrance was an homage to Slimer. Do you see it? As I walked closer, the vision of the disgusting, but loveable green ghost gave way to an ordinary baroque decoration.

Oh well. It still gave me a nerdy thrill to walk past. I loved that movie when I was a kid.

One Perfect Soufflé

2011-07-14T19:21:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is my first practical exam: Junita v.s. the Chocolate Soufflé.

I'll be making a batch of six. Just one has to be perfectly presented to my Chef Instructor. Like the underdog in a boxing match, I'm nervous, with just a hint of reckless confidence. Why can't I conquer my fear of egg whites once and for all? Tomorrow could be the day.

OMG, I made that

2011-07-13T15:52:00.000-07:00

Behold, the Croquembouche!

It may not be the tallest tower, but it's my tower of creme puffs. Today I felt, maybe for the first time, pure amazement. I cannot believe I dipped a dozen tiny creme puffs (that I made myself) into a hard caramel (that I made myself) and then filled each one with chocolate and vanilla pastry creme and glued them all together with caramel so they formed this tower of deliciousness that you see here. It makes me want to build a five-foot croquembouche, buy a case of champagne, and throw a spectacular New Year's party. Okay, I may be getting ahead of myself. That's what biting into a crisp caramel-coated creme puff will do.

I don't mean to neglect the eclairs. Those felt pretty awesome to make, too.

And the individual puffs, filled with whipped cream and fruit, are nothing to sneeze at.

But the Croquembouche! Now that you know what it is, don't you want one?

Creme Puffs Await

2011-07-12T19:31:00.000-07:00

I've been waiting for this day to come.

Pâte à Choux, the Frenchiest of the French pastry doughs, is used for everything from éclairs to gougères (and, it turns out, a dozen other things completely new to me). The literal translation is "cabbage paste." This either refers to the gloppy mass the dough becomes after you add the many eggs it requires, or the cute little piped mounds that are destined to become creme puffs.

The French coined the endearment "Mon petit chou" (my little cabbage), so let's focus on the cute, why don't we? And by that, I mean creme puffs!

The Pâte à Choux recipe we used contains whole milk, butter, salt, sugar, flour and eggs. After bringing the milk, butter, salt and sugar to a full boil, you add the flour and stir like a fiend. Any lumps of flour left behind will turn up in the finished product, so don't be afraid to whip that dough like one of Devo's back-up singers. Once the flour is incorporated, you return the batter to the heat until the mixture forms a ball and leaves a slight skin on the bottom of the pot. Now the fun part: how many eggs can one batter hold?

A lot–three cups! All of the liquid you incorporate into the dough (in the form of eggs) causes it to puff up beautifully in the oven, leaving a hollow center that's made for filling with any number of delicious pastry creams (we made vanilla, chocolate, coffee, praline and kirsch flavored creams in class). In order to achieve the right structure you must put your pan of piped Pâte à Choux in the oven and ignore it for at least 20 minutes. No peeking! If you open the oven door, your pastries will fall, leaving no fill-able pocket in the middle. Now what's a creme puff without the creme?

Once baked, our Pâte à Choux balls were like springy little ping pongs. If I was a juggler, I might be tempted to toss a few around. But tomorrow, with the help of some pastry creme, they will be come a treat worth taking seriously. And amassed, our creme puffs will become a croquembouche, a truly regal dessert.

Pictures to come!

Head in the Clouds

2011-07-07T07:58:00.000-07:00

Forgive me. I spent last weekend at Chanticleer Garden and I still haven't come back down to earth. After entire days spent in my swimming suit, sipping sangria and lounging by a pool, it sort of feels wrong to be doing anything else. Many thanks to my dear friend and hostess, Lucy, who lives on the grounds of this special place.

The lilies were in gloriously full bloom. The heady fragrance wafted through the breeze over to the terrace, where we sat watching the fireflies one night.

Chanticleer is a garden of vistas. I love the way the beds undulate up the hill, creating a completely new perspective depending on where you stand.

I'd never seen a lotus flower before. They were huge, yet delicate and almost regal.

The gravel garden hosted a panoply of spirited fuchsia flowers, lavender, cacti and fat bumblebees drunkenly buzzing amongst it all.

The Ruin, a garden built around the ruins of an old house, was one of the most creative spaces I've ever walked through. A mantle of succulents adorned the abandoned stone fireplace.

Of course the weekend also involved a smorgasbord of summer treats (you know me), but I'll save that for another post.

Happy Weekend!

2011-07-01T10:52:00.000-07:00

This weekend I'll be riding three trains and traveling for over two hours just to go swimming in this pool. Perfectly understandable, right?

My friend Lucy is interning at the utterly whimsical and enchanting Chanticleer Garden in Wayne, Pennsylvania (30 minutes outside of Philly). One of her perks is living on the garden grounds. And one of my perks, as her friend, is getting to swim in this amazing pool after hours. I predict the weekend will involve lots of grilling, pitchers of sangria and perhaps a float down the lazy river nearby (if we can bear to leave the pool).

Happy Fourth of July! I hope you have a wonderful holiday weekend!

The Cookbook Gallery

2011-06-30T20:13:00.000-07:00

You may think you don't know Phaidon, but I bet you do. Exhibit A:

I first took notice of this art publisher when I picked up a copy of The Silver Spoon. Billed as Italy's best loved cookbook, never before printed in English, I was hooked. The page design is minimalist and all the more beautiful because of it. The recipes make no show about appealing to an American audience (tripe and other organ meats feature prominently). Flipping through the pages, you feel like you're being let in on a culinary and cultural secret.

Phaidon has published several more art/cookbooks that zero in on a particular country's cuisine, plus dozens of gorgeous specialty books like Breakfast, Lunch, Tea– recipes from the Rose Bakery in Paris. Now they have quite a collection and I wished I owned them all. Since my new student budget has an embargo on expensive book-buying, I've discovered the next best thing.

Phaidon has a shop in Soho. Stepping inside, you feel like you've entered a sleek art gallery. Instead of canvases and sculptures, it's books on display. Wandering past the beautiful rows, flipping through the colorful pages, learning how to make Indian curries or Spanish tapas, I might begin debating what's worth more: grocery money or a new Phaidon cookbook.

The Phaidon Store
83 Wooster Street

New York, NY
Monday - Sunday, 11am to 7pm

Food Truck of the Week: Van Leeuwen Ice Cream

2011-06-29T17:17:00.000-07:00

On a day when I failed to make ginger ice cream, twice, how fitting to write about the Van Leeuwen Ice Cream truck.

I see this truck almost daily on my walk home from school. Long before I stopped, I noticed it. The Van Leeuwen truck is the color of a French vanilla ice cream cone. The menu features botanical drawings alongside its list of flavors. Is the name Dutch? Is it Belgian? I don't know, but the European charm of it all drew me in one afternoon.

Ice cream on a hot summer day is never a bad idea. And a cone from the Van Leeuwen truck is a downright excellent notion. Peter (my constant street food sampling companion) and I tried the Earl Grey and Ginger ice creams. Earl Grey tasted like a strong, but milky, cup of tea. The sugar was minimal, so I could really taste the hints of orange and spice from the bergamot tea leaves. In between licks, I couldn't help myself, I kept reaching for Peter's Ginger cone. Creamy white with a clean, bright pop of ginger, his ice cream was sweeter than mine. This Ginger was a gentler kind than I'm used to, soft rather than sassy.

Ice cream, as I learned today, is not so easy to make (separated cream does not a smooth ice cream make; I'll spare you the details). All the better reason to be on the look out for the vanilla yelllow ice cream truck.

Like so many food trucks, you can find Van Leeuwen's latest location on Twitter: @VLAIC

Creme Brulee Day

2011-06-28T20:44:00.000-07:00

Today I learned the secrets of making one of my favorite desserts. A glassy bronze crackle of caramelized sugar with luscious, cool vanilla custard buried underneath– creme brulee, of course!

Sifting the sugar. Not too much! Then let the torching begin.

One of the great pleasures of baking school so far has been learning the science behind everything I make. Actually, "science" makes baking sound more intimidating than it really is. Learning the way ingredients react with each other and understanding how to control them is slowly demystifying baking for me.

Creme brulee is really just a dolled-up custard. A cooked mixture of eggs and cream. Making the custard takes some precision, but it's not hard. After mixing sugar into heavy cream, adding the seeds of a vanilla bean and bringing the mixture to a simmer, you very slowly whisk the sweetened cream into a bowl of whisked egg yolks. If you pour too quickly, or if you don't whisk exactly where you're pouring, you risk cooking the eggs. This gradual mixing of a hot liquid into the raw eggs is called tempering.

I may look serious, but I really felt like a kid with a coloring book.

What you're after is a very soft and gentle custard. To achieve this, you must bake the custards in shallow ramekins. I learned that it's important to skim off any foam that develops near the top, or the custard will not bake properly. An easy way to get rid of foam fast (and way more fun than using a ladle) is to quickly run your kitchen blowtorch over the tops. The bubbles dissipate in seconds.

The final very important step is to bake the custards in a water bath. After placing the ramekins on a baking sheet, you place the sheet in the oven and bring over a pitcher of warm water. You must pour the water into the pan until it comes 1/4 of the way up the sides of the ramekin. Water boils at 212º F. After that, it evaporates into steam. The water bath ensures the custards never come above that temperature. The water also keeps the heat even around the ramekins, so that the outside cooks at the same rate as the inside.

Now back to the fun part–the kitchen torch. Our chef told us that most restaurants use a propane torch (found in any hardware store), rather than a kitchen torch (found in any chi-chi cookware store), because it's a lot more powerful. Pretty bad-ass. Another trick is to dry out the sugar you're going to use to top the custard. If you have an oven with a pilot light, you can spread the sugar out on a baking pan and leave it in the oven overnight. The next day it will be drier and easier to torch.

Torching really is the best part. Almost better than tapping a spoon on top and making the first crack through the caramelized sugar. But before you go crazy with the propane, you have to make sure that the custard is set and cold. When baking, you know the custard is set when it jiggles as one. Think of a female jogger who's neglected to wear a sports bra. That all-over-the-place jiggle is not what you want your custard to look like. It's done when it's just to the point when it's stopped moving all over the place. If the custard has bubbles or cracks, then you've overcooked it. Once it's out of the oven it must cool completely, before you get out the flame. The best way to cool the custard down is to stick the ramekins in the freezer until it's cool to the touch.

My partner and I made seven creme brulees. I ate nearly two of them all by myself, delighting in each crack of the spoon through the sugar. The custard was delicate. It was soft. It was heaven.

Num Pang to the Rescue

2011-06-27T20:09:00.000-07:00

Sandwiches may save my marriage this summer. And me. When the dreaded question–What are we going to eat?– pops up, when it's hot and sticky and when cooking in our tiny apartment kitchen might cause Peter and I to melt into a puddle on the floor the answer is a sandwich. Especially from Num Pang.*

It's 1) just around the corner, 2) happily priced in the guilt-free range and 3) insanely good. The sandwiches are a riff on Cambodian cooking (num pang translates to sandwich in that language), with some traditional elements like cilantro and pork, but most are much more ambitious. I had the Coconut tiger shrimp sandwich with toasted coconut flakes the last time I was there (pictured above). Sweet coconut-flecked mayo, the grassy essence of cilantro and succulent pieces of shrimp made for a soul-satisfying dinner. Peter had the Pulled Duroc pork sandwich with spicy honey, which looked equally gratifying (I was too enamored of my own to sneak a bite of his).

Another thing I love about the place is the tiny second floor with the knee-height counter against the windows. Looking out on the city traffic below, you feel like you're in a treehouse– a special club where the price of admittance is $7 and in return you get a summer supper that transports you to a place where the tropical heat feels like heaven, not hell.

Things I haven't tried but can't wait to:
Ginger barbecue brisket with picked red cabbage
Grilled corn on the cob with chili mayo, coconut flakes and chili powder
Tropical fruit salad with pineapple, papaya, mango, young coconut, lychee, watermelon and lemongrass-mint dressing

Num Pang Sandwich Shop
21 East 12th Street (between University Place & 5th Avenue)
New York, NY 10003
(212) 255-3271

*By the way, thanks Mike, for suggesting this place!

Happy Weekend!

2011-06-24T13:46:00.000-07:00

My weekend is already off to a fetching start– a late afternoon snack of Australian feta cheese on an Amy's baguette, mortadella and a Mast Brothers almond and Fleur de Sel chocolate bar (more about the cheese and the chocolate later). Tonight? A zombie western play in Brooklyn. And tomorrow? If the rain keeps up, I'm going to plow my way through Jonathan Dixon's Beaten, Seared and Sauced: On Becoming a Chef at the Culinary Institute of America (which makes me feel both extreme relief and envy that I didn't end up there).

I hope you have a fun, unusual and/or delicious weekend ahead of you!

More Mermaid Parade

2011-06-23T16:11:00.000-07:00

As the Mermaid Parade stretched on for over three hours, why not extend my photo sharing as well? Here is round two of the most outlandish, creepy, or unexpectedly lovely parade goers:

Adults only? Not quite. The parade featured several parent/child duos, like the ones above.

This little mer-baby (pictured yesterday with her Octopus mother) remains my favorite sight from the parade.

But it wouldn't really be the Mermaid Parade without these gentlemen (can you spot the parrot?).

Or these classic ladies (a Mermaid in Chucks!).

I have no idea what these are, but I was terrified.

This flounder bicyclist (and her partner, who was too fast to photograph) was by far the most clever costume of the parade.

And mermaids on horses?! Who needs Daryl Hannah a la Splash when there's such a sight to behold?

The Mermaid Parade

2011-06-22T19:38:00.000-07:00

Behold the Coney Island Mermaid Parade. The only place in America where you can eat a chili cheese dog while watching children on stilts, pregnant oysters and drag queens dressed as mythical sea creatures.

Food Truck of the Week: Kelvin Slush

2011-06-21T18:54:00.000-07:00

Happy first day of summer! What better time to begin an exploration of food trucks? Eating outside is one of the things I love best about this season. Lucky me, New York is a street food kind of town. You can't walk ten feet without passing a hot dog, pretzel, or halal stand. Curbside food goes with New York like a bottle of cold beer goes with pizza.

Let me introduce you to one of my favorites:

I met the Kelvin Slush truck last September at the Vendy Awards. The Vendys are the Oscars of the street food world–a day when the best and brightest vendors gather and open up shop in one spot. Ticket-holders pay a flat fee to eat and drink as much as they like in an afternoon. With dozens of options, most of them a lot more substantial than a slushie, why was the Kelvin line the longest that day (and I mean all day)?

Because they're awesome. Simply put, there is nothing more satisfying on a hot summer day than a Kelvin slush. Forget what you know about the slurpee, this is sooo much tastier (and better for you, too). First, you choose a base flavor: ginger, citrus or tea. Next, you choose a mix-in, which can be anything from fresh mint to caramelized pineapple to white peach. Whatever you're in the mood for. The resulting slush tastes fresh, bright and real. There's no dayglow syrup pooled at the bottom, just layer after layer of beautiful fruit flavor.

The best way to track Kelvin Slush down is via Twitter or by calling the 24-hour Slush Phone: (646) 200-5083. Trust me, you'll be happy if you do!

The Brooklyn Kitchen

2011-06-20T08:17:00.000-07:00

This is a brilliant idea:

It's OK Cupid meets the farmer's market– a singles board for people looking to cook (or eat) a homemade meal on a first date:

I am a girl
I am cooking for a guy
I'm going to make you Panzanella salad with prosciutto, corn and basil.

I don't want you to make me anything with raw onions.

If you are my culinary soulmate, contact me at: foodiegirl@gmail.com

This love connection is sponsored by The Brooklyn Kitchen, a beyond hip cookware and food shop on the outskirts of Williamsburg. It's also home to cooking classes like "Cake Decorating with Millicent," gorgeous produce and fresh dairy products sourced from nearby farms, and an on-site butcher shop, The Meat Hook, staffed by a band of handlebar-mustachioed cuties.

The Brooklyn Kitchen
100 Frost Street
Brooklyn, NY 11211
(718) 389-2982
Monday-Saturday, 10am to 8pm
Sunday, 12pm to 6pm

Happy Weekend!

2011-06-17T09:58:00.000-07:00

I'm checking something big off my NYC list tomorrow. I'm going to the annual Coney Island Mermaid Parade. Yes, the crowds will be insane and yes, I'm aware this event is essentially a spectacle of exhibitionists in body paint and pasties.... but they'll be dressed up as mermaids! I guess I never got past my childhood obsession with lovely ladies from the sea (who can blame me, after seeing this movie at a formative age). I can't think of a better compliment to a mermaid parade than a big spun wand of bright pink cotton candy.

What do you have going on this weekend? Something summery?

Bambi the Mermaid

Field Trip

2011-06-16T18:44:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow I get to sleep in an extra hour, because we're reporting to class at the Chelsea Market. That's right–a field trip!

What is it about field trips that brings out the kid in me? There will be something funny about seeing my teacher and classmates in an unexpected environment (and in this case, out of our white chef's uniforms). Instead of whipping up dozens of egg whites, our assignment will be to wander and explore the market.

All images from here.

The Chelsea Market is in an historic building that takes up two entire city blocks (and if Wikipedia can be trusted–the Oreo cookie was invented here). It's currently home to dozens of bakeries, restaurants, shops and even the Food Network, including the studio where Iron Chef America is taped.

Tomorrow morning our Chef (i.e. teacher) will divide us into groups and hand each group an envelope with cash. Our assignment? To visit and observe as many food-related businesses as we have time for and to go on a scavenger hunt of sorts, buying an assortment of food items from a list. We report back to our classroom where we'll "test" (i.e. eat) all of our goodies.

I have a feeling tomorrow's going to be a good day.

10 Lessons Down, 90 to Go

2011-06-14T18:50:00.000-07:00

So I survived my first two weeks of baking school. I have no cuts, burns or bruises to show for it, but I am exhausted. Did you wonder why I've been so quiet about the whole reason I moved to New York? Gone are the days of idle doughnut sampling. On May 31, I was inducted into a baking boot camp: 100 lessons in six months, covering every dessert item you can imagine.

In just ten lessons I've made:

Nougatine (hard caramel with almonds)
Gingersnap cookies
Blueberry muffins
Apricot Pâte de Fruit
Dried pears
Candied grapefruit peels
Strawberry salad with tarragon
Poached pineapple
Roasted/baked apple
Sabayon
Ordinary (French) meringue
Swiss meringue
Meringue cookies
Praline/coffee buttercream
Dacquoise
Flourless chocolate souffle
Strawberry souflee
Apple souflee

I promise to tell you more about the lessons, but before I get ahead of myself, let me introduce you to the Toolkit.

Here is what's inside:

As you can see, it's much like Mary Poppin's carpet bag. The place where I picked the kit up had a bit of magic about it, too. Tucked into a nondescript building on 31st street, JB Prince is an amazing source for culinary tools and books, but you'd never know it if you were walking by on the street. There is no sign on the building. I checked the address twice, half wondering if JB Prince was an eccentric old chef at a private residence or a store.

When I stepped up to the counter to claim my kit, the clerk pulled each and every item out to do an inventory. I nodded and followed along as she checked off the whisk, various spatulas, the pastry brushes, the melon baller, etc. But an azalea cutter? A bone tool? A Mexican foam pad? I knew, while standing there, that I made the right decision to study pastry. I'm sure an aspiring culinary student picked up his own special toolkit, but I can't imagine it being as intriguing as this.

It's exciting to know that by the time I reach lesson 100, I will have used each and every one of these tools. As soon as I discover what the Mexican foam pad is for, I'll let you know.

Happy Weekend!

2011-06-10T12:00:00.000-07:00

What do you have planned this weekend? Is it blazingly hot where you are? I'm looking forward to spending time in my new apartment and getting to know my tiny kitchen a little better. If it's still steamy (and who am I kidding, it probably will be), I'll be perusing Mark Bittman's invaluable summer list for simple recipes that don't take a lot of time–or heat–to make.

My New York friends might cringe, but I kind of want to hole up and watch a bunch of quintessential movies about the city. I saw Woody Allen's latest, Midnight in Paris, last night. His homage to the City of Lights makes me want to revisit his love letter to New York– Manhattan. But I would be just as happy with a so-cheesy-it's-good 80's flick, too.

What are you up to this weekend?

View from Brooklyn

Summer in the City

2011-06-06T08:24:00.000-07:00

The day has finally arrived! This morning I'm deflating the air mattress I've been sleeping on for the last three weeks. I'm doing laundry, re-packing my suitcases, and tidying up the section of my friends' living room they so generously let Peter and me camp out in.

Is it just me? Or do you think of that scene in When Harry Met Sally too?

This afternoon, we're moving via taxi cab to our summer sublet. Will someone please pinch me? I think I'm dreaming. This is the view right outside my new apartment door. A good slap would do, too.

It's at 5th Avenue and Washington Square Park in Greenwich Village. No, we didn't inherit a sack of gold coins. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time while searching for apartments online. We're subletting from an NYU professor who will be away for the summer. When I first saw the price, I seriously thought it was an error. It must be per week, not per month. But I inquired anyway. A few emails later, perhaps with the help of some Minnesota Nice, the apartment was ours.

Glazed and Amused: A Trip to The Doughnut Plant

2011-05-31T14:57:00.000-07:00

To continue my tour of New York City sweet spots, I took Peter to The Doughnut Plant last week. We visited the original Lower East Side location, which I love, because it's all about the doughnuts. The space is tiny, you might even say cramped.

The Plant's newest location, in Chelsea, flashed by me while I was riding a bus down 23rd Street. With giant doughnuts adorning the walls in all colors and shapes, the place looked hip and modern–where the beautiful might go and carefully select just one diet-destroying treat.

I prefer to go further downtown where I can order four doughnuts guilt-free.

There's a small counter with a tower of yeasted doughnuts to the right. To the left is a glass case of cake doughnuts on display. Just beyond the register there's a rectangle cut out of the wall, through which more doughnuts on trays may suddenly appear. When I was there, I had a sudden childish urge to climb over the counter and peek inside the window. I want to know– who is the woman or man behind these giant, wondrous pastries? Is it actually a team of magic elves?

We sampled four flavors (clockwise from the top):

Crème Brûlée: Although it was the smallest of the quartet, it was an instant favorite. In fact, it turned out that the proportions were perfect. Inside a rotund little oval of yeasted dough, was the most silky pastry cream, redolent of rich fresh milk. On top was an exact replica of the sugar crust that tops crème brûlée. It was just as satisfying to bite down into the bitter shard of sugar as it is to give the traditional dessert its first crack with a spoon.
Cashew Cake Doughnut: This was the first and only cake doughnut we sampled. Although we enjoyed the sweet nuttiness of the cashew glaze, and the crunchy texture it lent, the cake doughnut didn't compare to the airy delights of the yeasted doughnuts. This is purely a subjective opinion. If you love cake doughnuts, you would most likely love this one.
Coconut Glaze Coconut Cream: Hands down the star of the show. First, do you notice that the doughnut is square? Now what if I tell you that there's coconut creme filling piped inside of this square? And that's in addition to the gooey, coconut flecked glaze covered the outside. Doesn't it make your head spin? This was the granddaddy of all coconut doughnuts, if not the granddaddy of the entire Doughnut Plant (after two visits it remains my favorite).
Fresh Mango: In theory this doughnut was the simplest of the four, but that belies it's bright, remarkably fresh flavor. The yeasted dough was more of a flaxen bread of the highest quality than a typical doughnut. Not so much sweet as it was buttery and light. The mango glaze coating the outside of the doughnut tasted like real, ripe mango, fresh from a real mango, not some can of high fructose-infused juice. I would have licked the bottom of the bag where the mango glaze had pooled, if I wasn't sitting in a park surrounded by people.

This is the look that says it all:

Pure satisfaction with a dash of shock over the deliciousness of it all, or simply, "OH YEAH."

The High Line: A Secret New York

2011-05-27T20:56:00.000-07:00

What I love most about the High Line Park is feeling like I've entered into a secret New York. Every time I go, I get that treehouse feeling, like I'm a member of a special club whose only purpose is to hang out and enjoy a beautiful view. Built several stories above the street on an abandoned railroad line, the park weaves in and out of the Meatpacking District up into Chelsea. From below it's hard to imagine how there could be such a thing.

You feel a little like you're walking a tightrope in the sky, only you don't have to worry about falling off.

Up above the street all is serene.

There is even a "theater" for viewing the street action beneath you. Just in case it wasn't clear from the moment you climbed the High Line's steps, here you really can feel as though you've left your worries down below.

The natural world seamlessly blends into the industrial, with native plants sprouting up through railroad tracks. The design is intentional, although it reminds me of the haunting book The World Without Us. If all humans suddenly disappeared from the earth, I imagine things would start to look like this.

Two more sections of the park are scheduled to open, with section two opening in June (here's a little sneak preview). Section Two will feature an expanse of lawn perfect for picnics.

I can't wait to see what sort of feelings the second (and third) sections evoke.

Sweet Treats on a Wednesday Afternoon

2011-05-26T07:03:00.000-07:00

One of the reasons I decided to come to New York was for the exposure to the places that could only sprout up in New York. The variety of creative culinary businesses in this town delights and amazes me.

Yesterday afternoon, after a blissful walk down the High Line in Chelsea, we stopped at Three Tarts. I was sold when I saw their ice cream sandwich menu: lemon cake with lemon poppy seed ice cream for me and chocolate cake with pistachio cherry ice cream for Pete. Yes, please.

Later, while walking down Spring Street, we came across the famous Balthazar Restaurant and it's adjoining bakery. I couldn't help but wander in and browse at the gorgeous tartlets, so Parisian in style, even though I was an hour away from having dinner. Ooh, it pained me to leave without trying something. I must go back.

I walked further down Spring and spotted Baked by Melissa, home to an assortment of mini-cupcakes, all sold out of a tiny window. Again, I was tempted to spoil my dinner, but kept walking.

Finally, I came across a place devoted solely to the pleasures of rice pudding. Can you believe this?! Only in New York. Rice to Riches will hook you up with flavors like "Sex Drugs and Rocky Road" or "Hazelnut Chocolate Bear Hug."

I'm going to have to pace myself.

A New Beginning

2011-05-25T12:07:00.000-07:00

Impulsive, I am not. When faced with a Major Life Decision I am more likely to mentally hunker down, weighing the pros and cons of the situation, for months on end. I make lists. I analyze every angle. I talk and I talk the subject to death. And in the end, I finally come to a decision on my own.

The last instance of this painstaking process revolved around buying a couch. It took me nearly a year to a) browse the couch offerings in half a dozen stores, all the while feeling like I was cheating on my current couch b) purchase a couch c) move my decrepit 30 year-old paisley sectional to the basement d) finally let go of my beloved paisley sectional after realizing I would never have room for it again.

Ha. Can you imagine what went on in my house as I wrestled with the idea of going to baking school?

Here is the thing no one ever tells you about Major Life Decisions. Even when it's something good, even when you're the one who decided to get on that roller coaster ride, the choice is not going to make you instantly happy. Or even excited. You're more likely to be riddled with self-doubt, anxiety, insomnia, fatigue, or be just plain terrified. The little voice in the back of your head on repeat, all day, every day: what have I done?

But there might come a random moment, like a break in the clouds gracing you with a brief ray of light, when you will feel good. Or even really good. Or, dare I say it? Excited.

Finally, in response to everyone who says "You're going to study pastry? That's so exciting!" I can say, YES, I know!

On Tuesday, May 31, I will be a student again. I'll be joining 15 other students at the Institute of Culinary Education to pursue a diploma in Pastry and Baking Arts. And yes, I am genuinely SO EXCITED to see what the future may bring.

Out Like a Lion

2011-04-25T21:57:00.000-07:00

I think it's safe to say we made it.

After one last spiteful week, which included snow (yes, SNOW, in late April), my grass is finally coming up green. I say we all deserve pancakes. In fact, we've deserved them all along.

Throughout the winter I've been engrossed in Amanda Hesser's prolific update of the classic– The Essential New York Times Cookbook. This book is elegant, fascinating and enormous. A self-described "150-year flip book of American cooking," it is bursting with stories, historical facts and endearingly bizarre food trends. I want to curl up in bed with it at night and pore over the chapter on Pies, Tarts and Other Desserts (which opens with New Jersey Blancmange, circa 1876, and ends with Sugared Puffs, circa 2009). And I want to make everything I possibly can, because this book is also full of damn good recipes.

David Eyre's Pancake is one of them. A pancake in name only, more like if a lemon bar had married a souffle, this recipe has been feeding each and every one of my house guests since I discovered it in January. It's a complete cinch to mix up and the ingredients truly are ones you're likely to have on hand. But the main reason I love it– it's just so fun to make.

There's something so satisfying about pulling out a cast-iron skillet on a cold winter morning (or, now in our case, spring). The flour, milk and eggs come together quickly. And then it's time to swirl a generous dab of butter in the pan and warm it up over an open flame. When you pour the batter into the hot pan it sizzles and you can smell the rich fattiness of the butter. Good things are to come.

The pancake puffs up to glorious heights in the oven, like an edible cumulonimbus cloud. This sight is fleeting, of course, because what goes up must come down. But the last (and possibly best) part of the process is to sprinkle powdered sugar over the entire pancake and place it briefly back in the oven. When it comes out for the last time, you finish it off with plenty of fresh lemon juice squeezed over the top. The juice hits the hot sugar and forms a tasty crust in places here and there. The recipe suggests you serve the pancake with jelly on the side, but as far as I'm concerned, you don't need it.

The only thing missing? A plate of hot and salty bacon.

David Eyre's Pancake

Recipe adapted from The Essential New York Times Cookbook (2010)

The recipe makes enough for two.

1/3 cup all-purpose flour

1/2 cup milk, preferably whole

2 large eggs, lightly beaten

Generous pinch of freshly grated nutmeg

4 tablespoons of unsalted butter

2 tablespoons of powdered sugar

Juice of 1/2 a lemon, or a bit more to taste

1. Preheat the oven to 425 degrees. Combine the flour, milk, beaten eggs and nutmeg in a medium bowl. Beat lightly and don't be afraid to leave the batter a little lumpy.

2. Melt the butter in a 12-inch oven-safe skillet (I like to use my cast iron skillet). When the pan is very hot, but the butter has not browned, pour in the batter. Bake for 15-20 minutes until the pancake is golden brown and delightfully puffed up.

3. Sprinkle with the sugar and return the pan to the oven for a minute or two. Finally, sprinkle with lemon juice. Cut the pancake in half or into wedges and serve. You may wish to serve it with jelly, marmalade or syrup, but may also find it completely unnecessary. Bacon, on the other hand, is a non-negotiable.

Candy Freak

2011-04-19T18:42:00.000-07:00

I don't consider myself a hoarder when it comes to food. Stationery? That's another story. I have a stash of adorable cards for babies that haven't even been born yet. Get Well? Congrats? I'm covered. But I'm not so obsessed with collecting and storing food. There's one exception: candy bars.

Komforte Chockolates: Tortilla Lime + Salt

A friend very sweetly picked me up one of these little beauties from the most delightful candy shop in town. I tucked the treat into my cupboard, saving it for a rainy day. And by rainy, I mean a moment when my desire for chocolate outweighed the satisfaction of just seeing it there, waiting for me. Don't they say that anticipation is often greater than the thing itself? Well, the moment never came, because someone else got to the candy bar first. At least he left me half. Since the package was open, I gave in and ate the rest: bits of tortilla chips embedded in a perfectly sweet milk chocolate bar, with a good shake of salt and lime. Quite seriously, a party in my mouth. Next time, the whole bar will be mine.

Are there any foods that you simply will not share?

Quest for Kitchen Art

2011-03-22T21:21:00.000-07:00

Last weekend I stopped by Aesthetic Apparatus' $5 Scratch & Dent Party (but not the Super Party, sadly). I was tempted by so many amazing prints, but this is the one that had me laughing out loud:

Their description says it best, "If you're from or have spent any time in the Midwestern United States, especially Minnesota you'll probably understand/care."

I could use some art to liven up my kitchen walls. What do you have hanging in your kitchen?

James Beard Awards: Minnesota Represent!

2011-03-21T21:55:00.000-07:00

Image from AllPosters.com

The James Beard Foundation–the reigning tastemaker for all things food– released its list of 2011 nominees today. Warmest congratulations to two Minnesota writers, Amy Thielen and Dara Moskowitz Grumdahl, who are both nominated for journalism awards.

Last spring I took a class on Asian BBQ at Cooks from Amy. She gave the business to several giant cuts of meat (most memorably a gorgeous slab of pork belly), braising, roasting and stir-frying like a madwoman, all the while coolly instructing us on her methods. Her class was peppered with stories, from cooking in New York restaurants to where to find the best kimchi in Saint Paul. I love her blog, Sourtooth, and not only because it taught me how to butcher a pig in my front yard.

And Dara! I fell in love with her food writing back when food blogs were just a sparkle in the eye of Internet Explorer. During college, I would make a ritual out of picking up the City Pages on Wednesdays and reading all the best parts at Coffee News Café. Okay, first I turned to Savage Love, I admit it, but next was Dara's restaurant review column, where I discovered what truly imaginative, evocative writing could be used to sum up a plate of food. She continues to be awesome at Minnesota Monthly and on-air at The Current.

Go Minnesota ladies, go!

Bebop-A-Reebop: Rhubarb Jam

2011-03-07T19:57:00.000-08:00

Some hope arrived in the mail today. Just when I needed it most. I hate to admit this, but winter really did a number on me this year. The cold and the gray I can deal with, but please god, will the snow ever stop?

I try to remember what my yard looked like before it was solidly blanketed in white. Last week my mind wandered briefly to the memory of peonies. A fleeting image of pink and white petals, artfully rumpled like a woman's silk blouse. But just as soon as I'd thought about them, that image of peonies flitted right out of my head. June is when they'll be at their peak and that still seems laughably far off.

But Rhubarb! A sign of spring I remember well. So bracingly tart--mixed with a little sugar, some honey, or some wine, rhubarb's sour tang is tempered, but not tamed.

Rhubarb grows wantonly in my yard. The plants are so huge I mistook them for weeds when we first moved in. Happily, I lifted a giant leaf one day to discover its telltale red stalk.

Now what about that hope I mentioned earlier? The April/May issue of Fine Cooking magazine arrived today and with it came a recipe for Rhubarb Jam with Lime and Ginger. Unlike those poor peonies, I can vividly remember the rhubarb treats I made last spring: bunt cakes, syrups, compotes, and pies. I'm going to add jam to that list. And now, when I stare out at my desolate yard, I'll fix my eyes to the spot where my rhubarb will soon grow.

What will be sprouting up in your yard this spring?

In the Depths of Winter I'll Think of You

2010-12-06T20:38:00.000-08:00

I'm in a bit of a mood tonight. I know it's way too early to get pouty about winter. We've barely scratched the surface of freezing, and besides, shouldn't I be distracted by "the holidays" right now? But baby, it's bone chillingly cold outside. Indulge me. As we head toward the winter solstice, here are my top five food and drink memories of summer:

The Vincent Burger. Eaten at the Walker's Rock the Garden show, in between Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings and MGMT. So incredibly rich, I felt like I'd won a delicious French eating contest after I finally finished.

A Dark and Stormy cocktail. My ideal summer drink, and apparently, very popular in Rhode Island/Massachusetts! Sipped outside in a garden, just before rainfall, at the most elegant and charming wedding I've ever attended.

Savory waffle du jour. This one, I believe, was made with basil and white cheddar and featured a strawberry rhubarb compote to compliment the lardons. Eaten outside at the Birchwood at a triple generation Father's Day brunch– my grandpa, my dad (visiting from Florida), my sister and me.

A salty caramel chocolate layer cake from Kramerbooks & Afterwords Cafe in Washington, D.C. There was a generous garnish of sea salt sprinkled all over the plate that I swept each forkful through. I devoured this cake like a junkie, with the salt burning my lips. Washed down with a glass of milk.

My end-of-vacation sundae (one of three in a week's time) from the Sundae School in Dennisport, Massachusetts. Eaten with abandon. And extra fudge sauce.

Visions of Sugar Plums

2010-12-02T21:17:00.000-08:00

To my dear fellow Candy Fiends,

Let me introduce you to Sugar Sugar.

Last Sunday I had brunch at the Grand Cafe (I went savory, with Eggs en Cocotte). While walking toward the restaurant, I had to stop and take a peek at Sugar Sugar. My sweet tooth just wouldn't have it any other way. They were closed, so I pressed my nose up against the glass as long as my dining companion would humor me. It was 10:30am. Time for breakfast, not dessert. But I couldn't help myself.

Of course the host placed us at a table near the window, giving me the perfect view of the shop across the street. Here's a not-so-secret secret: I kept staring at Sugar Sugar all through brunch, just waiting for a phantom hand to appear and turn that "Closed" sign over to "Open." As soon as I saw a flutter of motion behind the glass, it was on.

Inside is a wonderland of sweets spilling out of footed pedestal bowls, filled inside glass jars and displayed on trays. There's even a vintage candy dispenser, circa the 1950's or 60's, in the corner of the room. There is such a variety of candy–bars, domestic and foreign; caramels; malted milk balls; gummy worms; lollipops; the list goes on– and it's all presented so playfully, that for a moment I really felt like a kid again. Of course, one of my primary hobbies was going to the store we called "The Milk House" and carefully selecting the exact number and type of candy to equal whatever amount of money I happened to have. It's not surprising that Sugar Sugar is my one-way ticket to nostalgia. Standing before all these choices, I started feeling a pre-candy rush.

Just look how maniacally happy these people are? Wild candy dust was floating through the air! Okay, that's my sister and her friend, who I dragged inside the shop after we finished brunch. They actually look relieved, because by this point I had finally chosen my treat out of the many, many possible treats.

Chocolate Mint Malt Balls. Do you like the combination of chocolate and mint? If yes, you will die. You really will. These candies look like the precious eggs of a rare tropical bird, but they are far from delicate. The rich chocolate mint shell encases the most airy malted milk ball I have ever tasted. Imagine an Andes mint turned into a biscuity cookie, marrying the creamy and the crunchy in the perfect, pop-into-your-mouth bite. I chose well.

Sugar Sugar is open Tuesday through Saturday, from 11-7, and on Sunday, from 12-5. If you have any Christmas stockings that need filling, you know where to go.

Almost Better Than Sunshine

2010-12-01T18:34:00.000-08:00

There's no going back now. Each day it's getting a degree or two colder. The wind is starting to whip more bitterly against the back of my neck. Like a ten-ton truck barreling down a steep hill, we're assuredly heading toward the dead of winter. But today, at least, I found a little something that made me not care a bit.

Clementines! There was a large bin full of them at the co-op near my office. I was so pleased to see them with the leaves still attached. Somewhere, not so terribly far away, these beauties are just coming into season. Just knowing that makes me happy.

The Piglet

2010-11-30T15:54:00.000-08:00

Have you been following The Piglet over on Food52? Modeled after The Morning News' Tournament of Books, The Piglet is a tournament of cookbooks. Sixteen of the most notable cookbooks of 2010 were tested, analyzed and hotly debated. The winner will be announced tonight. My money's on Good to the Grain. Based on those cookies alone, I think it's going to go all the way!

Review from the Stack: Good to the Grain

2010-11-28T15:45:00.000-08:00

Like the ugly ducking that doesn't realize it's grown up to become a swan, Good to the Grain is a modestly gorgeous cookbook. Kim Boyce writes in a straightforward, yet reverent way about the pleasures of baking with whole-grain flours. Did you just read that phrase– whole-grain– and totally check out? Don't be fooled. These recipes have enough butter and sugar to fuel a church bake sale at Christmas time. This book is not for the faint of fat. Good to the Grain revives classic recipes, showing how different grains can bring a new world of flavor and texture to the cookies you've been baking for years (among many other things).

A professional pastry chef who left the restaurant world to raise her children, Boyce is well-aware of the limitations of home kitchens. She clearly has respect for everyday baking, but that doesn't stop her from indulging her curiosity as she plays with uncommon ingredients. The book features 12 different grains, with a chapter devoted to each, plus a chapter on jams and compotes.

The photos definitely matched the tone of the book––somehow both stunning and understated. Photographic attention is paid to lovely details, such as a glistening slice of peach semi-buried in a mound of muffin batter, highlighting the simple beauty of the ingredients in each recipe.

Details:
Good to the Grain: Baking with Whole-Grain Flours by Kim Boyce
Published by Stewart, Tabori & Chang in 2010
Hardcover; 207 pages
Book includes: Detailed head notes, serving sizes, and full color photographs throughout.

Recipe #1: Chocolate Chip Cookies

Molly beat me to the punch in raving about these cookies, but why not rave some more? Made with whole-wheat flour, the flavor of Boyce's cookies is more complex than a conventional chocolate chip cookie. Every comforting element you expect is there––the cookie is rich, buttery, and chocolate-laden with a perfectly crisp exterior that gives way to a chewy, soft interior–– but wonder upon wonders, you can taste more than just sugar! These cookies are slightly nutty (the only clue for the secret whole-wheat ingredient) with a good balance of salty and sweet. This is the kind of cookie you should bake on a Saturday afternoon, just to revel in the joy of recreational baking. And then, after your entire house is filled with the sweet, heady scent of rising cookie dough, you can eat a big stack of them warm from the oven. Guilt-free. Because, you know, they're made with whole-wheat.

Recipe #2: Ginger Peach Muffins

These are some sassy muffins. I loved all the different uses of ginger in this recipe––fresh ginger grated and mixed into the batter; sauteed with some peaches; and candied ginger chopped and mixed in for an extra kick. The recipe calls for the cooked peaches to be laid atop the muffin batter, making for a very elegant presentation––and one satisfying chunk of fruit when you take your first bite. I had one problem with the recipe, though. The instructions advise you to butter a muffin tin and go paperless, assuring that you'll be able to easily twist out the muffins after they've cooked. I swear, even though it took every ounce of willpower I possess, I waited until the muffins had cooled before twisting them out of the tin. Despite my care, I ended up with only three intact muffins out of twelve. So, I think it's best to use muffin cups. This minor gripe aside, my disheveled muffins were pretty spectacular. I ate every crumb. Made with oat flour, the texture is slightly crumbly and soft. The ginger gives a spicy current that contrasts well against the syrupy sweet peaches. These muffins beg to be made during mid-summer when peaches are lusciously ripe. Eat them in your pajamas, with a cup of Earl Grey tea.

For the person who loves baking, this cookbook would make a great addition to a collection. There are wonderful everyday recipes––muffins, cookies, waffles and breads. There are also plenty of breakfast treats and afternoon snacks to satisfy little children (the fact that Boyce's daughters are the lucky beneficiaries of her baking becomes pretty clear). As I mentioned, although this book experiments with whole-grains, it is by no means a health food cookbook. Butter and sugar abound! At times, the use of several different grains in one recipe can be a bit excessive. If you are not a frequent baker, it may not be practical to keep so many unusual grains on hand, as many of them spoil after a short amount of time. However, for the ardent baker who's in the mood for something unusual, yet not overly difficult, I can't think of a better book. Not only is the book itself lovely to behold, the recipes are inventive, accessible, and completely satisfying.

RATING: 8
(on a scale of 10)

Homeland

2010-11-04T19:19:00.000-07:00

I hail from the land of ice and snow– Duluth, Minnesota. It's a place where we focus more on staying warm than keeping on top of haute cuisine trends.

Duluth specializes in classic comfort food. Pizza– my favorite being Sammy's diamond-cut slices of pepperoni– Pasta, and Hamburgers. Maybe you've heard of a little chain of restaurants called Grandma's (they're also in the marathon-sponsoring business)? They've got the three major categories covered. So what more could Duluthians ask for?

Well, vegetables, for one. And seafood (walleye doesn't count). I'm heading north for a visit this weekend and am very excited to check out Hanabi, the newish sushi restaurant in downtown Duluth. I also need to give a big shout-out to the Duluth Grill right off of I-35. When I was a kid, it was a greasy-spoon diner. The spot where I remember ordering pancakes as a treat, while my dad ordered a pot of coffee to go with his Denver omelet. For a sad, short period of time it became an Embers, but now–now!– it's a seriously impressive roadside diner.

Would you like a side of homemade banana bread with that smoked salmon omelet? I bet you would. Or a caramel roll with pecans? I don't know why, but I'm amazed by the Duluth Grill's generous side offerings. And the attitude in which they deliver them. The last time I was there, around Christmas, the whole place seemed scrubbed of its dingy smoker's den vibe, replaced with the upbeat enthusiasm of a newly converted vegetarian– that is to say, it was a happy place.

The Kind of Math I Can Get Behind

2010-10-06T17:51:00.000-07:00

Last week Hans, of Micawbers (the best place to browse for books in the Twin Cities), darted away from the line of people at his register to place a copy of The Geometry of Pasta in my hands. He thought I might like it. And boy do I! A typographic masterpiece, it's also a sophisticated exploration of the myriad shapes and sizes of pasta and which sauces they're built to show off. Check out the awesome trailer and you'll see what I mean.

The It Burger

2010-09-20T20:52:00.000-07:00

Quick, before the air turns irreparably brisk and cravings for slow-simmering, meaty roasts set in, you must make this burger.

Image by Romulo Yanes for Epicurious.com

Now that summer has passed, I realize that this was the It Burger–– and my go-to summer dish. I'm normally a sucker for sweet corn, tomatoes, and garden-fresh sugar snap peas. But this year I craved this burger, hot off the grill, more than anything else. It's the Chipotle Pork Cheeseburger, compliments of Gourmet circa June 2009. Sure, chipotle chiles are one of the most over-hyped ingredients of the last five years (and the eponymous burrito chain didn't help matters), but in this recipe you can forget about all of that. Its genius lies in its simplicity: ground pork (so much juicier than ground beef) + 2 teaspoons chipotle chiles and some adobo sauce + 2 pressed garlic cloves + salt. The recipe calls for you to grill the burgers with the cover on for a few minutes, which brings out the inherent smokiness of the chiles. You melt a slice of Muenster cheese on the patty and then top the burger with a generous dollop of mayo, a wedge of avocado and a bright, crisp slice of tomatillo. We made this cheeseburger tonight, almost by instinct, not noticing that some of the leaves are already turning red. It was one last hearty, and oh-so-satisfying, goodbye to summer.

It Starts with the Rebel Tomato

2010-09-05T17:57:00.000-07:00

I had a tantalizing fling with the idea of planting a garden last spring. P & I closed on our house on April 30, leaving just enough time to dig up part of the yard and get some veggies growing. But there was packing and moving to be done, then a long weekend trip to Massachusetts, and soon the window of time closed. So, we planted some tomatoes in pots, bought a few basil and mint plants, and vowed to start a garden next year.

The only thing is, I couldn't stop thinking about our garden-to-be. There's a long, ugly stretch of concrete in the backyard--the parking spot for the former owners' speedboat. Every time I look at this:

I imagine something closer to this:

Image from LivingtheCountryLife.com

I dream about tearing up the concrete and building brick raised beds, so I can plant a wild assortment of vegetables and herbs. Sure, tomatoes, cucumbers, carrots and lettuce are a must. But I get really excited thinking about celeriac, brussels sprouts, chioggia beets, and... someday, a pumpkin patch.

Our potted tomatoes didn't fare too well, sadly. But we were amused to discover not one, but three renegade tomato plants growing next to the concrete! I have no idea how the little plants came to be, but their growth is an encouraging sign that we have good soil.

Healthy rebel tomato v.s. the sickly potted one.

As the weather gets cooler, I'm going to plan the hell out of next spring's garden. Which will involve reading, consulting my expert gardening friend (thanks Lucy!), and scribbling notes in this adorable perpetual gardening calendar from Krank Press. I love that it tells you not just what to plant, but what seasonal food to eat. Note to Midwest folks, Krank will release a calendar for our region in early October.

For now, I'll just be dreaming about that pumpkin patch.

Sweet Tooth Stop: Patisserie 46

2010-08-30T19:53:00.000-07:00

I think French pastries are the platonic ideal for baked goods. There is something so timeless and elegant about a lemon tart, in the same way the little black dress never goes out of style. Growing up on fresh fruit pies and sheet cakes, such uncomplicated American treats, I'm attracted to the sculptural beauty of French confections. I never knew desserts could be built so intricately. So gorgeous, I might even hesitate to take a bite.

As soon as I found out about the new French bakery in Minneapolis, my hopes ran high. Rumor had it their croissants were practically Parisian (not that I'm any sort of expert) and that a mysterious item called the Coconut Rocher was to die for. I found out for myself last Friday. My friend M. and I ventured across the river to Patisserie 46 at 46th Street and Grand Avenue in Kingfield.

Although the cafe space inside doesn't possess much character, it didn't matter. As soon as I walked in, my eyes were glued to the bakery case:

I'm convinced that fairies work in the back, constructing these fabulous little cakes at night. Several flavors are seasonal. At the moment: peach, cassis and apple.

The tartlets were equally whimsical, with gorgeous mounds of fruit artfully dusted with confectioner's sugar.

And the macarons! Just look at the citron yellow resting up against the spring lilac. I was in heaven just looking at the colors.

Now for the taste test.

M. & I brought home two cakes: Cassis and the one called "Chocolate, Chocolate, Chocolate" (available year-round, I presume). We also selected a Caramel and a Passion Fruit macaron; a Coconut Rocher; and something resembling a meringue called "Ugly, but Good."

If you come away from Patisserie 46 with nothing else, you must treat yourself to a tiny cake. They are so special, and really, so affordable (roughly the same price as a cupcake). And I'm sure you deserve it. M & I took a moment to stare at the subtle luster of the cassis cake.

Just beyond the delicate sheen of powder coating the cake, there was a swoon-worthy white chocolate mousse. And buried within, at the very core, was a bright purple geode of cassis gelee. The intense, pure fruit flavor of the cassis melted so softly against the feather-light mousse. This is a cake worth driving an hour to pick up. This is a cake for wooing the un-wooable.

Before I get carried away (if I haven't already), let me tell you that the Macarons were scrumptious. Fanciful, flavorful, and perfectly chewy. The "Chocolate, Chocolate, Chocolate" will satisfy the cravings of the worst chocoholic. And the Coconut Rocher is, perhaps, the most underrated treat in the shop. It's like a coconut macaroon, but less cloyingly sweet and more delicately textured. You will find them piled unassumingly on top of the bakery case.

A Culinary Victory

2010-08-17T18:53:00.000-07:00

My mom once said to me, "If you can read, you can learn to cook."

Yes, I thought, that makes complete sense. A recipe is just a written set of instructions. Not intimidating at all. This is exactly what I needed to hear. Living in my first apartment, my tether to on-campus dining cut, I was not having much luck in the kitchen. I couldn't even manage a bag of Vigo pre-seasoned beans and rice (Don't believe me? Try Worcestershire sauce and a shaky wrist). My problem was that I didn't own a cookbook. Instead of following a recipe, I would throw together some random ingredients and hope for the best. I ended up eating a lot of cheese and crackers that year.

After this nutritionally questionable year, I decided to pick up a cookbook. I read and I read. And eventually, I cooked something. I spent three hours making a risotto (two too many) and it was not just edible, but good. Emboldened, I made more mistakes than I could count, but I kept reading and cooking. And now I know it's true-- I can read, therefore I can make almost anything. But here's the thing. After years of dutifully following recipes, I now realize that what I treasure the most is pulling off a dish with no recipe. When I can cook something by heart.

Do you know someone who cooks everything this way? Who moves around the kitchen like a cyclone, tasting and seasoning, throwing together a salad while they're braising the entree, with not a cookbook in sight? I am so not this person. This improvisational phenom is like a musician who can play a catalog of songs on five different instruments. I can't even play Chopsticks on the piano.

My cookbook-free victories are few and far between. But when the stars align, and I'm able to throw together a tasty dinner with what I have on hand, it's more satisfying than cooking from the most complicated recipe. I love the thrill of a new recipe. But for me, the real joy comes from sharing a simple improvisational meal with friends.

One of very few recipes I keep inside my head is Pasta Genovese. I first read about it in the Silver Spoon Cookbook. The concept is perfectly simple: Fettuccine + Green Beans + Potatoes. Toss them all in a fresh pesto sauce. Serve. Perhaps garnish with Parmesan or pine nuts or a chiffonade of basil, if you're fancy. But that's really it.

I made a Pasta Genovese just a few days after I moved into my new house. In fact, it may have been the first meal I cooked. It's the kind of thing you can throw together if you suddenly find yourself with four rather than two for dinner. It's a dish built for a warm summer night, when the sun has gone down and the heat is just starting to burn off. The pasta and potatoes are hearty, but the green beans speak of summer. And pesto made from freshly picked basil from the garden is the best kind there is. The pasta tastes just as great at room temperature as it does hot out of the pot, so you can feel free to linger over your conversation.

That's what I did that night. I relished every bite of my victorious meal, until the sky grew dark, the cool breezes swept in, and it was time to go inside.

Pasta Genovese
Adapted from The Silver Spoon Cookbook

Approximately:
2 medium-sized potatoes
2 cups green beans
1 pound of fettuccine

For the pesto:
2 cups basil leaves, packed
1/2 cup olive oil
2-3 garlic cloves (to taste)
Salt and pepper to taste

1. Put a large pot of water to boil. Large enough to fit all of the ingredients.
2. Chop the potatoes into 1/2 inch cubes; trim and chop the green beans into bite-sized pieces
3. When the water has come to a rolling boil, drop the potatoes in. Give them at least a 5 minute head start. Next drop the green beans and the pasta in. Cook until the pasta is al dente (I always look at the recommended cooking time on the box and subtract 2 or 3 minutes)
4. Make the pesto: In a food processor, chop up the garlic. Add the basil. Then slowly pour the olive oil in through the feed tube, so it's incorporated gradually. Season to taste with salt and pepper.
5. Drain the pasta, potatoes and beans. Return to the pot. Mix in the pesto. And serve!

Note: Make sure you have enough pesto to generously coat the pasta. If you think you don't have enough basil on hand, it's better to cut back on the amount of pasta, beans and potatoes, rather than risk a coating that is too thin.

The Art of Timeless Cookbooks

2010-06-30T15:24:00.000-07:00

Whenever Peter and I visit a new city, at some point we always end up in a local bookstore (Book Nerd Alert! I know). Last weekend in Washington, D.C. was no different. We enjoyed a lovely late dinner at Pizzeria Paradiso: antipasto plate (the delectably salty prosciutto as delicate as a piece of fine vellum) and the weekly pizza special (Hawaiian; a heavenly encore of prosciutto, plus fresh mozzarella and pineapple). It was so delicious in fact, that we barely noticed the clock had crept to 9:30pm, leaving just thirty minutes to get our tails over to Idle Time Books. Located in the Adams Morgan neighborhood, Idle Time specializes in "new, rare and medium rare" books. With not a minute to spare, we hopped into a cab toward the shop. Peter headed for the fiction aisle and I went straight for the cookbooks.

The selection covered the last thirty years, with most of the books suspended somewhere in the 1990's. I scanned for classics, but couldn't justify carting home MFK Fisher's massive The Art of Eating. I moved on, looking for more unusual titles, and happened upon this:

Stacks: The Art of Vertical Food was published just over ten years ago in 1999, but it feels like ages since this food trend came and went. I paged through the book and noted that the flavor combinations weren't unappetizing, but seeing image after image of food improbably stacked a couple inches off the plate was ridiculous. Not tasty looking, just hilarious. Can you imagine throwing a dinner party based entirely on the Stacks cookbook?

Next, I spotted this gem:

Karen "Duff" Duffy, former MTV VJ and Revlon spokesmodel, with her very own cookbook: A Slob in the Kitchen. As the clock at Idle Time was ticking, I didn't have time to find out what made Karen so slovenly, or why this quality was a selling point for the book. All I know is there must be a special section in remainder bin hell for the Washed Up Celebrity Cookbook.

There are so many cookbooks that try--and fail--to stand the test of time. Whether it's the author, the food photography, or the recipes, at some point, most cookbooks become obsolete. There's a certain glory to these flash-in-the-pan books, the way they capture a mood, a trend, or a way of living. I'd love to survey a collection of cookbooks that charted culinary history, but I imagine there would be very few I would pull out and actually cook from today.

I wonder, what makes a cookbook timeless? Is that even possible? Is there a tried and true book, perhaps passed down from a relative, that you refer to?

Canal House Cooking

2010-03-18T20:19:00.000-07:00

I sometimes wish this was not the case, but when it comes to books, I am a complete impulse buyer. I never feel an ounce of guilt. When I was in New York last fall, I visited four bookshops and bought something at every one. With cookbooks, I show a bit more restraint. I try my best to test-drive library books first. Once I've checked a book out more than three times, I'm absolved. I can buy my own copy.

This weekend I came across Canal House Cooking and it took me all of five minutes before I was ordering every available copy. Canal House is a joint project between a veteran food stylist and photographer. They publish three volumes a year: Summer, Fall & Holiday and Winter & Spring. You can purchase single volumes or an annual subscription. My packet of the first three arrived today, and let me tell you, they are gorgeous. I opened volume one to the first chapter, "It's Always Five O'Clock Somewhere," and saw a recipe for the classic Sidecar. Canal House Cooking and I were meant to be.

They almost fill the void that Gourmet left behind.

Chicagobound

2010-02-08T21:49:00.000-08:00

Although I'll be spending most of my day working at the Hyatt this week, how can I resist dinner and a passion fruit daiquiri at Lula,

Photo from Flickr

A peek at the cookbook section (and a lounge on the couch) of Myopic,

Photo from Flickr

And maybe a dance or two at the California Clipper?

Photo from Flickr

Anyone care to join me?

Note To Self

2010-01-25T15:00:00.000-08:00

Surdyk's sent me a lovely reminder in the mail this weekend. That nightly glass of Rioja I've been enjoying isn't just good for making me forget I live in a frozen sleet globe.

Via Surdyk's

It's good for my heart, too! Thanks for the reminder.

*

Surdyk's "Heart Healthy" wine sale runs from January 28-30. All wines (not just red) are 20% off, with some bottles up to 40% off. Spirits (which may not be good for your heart, per se, but may really help your head) are 10% off.

Cozy Nights by a Warm Fire

2010-01-24T18:46:00.000-08:00

It all started with a marshmallow roaster.

This one, to be exact:

While doing some E-Christmas shopping in December, I fell in love with practically everything on ShopTerrain.com. I found gifts for several people on my list, from my grandmother-in-law with the annual strawberry jam-making ritual (Weck canning jars) to my Mom's practical, yet discerning fiance (a stylish and useful outdoor zinc thermometer). But what I really felt the overwhelming urge to give people was the Twig Marshmallow Roaster. No, I do not belong to a family of campers. And we're not s'mores obsessed (though I wouldn't mind if we were). For some reason I was just drawn to it.

Without really knowing who the roasters were for, I bought two. Here's why: wouldn't having a delightful, beautiful, branch-like tool at the ready for roasting marshmallows make you much more likely to roast them? And when isn't a roasted marshmallow a clear path toward happiness? The meditative act of roasting the perfect marshmallow--whether you prefer yours golden brown or singed black on the outside and impossibly gooey on the inside--is good for the soul. It's the sort of relaxed, yet focused activity that sparks conversation. Sometimes simple pleasures really are the best.

I gave away the roasters as gifts. Which was the upstanding, Christmas-spirited thing to do. But I longed for one to call my own-- even though I have no fireplace, outdoor fire pit, or plans to go camping in the next 5 years. It was just one of those childish I have to have it! impulses. So a week ago, I returned to Terrian to find that they were out of roasters! Not a single one left! My only option, in order to fulfill this irrational desire, was to order Terrian's "Cozy Kit," consisting of one Twig Marshmallow Roaster, an eco-friendly log, a canvas wood-carrying tote, and this book:

In case you were wondering, this is where I was going with all of that marshmallow talk. Where has Long Nights and Log Fires: Warming Comfort Food for Family and Friends been all my life? This book could constitute the entire "Cozy Kit" and I'd be satisfied. It's packed with every imaginable cold-weather comfort food dish I could dream up. I love that there's a chapter devoted to snacks that includes Honey-baked Camembert and Potato & Parsnip Croquettes... and mini Croque-Monsieurs. Equally endearing are the steaming hot toddies and tumblers of scotch that appear on every other page. An alternate title to the book could very well have been The Alcoholic's Guide to Surviving the Winter. Oh, and did I mention the roaring fires? This book is not afraid to get literal.

Published by Ryland, Peters and Small, which is based in London and New York, there's a definite British vibe. But I like it. It's about time I incorporated Rarebit Toasts into my life. There's also a more general European influence in the recipes; French classics like Cassoulet contrast the classic Spanish Albondigas dish and the North African Lamb Tagine with Chestnuts, Saffron and Pomegranate seeds. If the key to enjoying the winter is to focus on what's unique and, well, wintry about winter, then I think I've found my manual. From the soup chapter, here are a few possibilities for the week ahead:

Parsnip, Chorizo and Chestnut Soup
Slow-cooked Onion and Cider Soup with Gruyere Toasts
Pumpkin Soup with Honey and Sage

Good Tidings of Cupcakes and Joy

2009-12-22T19:57:00.000-08:00

Christmas is nearly on our doorstep. And after that comes a new year. A brand new decade, in fact! If this next year is as full-to-the-brim with wondrous nights of food and revelry, like the one we shared here, I will be a very lucky person, indeed. Thank you dear friends! Happy New Year to you all!

All photographs by Kate Gustafson

Orange Obsession

2009-10-29T19:49:00.000-07:00

I'm usually two steps behind every season. When tomatoes finally appear at the market, all ripe and luscious, I'm still dreaming of spring's slender asparagus stalks. And when the evenings grow cooler as the sunlight fades earlier everyday, I dream of tomatoes.

This is why I'm rather dumbfounded right now. You see, the most autumnal of vegetables has me deep in its clutches. And it's still October. The timing couldn't be better. At this very moment I'm obsessed with squash, pumpkin and sweet potatoes-- everything orange. Gone are my daydreams about fresh blueberry pie or sweet corn risotto. I'm craving butternut squash pizza, pumpkin parfaits, and sweet potato casserole, Cooks Illustrated-style. Pumpkin gets its big moment in just a few days and then after that, we're heading straight into the month of Thanksgiving. I can't wait! Here's what I'll be making:

Butternut Squash Pizza
with Apples, Fontina, Gorgonzola and Sage

The Gourmet Cookbook has an excellent pizza crust recipe that I've been using lately. Crispy and flavorful, it's resilient and easy to shape. For the last two weeks I've been experimenting with this squash pizza. Thinly sliced apple is a must. So is the Fontina cheese. The squash is best if cut in a large dice, seasoned heartily, and roasted just long enough to soften, but not long enough to lose its shape. I'm thinking about making some kind of sauce... either a white sauce or a pesto. A sage pesto? Sage and parsley? I will experiment.

Pumpkin Parfaits

Again, I turn to Gourmet. There's a recipe for Pumpkin Parfaits on Gourmet.com and the image of them is just too delicious-looking not to share:

The crumbled cookies are gingersnaps, which I think is brilliant. The pumpkin is spiced and thickened with gelatin and cream. The whipped cream is spiked with vanilla. I want to throw a dinner party just so I can serve these parfaits.

Sweet Potato Casserole

This dish is legendary among certain circles. Okay, certain sweet potato-loving circles. Cooks Illustrated published the recipe in 2005 and it's bizarre how many people I know have worked it into their repertoire. There's just something amazing about it. The sweet potatoes are roasted and then whipped within an inch of their life with brown sugar and spices. Then the dish is baked with a slightly salty, mostly sweet, streusel on top. The final bite is smooth, full of dimension-- sweet, fruity, and floral-- with a bright citrus note from the fresh lemon juice squeezed into the filling. And I swear I can taste the rich smokiness of bacon even though there's none, but maybe it's just me. This issue of Cooks also contains an utterly satisfying pasta dish with cannellini beans, kale and garlic breadcrumbs. Hmm, if I ever lose this issue I may cry.

Will my orange obsession see me through to Thanksgiving? How many varieties of squash can one person reasonably try? I soon shall see.

A Jigger of History

2009-10-12T19:46:00.000-07:00

A month ago, Gourmet.com debuted a fabulous guide to cocktails that spans the seven decades of the magazine's publication. Beginning with the stiff libations of the 1940s, each decade has had it's own week to shine on the homepage. Right now we're in the midst of the 1990s, which saw the debut of the popular rum mojito and the less illustrious "compound fracture punch." I must admit, I'm afraid to see what the millennium--and all of its sugary liquors--wrought on the world of drinks. Then again, I've always been more of a whiskey-on-the-rocks kind of girl, so maybe I'm biased. Here are some of my favorite classic cocktails:

1940s

The Sidecar: Equal parts Cointreau, brandy and fresh lemon juice. I like mine with a rim of sugar.

1950s

The Moscow Mule: Oh man, you are in for a treat. Vodka + Ginger Beer + lime juice. Make it with dark rum and you've got a Dark and Stormy.

1960s
The French 75: Chilled Gin with a generous dose of lemon juice and simple syrup. Shaken and topped with champagne.

1970s
The Advocaat (Dutch Eggnog): Okay, I'm only endorsing this one in theory, since I've yet to encounter an Advocaat in person. I'm a fan of eggnog, so why not a boozy Netherlands version of it? You can't go wrong with freshly grated nutmeg.

1980s
The Gold Cadillac: Heavy cream blended with Galliano and white Creme de Cacao. Basically it's an ICE CREAM drink with a sexy name. Enough said.

1990s
The Gimlet: My all-time favorite summer drink. The classic recipe calls for gin, but I like it with vodka.

And we shall see what the 2000s hold...

All images from Gourmet.com

From the Stack: The Gourmet Cookbook

2009-10-11T11:29:00.000-07:00

In honor of the passing of Gourmet Magazine, I will be trying out recipes from The Gourmet Cookbook this week. A lot has already been said about the shuttering of this institution, so let me just say this: for me, Gourmet hit the sweet spot of food magazines. I could easily lose an entire afternoon perusing the gorgeous photography spreads. I loved daydreaming about the indulgent dishes I would never make and reading journalistic essays about every facet of the food world (for one thing, I will never look at tomatoes the same way again). Yet, for all of the fantasizing, I actually cooked quite a bit from the magazine. In every issue, I could rely on at least three or four delicious, but quick recipes that I could work into my weeknight cooking repertoire.

I will definitely miss the thrill of finding a new issue in my mailbox. I will miss the show-stopping Thanksgiving menus Gourmet concocted every year. But even more, I will mourn the loss of this great chronicler of American cuisine. From 1941 to 2009--oh the places we've been!

Love at First Bite

2009-09-08T20:47:00.000-07:00

I am not one to evangelize granola. In fact, my idea of a treat almost always involves a dairy product (hello, cheeses of the world!). So when I first spotted this recipe for "Granola With a Perk of Olive Oil" in The New York Times, I was intrigued, but not ecstatic. I didn't trip over myself to get to Trader Joe's and raid the dried fruit and nut aisle in a wild frenzy. I remained calm.

After several months, I finally got around to this recipe and oh lord, do I need to make up for lost time! Melissa Clark must have been dead serious when she described the swarm of Brooklynites snatching up bags of this stuff at her corner grocery. I mixed my first batch at home on a Sunday evening. I mixed together rolled oats, pistachios, raw pumpkin seeds and shredded coconut. Then I tossed in the spices--cinnamon, cardamom--and added some light brown sugar and salt. The genius part of the recipe comes next. Maple syrup and olive oil drizzled in brings the mixture to new heights. As the granola baked for the next forty-five minutes, I found myself checking the clock and making excuses to go and give it a stir. Every time I opened up the oven, I swooned.

When the granola was done baking I mixed in some chopped dried apricots. Then I waited as long as I could stand for it to cool, before I grabbed a fistful. Truly, the word granola, the staid foil to flavored yogurt and fruit, should not be applied to this recipe. More accurate would be Insanely Addictive Snack, or Breakfast I Would Be Most Happy to Wake Up To. The sweet, salty pistachios compliments the exotic aroma of cardamom and cinnamon, with the rich, almost savory olive oil lending a rich depth. Really, just the fact that I'm going on about granola instead of cheese should clue you in to how good this is. Try it!

This Is What September Looks Like

2009-09-04T15:36:00.000-07:00

Dancing in the Streets

2009-08-25T13:17:00.000-07:00

This just in! Barrio is busy building a taco truck that will roam the streets of Saint Paul next summer. This excites me for so many reasons. In case you're the one person who's been spared my raving babble about this restaurant, let me tell you why this news is awesome.

If Barrio's taco truck menu is even distantly related to the restaurant's, we are in for some seriously tasty food. I was won over completely by the Barbecue Pork Sopes. Tender shredded pork, tangy and sweet, becomes a delicacy atop a crispy masa "boat." The guacamole is luscious and studded with delicious extras, sliced jalapeno and radish. And the tacos (ranging from skirt steak to mahi-mahi) are perfectly paired with an appropriately zippy or creamy salsa. If only I could sidle up to Barrio's truck and order a margarita...

Do you know of any other street food in Saint Paul? Or Minneapolis, for that matter? I'm all for it and would love to know of any treats I may be missing.

Image above from the Marfa Food Shark.

Sweet Basil Experiment

2009-08-16T14:55:00.000-07:00

Last week, when faced with a lavish abundance of basil thanks to a friend, I made ice cream. You heard me. I didn't whip up some pesto or sprinkle slivers over a tomato salad-- I made basil infused ice cream. It just felt right. Was this the exact moment that I reached summer's zenith? I wonder now, had I really had enough of all the typical (but no less fabulous) uses of my favorite summertime herb? Or was I just dying to try this particular recipe? It was a little bit of both.

The Sweet Life: Desserts from Chanterelle is definitely not an everyday cookbook, yet I find myself dreamily thumbing through its pages a few times a month. The recipes are rooted in traditional French pastry techniques, making them lofty and elegant, but the ingredients and the presentation lend a softer side. Looking at the table of contents, I want to crawl inside the pages and nibble on the Whipped Brown Butter and Vanilla Birthday Cake or dip a spoon in the Chocolate Caramel Pot de Creme. The photographs are gorgeous and refined, but the accompanying recipes are incredibly detailed and offer lots of sidebars with extra tips. I've tried my hand at The Sweet Life's tarts and truffles, but never the ice cream until last week. With my large bundle of freshly harvested basil-- so pungent and heady and ripe-- I had nothing to lose. And I was up for an experiment.

The ingredients are simple: basil leaves, cream/milk, sugar, eggs. And a pinch of salt.

The first step is to infuse the cream and milk with the basil. This recipe called for 30 basil leaves, simmered in the cream and sugar for 10 minutes.

Next come the egg yolks. Lots of them.

Too many, in fact. For some, the rich, custard flavor that comes from using 8 egg yolks could be a welcome thing. For me, it was just a little bit too much. To finish the recipe, the beaten yolks are slowly whisked into the hot cream and cooked over medium heat to make a creme anglaise, which is then chilled in an ice cream maker.

In the finished ice cream, the basil shone through in a very pleasing, unexpectedly delicate way. The cold temperature mellows the flavor and eliminates the perfume. What's left is a smooth, velvety custard with a light, herbaceous flavor. Although basil is a recognizable note, it doesn't compete with the rich cream flavor base. I paired the ice cream with sliced strawberries and angel food cake the first time around, but the basil flavor was overpowered by this combination. I think its best, and most delicious, all by itself. And totally worth the experiment.

Soon

2009-07-30T21:59:00.000-07:00

First Born Tomato

2009-07-09T19:53:00.000-07:00

When I got home from work today there were two tomatoes sitting in a tiny blue dish on the counter. Standing alone in the kitchen, I knew Peter must have plucked them from the vine that afternoon. Even though they were perfectly formed, ripe little orbs, he couldn't eat them without me. And I couldn't eat them without him. Let me clarify that I do eat lots of things without Peter (most notably cheese) and later in the summer I will have no compunction about gorging myself on whatever tomatoes I can find. But these were our first tomatoes of the year. The plants, purchased from a nursery over Mother's Day weekend, started out just over a foot high. Since May, we've been watching the slender branches grow ever stronger, begin to flower, and now finally produce fruit. Last week, Peter pointed out our tomatoes' first tinge of red that was gradually replacing the green. My weekly garden visits became daily as I kept close watch over the change. So, you understand, I just couldn't be greedy in the face of garden-fresh tomatoes. I had to wait.

Two hours later. The taste of summer's first garden tomato: A burst of heady sweetness. Smooth skin encircling a gushy center. So portable, so pleasing to just pop the whole thing right into my mouth. A taste both shocking in it's originality--this is what real tomatoes are supposed to taste like! Yet, utterly familiar, as I conjured up memories of last year's crop. Was it worth waiting for? Of course.

The Battle Has Not Been Lost

2009-06-25T19:27:00.000-07:00

I'm two weeks into my CSA and tomorrow will mark the third. If this was a battle--Junita v. The Vegetables--I'm not exactly holding my own. I am very sorry to report that the kale from the first week was my first casualty (my excuse: it had a delicate constitution, plus kale is so not a spring vegetable). My second loss was that lovely sprig of spearmint. I did, however, do very well with the asparagus (to be expected) and the turnips (a triumph!). And I learned that in order to get through a bunch of radishes, you simply must sprinkle them in every other dish you make.

Here's a peek at what the second box held:

And here is what I had for lunch later that day:

Tomorrow I'm expecting some escarole, purple scallions, sugar snap peas, fennel, arugula, and salad mix. What to do, what to do? I may go the easy route with the fennel and eat it with some orange segments and olives. The sugar snap peas will go in a quick tofu stir-fry. And wild arugula is always good as prepared above or chopped up and made into a pesto. But purple scallions? If all else fails, I'm just going to fix myself a drink.

Here's to the First Bounty

2009-06-12T15:35:00.000-07:00

Tonight:

Pre-dinner Rhubarb cocktail
Spinruts dipped in melted butter and salt
Pasta with asparagus, spearmint, goat cheese, zest of lemon & peas

And, if I'm good, a slice of black bottom coconut cream pie (from the Birchwood).

Ready, Set, Vegetables!

2009-06-11T21:18:00.000-07:00

This morning I woke up knowing that today I'd finally get an answer to the question I've had all week. What will appear in my first CSA box tomorrow? I signed up for a Crop Share Agreement with Rock Spring Farm this summer. All year long, as a kind of preview, I've been receiving their weekly e-newsletter, compliments of my neighbor who gets her own box of veggies. Each one offers a snapshot in time of the farm with a summary of what's been harvested and planted, along with a rather frank report on how that week's weather has impacted work on the farm.

At the bottom of the newsletter are recipes--my favorite part--that provide tips for cooking what's in the CSA box. It's a good thing they included a recipe for spinruts, because I am at a loss. Spinruts is a nickname Rock Spring gave a variety of turnip ("turnips" spelled backwards). They've got a special name in order to call attention to their rarity-- not just plain turnips, these are white-rooted Japanese spring turnips. I love the story behind them and I love the elegantly simple preparation they recommend:

Sometimes I think that my life as a vegetable grower has been defined by seeing something, somewhere, and thinking, "I. Have. To. Grow. That." I felt that way the first time a saw a photo of fresh, peeled onions, the first time I dug a patch of heirloom potatoes, and the first time I saw the beautiful, white-rooted, Japanese spring turnips during a slide show at a farming conference in a rural church in upstate New York. I went home to the farm in Maine exclaiming, "We have to grow these!" we call them Spinruts, which is turnips spelled backwards, at the suggestion of a farmers market customer who insisted that if we continued to call the spring turnips, lots of people who deserved to eat something this good would miss out on them entirely. The greens make a great sauté for a tasty side.

Steamed Spinruts

Several spinruts, quartered

butter
salt

Steam the quartered turnips until just barely fork tender - about five minutes. Don't overcook them, and remember that they will keep cooking even after you pull them from the pot. Serve with just a little bit of butter and a dash of salt.

Also included in tomorrow's box:

* Asparagus
* Red Oak Lettuce
* Red Russian Kale
* Spearmint
* Purple Radishes

I can't wait to behold! And I can't wait to eat my spinruts.

Summer Fridays with the Cupcake Lady

2009-05-31T11:20:00.000-07:00

One of the perks of my job is the policy known as "Summer Fridays." Beginning the Friday before Memorial Day, our office closes at 1pm, up until the Friday before Labor Day. The week after Labor Day we all weep. This charmingly antiquated policy is a mainstay in the publishing capital of NYC, the home of my company's corporate headquarters. Sure, publishers may be freaking out about the latest Kindle app for the iPhone, but at least we still know how to enjoy the summer!

My first official Summer Friday was spent on an airplane en route to Seattle (more on that trip to come). Although I sacrificed it for a good cause, the afternoon itself was kind of a waste. This Friday I was determined to take full advantage of my four-hour bonus. It might not sound like very much time, but it feels utterly luxurious. Especially when the time is used for frivolous, pleasurable things. Like cupcakes.

Do you know about the Cupcake Lady? Her name is Sheela and she whips up the most whimsical, delectable little cakes every week. Sheela's cupcake empire is also known as Miel y Leche--she doesn't have a bricks and mortar bakery (yet), but she delivers her goods to three special spots around the Twin Cities every Thursday, Friday and Saturday. On Fridays, her glorious cakes are available at Golden Fig, a perfect bike-riding distance away from me.

I spent my first real Summer Friday with two cupcakes in hand-- Vanilla Rhubarb and Raspberry Lemonade. The buttery vanilla cake was matched with a generous proportion of vanilla buttercream and the rhubarb compote filling had me in a swoon. Even better, though, was the shock of bright yellow atop the raspberry lemonade cupcake. The lemon frosting had just the right amount of zingy pucker to balance the sweetness of the raspberry. With these cupcakes, I felt like I was holding the sweet, delicate flavors of spring in one hand and the bold, sexy taste of summer in the other. It looks like I've got myself a standing Summer Friday date.

Summer Preview

2009-05-18T21:46:00.000-07:00

Tonight I’m paying the price of a weekend well spent. A little sleepy. A little worn down. But oh-so-content. I can’t be the only one who got a little crazy yesterday, reveling in my summer self for the first time all year. I truly do intend to slow down again and enjoy the subtler delights of spring, but this weekend I couldn’t get enough of the country sausage/craft beer/rock show awesomeness of Gastro Non Grata in the parking lot of The Modern.

GNG is “a local chef-driven, alcohol-fueled music machine” that is assembled four times a year at the Triple Rock and other locations. A pig roast was at the center of yesterday’s event. As the line-up of bands played (including an adorably enthusiastic Private Dancer and the raucously wicked Chooglin’), people wandered around with pulled pork sandwiches and sausages in hand, with sides of BBQ beans and slaw. The sausage was good and garlicky with a sweet wholesome taste of fruit. I would have gobbled up a second one, if I hadn’t washed down the first with the delicious Domaine du Page ale from Two Brothers Brewing. I haven’t had a more pleasurable sausage and beer combo since enjoying my first apple brat in Bayfield last fall.

This is all to say that summer touched down on Minneapolis this Sunday. All memories of winter drudgery flew back to a remote part of my mind as I suddenly remembered why I love living here. It feels like the entire city lets out a shriek of joy the first day the sun beats summer-hot. On the same exact day we collectively forget the hell we had to endure to get here, as our senses are awakened. Together, we revel in the glorious feeling of being alive. And then it’s official. The annual ritual of repression begins again!

GNG returns next weekend to the Triple Rock. The event features food from Heather Heartman of Spoon River and Café Brenda, dessert from Rouge Chocolatier’s Colin Gasko and music from the Birthday Suits and others. I’ll be missing out, as I’m going to Seattle for the weekend, but I hope to return with some good stories to share—food and otherwise.

All I Want To Do Is Post This Picture

2009-05-11T22:09:00.000-07:00

I’m nearly exhausted by spring. Every year this happens and it’s only getting worse. As my interest in seasonal cooking grows, my desire to take full advantage of the bounty-of-the-moment—Rhubarb! Asparagus, artichokes and lord help me, fava beans!—gets more and more out of hand. I consume articles and blog posts that extol the virtues of the season and like a maniac, I start chasing after all of the dishes I should be making. I try to keep a list, but the lists inevitably reproduce and create baby lists and then the purpose of having a list is lost. I end up making a fourth of the recipes I print off and copy down. I feel defeated.

Last year I remember the exact moment when I missed the boat. I had a recipe for a strawberry zinfandel trifle from Sunset Magazine. The wine-soaked strawberries resting atop clouds of sweet cream seemed like an ideal garden-party kind of a dessert. Or a let’s-have-cocktails-in-the-yard kind of a dessert. It just sounded good. But waves of strawberries came and left the grocery store. May turned into June, then into July and by then there were all kinds of berries, but none were red with flecks of green. Yes, of course, I could buy strawberries out of season, and sometimes I do. But it just didn’t feel right. The time to make a garden-party trifle had passed.

Now it’s mid-May and I am contemplating rhubarb. Last year Lucy made a fabulous pie, which she left on my porch, the steam still rising from the fruit. I loved that pie. It came at just the right moment. It wouldn’t have tasted better if I’d planned and plotted to eat a slice weeks before. Still, I will always be a recipe dreamer. I started a file marked “Spring” just a little while after I realized last spring was over. I stashed all of my neglected, though still beloved, recipes as a consolation. It actually helped.

This spring I’m trying to strike a balance between idolizing recipes and simply going to the farmer’s market and letting my senses decide what looks good. Why is it so hard to fully be in the seasonal moment? It’s too late in the evening for me to answer that question, but it’s one I’ll surely return to this week.

Before I end, let me make a small offering to the rhubarb pantheon: rhubarb compote. I modified a recipe from Everyday Food earlier this week, adding some orange juice and zest along with some extra ginger. 2 cups chopped rhubarb + ½ cup brown sugar + ½ cup of raisins and a cinnamon stick simmered over medium heat. I love the way ginger heightens the natural tang of rhubarb and orange draws out its sweetness. The compote was for a rhubarb shortcake, but was even better on top of vanilla ice cream. Not a pie, but it’s a start. And I’ve still got a few weeks of spring left.

I Heart Cheese

2009-05-04T22:08:00.000-07:00

Last week I was driving down Grand Avenue and out of the corner of my eye I spotted a sign that said “STINKY CHEESE.” Eye-catching? Yes. Heart-stopping? You have no idea. I looked closer after the traffic light turned red. Much to my delight, the sign announced that a dedicated CHEESE shop is opening in June in the old Grand Photo storefront. The Cheese Shop at France 44 will soon open a cut-to-order shop less than a mile from me—a 3-minute car ride, a 5-minute bike ride, a 10-minute walk away! Will it be called The Cheese Shop at Grand? I don’t know, but the great affection I have for my neighborhood just multiplied by ten.

When I lived in Chicago, there was a shop called The Cheese Stands Alone that was just around the corner from my apartment. Regretfully, I never stepped foot inside. The idea of a shop devoted entirely to cheese was almost too wonderful to be true. I was intimidated by the heady scents that oozed from the store out into the street. Surely I would freeze with indecision once I reached the counter. Or worse, the cheesemonger would have no patience for my provincial palate. All I really craved at the time was sharp cheddar and triple-crème brie.

Then Paris happened. Or rather, I traveled to Paris and I braved their fromageries. Though my French consisted of the three or four phrases I memorized during my flight, I mustered up my courage and ordered the stinkiest wedge of Camembert I could find. Peter and I took the cheese back to our rented apartment, along with a deliciously cheap bottle of Côtes du Rhône, a baguette and some fruit. I thought I knew what French raw-milk cheese might taste like, but I had no clue. My Camembert was voluptuously ripe and brazen with pungent flavors. The creamy Brie I loved at home seemed like a standoffish schoolgirl compared to this French vixen.

I can’t wait for the Cheese Shop to open up this summer. Cheese, glorious cheese here are some places we’ll go:

* On a picnic, with your friends baguette, fig spread and sparkling wine
* On a bike ride, nestled into a Pan Bagnat sandwich that I’ll tuck into my backpack
* Out on my front porch, with a platter of Spanish chorizo and paprika-spiked almonds
* Or just with a glass of Tempranillo, on the couch, with a good book.