make this bread

I'm a week late for Rosh Hashanah, but the faux challah (no eggs - but honey! hence it's appropriateness!) I made in honor of the Jewish New Year is simply too great not to mention. And since October is the Friday (TGIO!) of the holiday baking season, I'm sure you'll have ample reason in the crisp weeks ahead to warm up your kitchen with the fragrance of this honey-sweetened raisin walnut bread baking in your oven.


Now, let's level for a moment. I don't hear much about this, but I'm of the opinion that far too many of the recipes that get talked up on food blogs (and I mean respected, well-executed food blogs) are only marginally above "meh."

For the most part (let's be honest) people read food blogs for the same reason my mom subscribes to Condé Nast Traveller: pure voyeurism. It's an escapist fantasy with more drool. The likelihood of you making that mouthwatering Salted Caramel Brownie with muscovado sugar and pink Himalayan salt is about as high my mom embarking on that four-star caravan through Rajastan. (Statistical Deviation: if I'm plugged into the immediate equation of anyone's life, I think the chance of the salted caramel brownie being made *and* the excursion to Rajastan happening goes up dramatically).

So maybe it's because my food gawking extends to the kitchen, and a good 90% of what I eat, I make from scratch, but I feel like I've been duped one too many times by a blogger's tantalizing photography and their just-right homey anecdote trumpeting some new (or old) nifty thing to do with say, tomatoes or rhubarb, that they insist you try *now, Now, NoW!*

To which I have said, "OKAY!" and put it to the top of my "to make" queue - only to end up with a pan of underwhelming rhubarb cake, which left me seriously calling into question what the hell the blogger was banging on so rapturously about.

Could it be a mere difference in taste? Or does their need (especially as a food blog is a very very hungry animal) to prettily showcase their culinary achievement overshadow its actual merit?

The fact that I'm still regularly seduced by blogger's food stories must mean I at least latently (or partially) believe the former (as in, at some point, surely, we'll see eye to eye). I mean, I have a hard enough time working up the initiative to compose multiple complete sentences about things I feel passionate about, let alone dress up the experience of that so-so orange olive oil cake I made.

So... with that rather long detour of exposition in mind, what I'm intending to convey to you is the extent to which I think this bread is worth talking about. And it's easy. So take notes.


Beth Hensperger is known as a bread maven. Her book The Bread Bible does not invoke the name of Evangelicals' most-revered volume lightly - she's clearly out to win converts. Anybody can see the light! The divine art of breadmaking is not a blessing reserved for a mere chosen few!

She is very encouraging about the ease with which people can learn about flour and yeast and kneading - it is something she spends the beginning of her book trying to demystify. And I dare say, she took great care throughout the rest of the book to include only the best of the best, most tried-and-true bread recipes - likely to prevent potential new followers from defecting prematurely.

Mostly, she argues, like everything, it's really just about practice.

I'm not very practiced, but the evidence of the ease of Beth's Italian Walnut-Raisin Whole-Wheat Bread recipe (don't tell me you read all the enticing words between those hyphens and didn't feel transported to some rustic Tuscan farm) is apparent from how recklessly I managed to (successfully!) throw it together last Wednesday eve.

A short rundown of the night's events:

Yoga starts at 8pm.
I finished reading through the recipe at exactly 7:06pm.
Realizing that the dough would potentially need to rise for 2 1/2 hours, this bread novice (me) went to work.
I proofed the yeast, combined it with flour, kneaded the mixture into a sticky dough, covered it and left it to raise...
And was *still* on a yoga mat a short 55 minutes later.

Seriously, that's how easy it can be.

A few things to keep in mind when you try it:

This dough is *sticky* -- waaay more sticky (or tacky, as you will) than you think it should be. Beth says to turn the dough out for kneading and only add 1 T of flour at a time - I bet I used 1/4 cup of all purpose at a time! But only because it was ridiculously sticky (high elevation? high % of moisture in the air? the fact that I didn't use a mixer? who knows?)

However, (a little like pancake batter) I was very very conscious not to add too much flour and make it too "done" and smooth. Even when I put the dough into the bowl to rise, while it was "springy" to the touch, it was also extremely sticky and could have easily become glued to the counter top. If you're a bread maestro, maybe you know something better than I about how this was a sign that it was very wrong - however - it came out marvelously - so I'll not aim for any less tackiness in the future!

If you haven't kneaded bread before - maybe try and seek out Beth's tutorial. But basically, push the dough away from you with your full body (stretching it out in the process), then fold the two sides in together like you're wrapping a child in a blanket or making a filled pastry, then push it out again. Repeat.


Also, the recipe says 4 cups of raisins and walnuts combined! 4 cups!! I don't know about you, but even with the amount of dough (two baguette loaves) that seemed excessive. Not to mention, when I went to press all that fruit and nut into the dough, I have no idea where it would have fit given the oval's surface area. Use your discretion and taste (obviously), but I used 1 1/2 cups of plumped raisins and maybe 3/4 cups of chopped walnuts. It still sliced up looking like a luxurious loaf.


Mmmm... think I'm the only die-hard health nut out there who considers bread the most excellent excuse to consume butter (my equally health-conscious sister just shuddered)...Enjoy!


Italian Walnut-Raisin Whole-Wheat Bread from Beth Hensperger's The Bread Bible

[my notes are in brackets]

Ingredients
2 ½ cups warm water
2 tablespoons (2 envelopes) active dry yeast
pinch light brown sugar or 1 teaspoon honey [I used honey!]
½ cup olive oil
¼ cup honey
1 tablespoon salt
4 cups fine-grind whole-wheat flour, preferably stone ground
1 ½ -1 ¾ cups all-purpose flour
2 cups (10 ounces) dark raisins, plumped in hot water 1 hour and drained on paper towels [there wasn't room in my dough for all of these... I made 2 cups, but bet I only ended up studding the dough with 1 1/2 cups]
Scant 2 cups chopped walnuts [are you kidding? that's a LOT of nuts! bet I used 3/4 cup and did not feel cheated one smidge.]
2 tablespoons whole-wheat flour, for sprinkling
2 tablespoons, wheat bran, for sprinkling [I didn't have this]

Method
In a small bowl, pour in ½ cup of the warm water. Sprinkle yeast and sugar over the surface of the water. Stir to dissolve and let stand at room temperature until foamy, until 10 minutes.

In a large mixing bowl (or in the work bowl of a standing mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, combine remaining 2 cups warm water, olive oil, honey, salt and 2 cups of whole-wheat flour. Add yeast mixture. Beat vigorously until smooth, about 1 minute. Add remaining whole-wheat flour, 1/2 cup at a time. Add unbleached flour, 1/4 cup at a time, until a soft dough that just clears the sides of the bowl is formed. Switch to a wooden spoon when necessary if making by hand. [I never (well, rarely) use machine mixers for anything - so I did this all by hand - in my experience, the dough may have gotten drier quicker (e.g. needed less flour) if I'd used a mixer]

Turn dough out onto a very lightly floured work surface and knead about six minutes, until soft and springy yet resilient to the touch, dusting with flour only 1 tablespoon at a time as needed to prevent sticking [See notes above, I used significantly more - like 1/4 cup at a time]. Dough should retain a smooth, soft quality, with some tackiness under the surface, yet still hold its shape. Do not add too much flour, or loaf will be too dry and hard to work.

Place dough in a greased deep bowl or container. Turn once to coat the top and cover with plastic wrap. Let rise at room temperature until doubled in bulk, 2- 2 1/2 hours.

Grease or parchment-line a baking sheet. Sprinkle whole-wheat flour and wheat bran on the baking sheet.

Turn dough out onto a lightly floured work surface without punching it down. Pat it into a large oval and sprinkle even with half the drained raisins and half the walnuts. Press nuts and fruit into the dough and roll dough up. Pat dough into an oval again and sprinkle it evenly with remaining raisins and walnuts. Press in and fold dough in half, sealing ends.

With a dough cutter, divide dough into 2 or 3 equal portions. Shape into 2 tight right round loaves or 2 baguettes about 14 inches long. Gently pull surface taut from the bottom.

Place loaves on prepared pans. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and let rise at room temperature until doubled in bulk, 45 minutes-1 hour.

Twenty minutes before baking, preheat oven to 400 degrees. Using a serrated knife, slash the loaves quickly with 2 parallel lines and one intersecting line no more than ¼ inch deep.

Place baking sheet in oven and bake until loaves are brown, crusty and sound hollow when tapped with your finger, 35-40 minutes for round loaves, 25-30 minutes for baguettes. [I think my cooking time for the 2 baguettes was slightly shorter - say 20 minutes (and I actually ended up covering them with foil to prevent burning at about minute 17), but I think my oven also runs a touch hot.]

Transfer to a cooling rack and cool completely before slicing.

in honor of august: squash cake

I looked at the calendar today and I saw that August is over.

August. Over.

How can that be? I had no sense of it coming. This is what happens when your schedule is your own and you have no real use for calendars - or clocks for that matter - just days and nights. Back and forth, up and down, an endless side-to-side sashay with no context.

But seeing we were on the very tip-end of August, I thought - Aha! This explains everything! And I became certain that a craving I had a few nights back must have signified the exact moment when summer ran out of breath; when she finally reached up to rub the blood from her eyes due to that last sweaty full-cylinder sprint.

It happened three days ago. I was working through that ambiguous hour past 3am when the night bottoms out, and you're looking down the barrel of dawn, when suddenly I had an overpowering yen for a desserty-something. August has been my month of frozen desserts and my freezer had seen different versions of peanut butter icebox pies in pretty steady rotation to cater to exactly these type of moments.

But no, after wanting nothing but slivers of peanut butter icebox pie for *weeks* - smoother and more slippery on the lips than ice cream, delivering an up-front punch of sweet/salty peanut butter with a dark chocolate finish - this had no appeal. I wanted something toothsome. Something dense, with....spice; I wanted stodge - I wanted... a *baked good*

"In this heat??" I asked myself.

"Absolutely," said the something inside of me that knew summer was downshifting... it could already taste what was on the way.

So sensing that we were starting to nip at early autumn, I was craving layer cake.. I was craving Nigella's Chocolate Gingerbread Brownies (which I'm not allowed to make unless I'm in a position to rapidly give away 3/4 of the pan...)... I wanted anything frosting-topped that I could sink a fork into.

But I had nothing suitable on hand, so I did that decoy grazing thing we probably all do when we have a very particular taste for something, but don't have it. I tried to appease the Craving Gods with some Ryvita with raspberry jam, some Nairn's ginger biscuits... but they weren't having it. Finally I said to myself, "either *make* something, or get back to work, or go to bed, but whatever you do, get your hands out of the granola!"

I think I ate another handful of granola and *then* went to bed.

Happily, like magic, seasonal produce and my cravings have a way of syncing up even when I'm oblivious to the calendar. Yesterday a massive yellow squash appeared at my house. We don't know who its original owner was (poor squash, they are much like the fruitcakes of summer season... and so hastily orphaned), but I was very happy to adopt it and just *knew* that like zucchini (there was actually a zucchini too - but that was rapidly set aside for *the best pickles ever*) it could probably lend itself to a splendid cake.

I was right. This cake is everything I wanted that night when neither peanut butter pie nor granola would suffice: substantial, moist, a little bit spiced, and oh-so-satisfying to carve a fork through. I hate to even bring it up, but it could also be argued that it's healthful too. It's so good, I'm actually wishing a little bit that I could spruce this up with some molasses and fresh ginger to have it at Christmastime -- not sure that the squash will comply...

So make this while you can!! And enjoy!

The garnish(which I realize looks a little like onion rings & moths) is a combo of ground cherries (they come with little flowery wings like that...cool - huh?) and thinly sliced yellow squash - sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar and put in the oven at 200 F for about an hour (which tastes *surprisingly* good!)

Adapted from the Squash Cake Recipe via The Meaning of Pie

1 1/2 C sugar
1 1/2 C flour (I used a mixture of half all purpose, half whole wheat)
1 T cinnamon
1/4 tsp nutmeg
3/4 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/4 tsp salt
1 1/4 C grated yellow squash
2 eggs
1/2 C apple sauce
1/4 C olive oil
1 tsp vanilla

Mix everything together and pour into a well-greased 9-inch cake pan. Bake at 350 F for approximately 40 minutes or until golden brown and until tester comes out clean.

I made frosting with a cream cheese base, plus butter & confectioners sugar (oy! sorry! I never measure these things...)

oh, marie.... vanities of queens & cake

Spring is here! See all that green grass laying cushion for the cake plate - who would have thought such lush life was hiding under those last crusts of snow and grey skies! Our toe-dip into spring came just in time to blow March out the door like a lamb... which also meant it was just in time for my mom's birthday.

Ahhh... birthdays. I think I love them mostly because they give me a really good excuse to make cake - or rather - (and slightly more importantly) to *decorate* a cake. I'm a bit odd, I know, but for me the cake part really is secondary to the the decorating of it. If I were less of a last-minute person, I'd probably spend days decorating my cake masterpieces, but I rarely find myself with such a luxurious amount of time - and birthday deadlines simply can't be pushed - so I'm usually working under the pressure of people impatiently waiting with candles and forks in-hand, murmuring with their lack of understanding as to why the perfectly delectable-looking cake ISN'T READY YET!! (and yes, I've been known to shout that)

As a long-time cake decorator extraordinaire, I have inordinate amount of respect for frosting. You may not realize, but it's the secret to any good-looking cake you've ever seen. Those thick drifts of sugar-infused butter is the baking equivalent of duct tape - the MacGyver-like answer for magically transforming unruly, lopsided, mind-of-their-own layers into something neat and eminently presentable. Sure, there are wooden dowels, and tricks for shaving off uneven bumps with floss, but at the end of the day, it's the frosting that reliably rises to the occasion for any problem that might look too big to handle.

I mean, really there's nothing else that could have transformed this Inside-Out German Chocolate, let's face it, *mess*...



...into (a few short hours later) this prim, fit-for-a-queen-mother's birthday layer cake.



That's why every baker should have a recipe for saving-grace frosting mortar that will never fail. The one for chocolate glaze that went with this cake is well worth remembering (dare I say, more worth remembering than the cake recipe itself). It's a chocolate glaze that tastes a little like salted chocolate caramel (mmmm - can't argue with that!), mixes & firms up quick, but most importantly, is *sturdy* - like, it's going to hold things together you are worried might not stay together (though don't forget that setting up your layers up in the refrigerator can also be a big help).

So there you have it. I'm not sure how much looks had to do with it (or if it was the oodles and oodles of chocolate happening), but my mom said it was the nicest cake she'd ever had.


Voila! Fit for a Queen!





Inside-Out German Chocolate Cake (via the Bridge Street Bakery, Waitsfield, VT as featured in Gourmet)

**Notes: My cake layers cooked quicker than the 20 - 25 minutes recommended. I would say cook as little as 15 minutes. For the German chocolate, I went Dulce de Leche style and simply put a can of sweetened condensed milk in a sauce pan filled with water, brought the water to a boil, then reduced the heat and let the can simmer for a little over an hour. Also, though the recipe didn't call for it, I made a chocolate ganache (ha - nobody ever said I don't do overkill on my cakes) and spread that on the layers before the German chocolate filling AND then topped the filling with a handful of raspberries, which I HIGHLY recommend. Definitely serve this cake at room temperature - it can seem a little dry otherwise.

For cake layers

* 1 1/2 cups sugar
* 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
* 1/2 cup plus 1 tablespoon unsweetened Dutch-process cocoa powder
* 3/4 teaspoon baking powder
* 3/4 teaspoon baking soda
* 3/4 teaspoon salt
* 3/4 cup whole milk
* 6 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
* 1 large egg
* 1 large egg yolk
* 3/4 teaspoon vanilla
* 1/8 teaspoon almond extract
* 3/4 cup boiling-hot water

For filling

* 7 ounces sweetened flaked coconut
* 4 ounces coarsely chopped pecans (1 cup)
* 14-ounces can sweetened condensed milk
* 1 tablespoon vanilla

For glaze (which is what I raved about above!)

* 2 1/2 sticks unsalted butter
* 10 ounces fine-quality semisweet chocolate
* 3 tablespoons light corn syrup

Make cake layers:
Preheat oven to 350°F and oil cake pans. Line bottoms of pans with rounds of parchment or wax paper. Sift together sugar, flour, cocoa powder, baking powder, baking soda, and salt into a large bowl. Whisk together whole milk, butter, whole egg, yolk, vanilla, and almond extract in another large bowl until just combined. Beat egg mixture into flour mixture with an electric mixer on low speed, then beat on high speed 1 minute. Reduce speed to low and beat in water until just combined (batter will be thin). Divide batter among cake pans (about 1 1/2 cups per pan) and bake in upper and lower thirds of oven, switching position of pans and rotating them 180 degrees halfway through baking, until a tester comes out clean, 20 to 25 minutes total. **I would suggest 15-17 minutes cooking time, as mine definitely cooked in quicker than 20 min!!

Cool layers in pans on racks 15 minutes. Run a thin knife around edges of pans and invert layers onto racks. Carefully remove parchment or wax paper and cool layers completely.

Make filling: **See my note about doing this Dulce de Leche style below...
Reduce oven temperature to 325°F.

Spread coconut in a large shallow baking pan and pecans in another. Bake pecans in upper third of oven and coconut in lower third, stirring occasionally, until golden, 12 to 18 minutes. Remove pans from oven.

Increase oven temperature to 425°F.

Pour condensed milk into a 9-inch deep-dish pie plate and cover tightly with foil. Bake milk in a water bath in middle of oven 45 minutes. Refill baking pan with water to reach halfway up pie plate and bake milk until thick and brown, about 45 minutes more. Remove pie plate from water bath.

Stir in coconut, pecans, and vanilla and keep warm, covered with foil.

Make glaze while milk is baking:
Melt butter in a 3-quart saucepan. Remove pan from heat and add chocolate and corn syrup, whisking until chocolate is melted. Transfer 1 cup glaze to a bowl, reserving remaining glaze at room temperature in pan. Chill glaze in bowl, stirring occasionally, until thickened and spreadable, about 1 hour.

Assemble cake:
Put 1 cake layer on a rack set over a baking pan (to catch excess glaze). Drop half of coconut filling by spoonfuls evenly over layer and gently spread with a wet spatula. Top with another cake layer and spread with remaining filling in same manner. Top with remaining cake layer and spread chilled glaze evenly over top and side of cake. Heat reserved glaze in pan over low heat, stirring, until glossy and pourable, about 1 minute. Pour glaze evenly over top of cake, making sure it coats sides. Shake rack gently to smooth glaze.

Chill cake until firm, about 1 hour. Transfer cake to a plate.

when at rope's end.... bake

do you remember when this blog was sing-songy and all i wrote about were things like candy drawers, wild unexpected jaunts and baked goods?

i do.

it was years ago. before notorious men, one cosmically so, irreverently bucked through my life like a bull-in-a-china-shop tornado. since then, once i'd dusted off the shards of glass and dabbed the blood, i looked around at my world and thought, "oh wow - we are most definitely *not* in kansas anymore."

was the world so different? of course not. but i looked at everything with different eyes. gone was my buoyant optimism. my belief in magic, in life, in... anything.

BUT - i've grown weary of digging my heels into the poisoned earth of this abandoned fairground that i've built. i'm tired of picking stale peanuts off the ground, hoping like jack & the beanstalk that one of them will conjure back an irretrievable past - make people and circumstances behave & turn out differently.

people have done & will do what they do. even when their actions are good for nobody - not even themselves. which is tragic, but that doesn't mean my life needs to be a tragedy.

and so... first step, for me. is to start where i began, and bake my way back. baking is magic. it's starting from precious little nothing & turning all those separate elements into something. it is creation rather than destruction.

my young cousins and i were all in desperate need for a cheery diversion on monday and so we tackled peter reihnart's bagels - which had been featured by luisa of 'the wednesday chef' *and* tim of 'lottie and doof' (i trust these bloggers implicitly) - the kneading of which is *highly* recommended for emoting, whether you be a 12-year-old, or, uh, slightly older. **(there wasn't time for us to refrigerate the dough overnight - so my genius sister suggested we let them raise in a warm dark place for an hour instead, which worked *perfectly* - but i plan to make them again properly and take a pic to show you).

and last night i made the vegan chocolate tahini cake pictured above, suggested by my friend molly of 'the particular kitchen' (good for gluten-free baking or if you have a load of tahini on hand - which i did... but if not, and if you're not doing it for health, i'd suggest this loaf by nigella instead!)

it's been a good start.

so... here's to more baking... more great adventures... more living life in a way that's full of creation and gratitude. that's my promise to you from here on out. maybe i'll even get around to writing about candy drawers again.

love,
the long ago, but not forgotten, ms. spice

abundance

It's been a while since I've posted much about cooking. Not that I haven't been.... I think I've officially mastered the art of both veggie lasagna and tarts, have created some divine chocolate chocolate cookies, and discovered that split pea soup takes an awful long time (think days) if you're starting with dried break-your-teeth peas (and therefore is *not* recommended for a dinner party....). But not only have I been too preoccupied to relay much of my cooking feats, there are also only about 4 hours of natural light in London these days, and since artificial light and food photography really don't pair well - dishes inevitably come out looking like unappetizing brown slop - I simply refuse.

Anyway, had not one but two success stories yesterday and managed to snap some pics before the sun set at 3: a gingerbread pumpkin pie and a butternut squash gratin. Pumpkin puree is rather difficult to find in the UK and I forked out too much for an imported can of Libby's at Partridge's for my Thanksgiving feast that never happened - and felt *compelled* to use it before I went home for Christmas and came back only to the glum post-holiday aftermath.

I devised a hybrid recipe, drawing inspiration from the Los Angeles Times and what I had on-hand. The dark brown sugar and extra dash of ginger is what makes it more gingerbread-like in taste. And, with absolutely no time to make a proper pastry crust, I made one out of digestive biscuits and oats with a dash of sugar and spice - the result was a struesel-like accompaniment to the pumpkin custard filling. Even Guillaume, Mr. I-don't-like-cinnamon-or-pumpkin-pie enjoyed this pumpkin pie. When you turn someone from espousing hatred for something to conceding that they like it, I always take it as a good sign.

The butternut squash and goats cheese gratin also turned out quite well. I pretty much verbatim used this recipe from Epicurious. Come to find out it is *exactly* the recipe Kasey used for our family's Thanksgiving at home - ha. Apparently, my parents thought it was a little dull, but both she and I (and my guests) thought it was amazing. To me, it seems like a decadent macaroni and cheese with squash instead of pasta. The only minor twist I put to the recipe was to add several dashes of nutmeg and I toasted pumpkin seeds instead of hazelnuts for the nutty flourish - seemed more seasonal, and hey, it was what I had!

Even though it's the holidays and time for baking extravaganzas, this squash-themed feast is likely the last bit of cooking I'll do here in the rainy dark of the UK before I head Stateside. Utah with its proper snowy winter/Christmas - here I come!

Recipes follow. Enjoy!


Anne Spice's Gingerbread Pumpkin Pie (adapted from the Los Angeles Times)

For Crust:
1 1/2 Cups crushed digestive biscuits (or graham crackers)
1/4 Cup Oats
5-6 T Butter
1/4 Sugar
1/4 tsp each of ginger, cinnamon and nutmeg

Mix together thoroughly and press into a 9-inch pie tin. Cook at 175 C (sorry! now all my knowledge of cooking temps are all over the board) for ten minutes - or until golden brown. Let cool before adding filling.

For Filling:
1 15 oz Can Libby's Pumpkin Puree
2 Eggs
2/3 Cup Whipping Cream
1/3 Cup Semi-Skimmed Milk (that = somewhere between 1% - 2%)
1 T Cornstarch
1 T brandy or vanilla extract
3/4 Cup Dark Brown Sugar (lightly packed)
1 tsp. ground ginger
1 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. ground nutmeg
1/4 tsp. all spice
1/8 tsp. coriander
1/8 tsp. cloves
3 grinds of freshly ground black pepper

Preheat the oven to 325 F. In a large bowl, whisk the pumpkin, eggs, whipping cream, milk, cornstarch and brandy or vanilla. In a small bowl, mix the brown sugar and spices. Whisk the sugar mixture into the pumpkin mixture.

Pour the filling into the cooled piecrust. Bake until the pie is set around the outside but still slightly wet and jiggly in the center, about 1 hour. The filling will continue to set as it cools.




Butternut Squash Gratin with Goat Cheese and Hazelnuts (from Bon Appetit)

3 1/2 pounds butternut squash (about 2 medium), peeled, cut into 1-inch cubes
2 tablespoons olive oil
Coarse kosher salt
4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) butter, divided
3 cups sliced leeks (white and pale green parts only)
1 1/2 teaspoons chopped fresh sage
1 5.5-ounce log soft fresh goat cheese
1 cup heavy whipping cream
1/2 cup hazelnuts, toasted, husked, coarsely chopped

Preheat oven to 400°F. Place butternut squash cubes and olive oil in large bowl; sprinkle with coarse kosher salt and ground pepper and toss to coat. Spread out squash cubes on large rimmed baking sheet. Roast until just tender and beginning to brown, stirring occasionally, about 35 minutes.

Meanwhile, melt 3 tablespoons butter in heavy medium skillet over medium-low heat. Add sliced leeks and chopped sage; sprinkle with salt and pepper. Sauté until tender but not brown, about 15 minutes. Coat 11x7-inch baking dish with remaining 1 tablespoon butter. Spread half of leek mixture over bottom of prepared baking dish. Sprinkle with half of squash and half of cheese. Repeat layering with leeks, squash, and cheese. DO AHEAD: Can be made 1 day ahead. Cover and chill.

Preheat oven to 375°F. Pour cream evenly over gratin. Sprinkle with toasted chopped hazelnuts. Bake uncovered until gratin is heated through and cream is bubbling, about 30 minutes (40 minutes if previously chilled).

mr. plum in the conservatory with chocolate

This may be it - a brownie recipe worthy of all that incessant and absurd 'death by chocolate' prattle. Yes, as much as I dislike the trite phrase, I have to admit, when I took the first (and second, and third) bite of these brownies the thought "whoa. death by chocolate" was the inane sentiment that went looping through my mind. Apparently, these fudgy bon bons are so densely compacted with the mesmerizing dark substance that they overload neurotransmitters and stupefy the verbal cortex.

The blame for my chocolate-induced brain cell death goes to Miss Alice in the kitchen. That would be Alice, as in, Alice Medrich, who devised this jaw-dropping recipe, and who is often hailed as the "Queen of Chocolate" by foodie types. After this result, I am convinced that her unconventional recipes are sheer baking genius.

In fact, this Alice Medrich brownie recipe may just replace my *other* Alice Medrich brownie recipe with its magical freezer technique since this one only requires cocoa. I know, I know, *scary* how they possibly be good enough without melted chocolate?? But trust Alice and her scant cup of cocoa. I dare you. Especially if you're one of those types who declares you'd fancy a death by chocolate.


Alice Medrich's Best Cocoa Brownies

10 tablespoons (1 1/4 sticks) unsalted butter
1 1/4 cups sugar
3/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder (natural or Dutch-process)
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
2 cold large eggs
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
2/3 cup walnut or pecan pieces (optional)

Position a rack in the lower third of the oven and preheat the oven to 325°F. Line the bottom and sides of the baking pan with parchment paper or foil, leaving an overhang on two opposite sides.

Combine the butter, sugar, cocoa, and salt in a medium heatproof bowl and set the bowl in a wide skillet of barely simmering water. Stir from time to time until the butter is melted and the mixture is smooth and hot enough that you want to remove your finger fairly quickly after dipping it in to test. Remove the bowl from the skillet and set aside briefly until the mixture is only warm, not hot.

Stir in the vanilla with a wooden spoon. Add the eggs one at a time, stirring vigorously after each one. When the batter looks thick, shiny, and well blended, add the flour and stir until you cannot see it any longer, then beat vigorously for 40 strokes with the wooden spoon or a rubber spatula. Stir in the nuts, if using. Spread evenly in the lined pan.

Bake until a toothpick plunged into the center emerges slightly moist with batter, 20 to 25 minutes. Let cool completely on a rack.

Lift up the ends of the parchment or foil liner, and transfer the brownies to a cutting board. Cut into 16 or 25 squares.

* Special equipment: An 8-inch square baking pan

doormouse molasses

It's been a while since I've been guilty of an overt "Americanism." Honestly, people don't even think I'm from the States off-the-bat anymore. But a recent trip to the grocery store reminded me that I'm still very much a foreigner in this country.

With Autumn plowing its way into the city, I'd been craving molasses cookies - heady, spicy, deep molasses cookies - the sort I used to make as a kid called "Christopher Columbus Cookies" from a children's cookbook with an American holiday slant. So, with a more PC recipe in mind that I'd spotted in the LA Times from the Model Bakery in Napa Valley, I headed to the store for the necessary ingredients. The basics were all easy, but I eyed every inch of the sugar aisle for molasses before approaching one of the workers for help.

"Do you have molasses?" I asked the first uniformed girl I saw.

"Umm, we should, let me go check." (Usually code for: I'm going to make a quiet exit and never come back).

I waited around for a bit. Looked at the honey. The syrup. No. No molasses.

"Do you have molasses?" I asked the next uniformed person I saw.

"What's that?"

"It's kind of like a syrup."

She showed me the maple syrup, the Lyle's Golden Syrup (for the Brits' Golden Sponge Cake), but there was no molasses in sight.

Finally the first worker came back (Wow!)

"They say it's not called that anymore."

"Oh?"

"It's called treacle."

"Treacle? Of course! I should have known!"

I mean, treacle - straight from the doormouse's speech in Alice in Wonderland. How had I overlooked it?? Since there it was - Lyle's Black Treacle - right next to Lyle's Golden Syrup. And although it's not *really* verbatim molasses... it would do. I promptly thanked the girl and removed two tins of the stuff.

As I was in the process of scurrying away with my treacle, I heard a girl with a distinctly American accent ask the same worker "Where are your chocolate chips?"

"Let me go check."

But this time I knew the answer and turned to the tall bright-eyed blond American with her chocolate chip cookie craving and said, "I haven't seen any chocolate chips in the UK outside of the specialty shops carrying American imports. You just have to buy a bar of chocolate and chop it up."

"Oh wow!" she said in her oh-so-nasal Californian voice "That's SO funny? Right?"

Is it? I shrugged, wondering a little why I couldn't muster up the enthusiasm to agree, "It's the UK."

I left her to contemplate this, and with my cute tins in tow, I went home and made molasses cookies with treacle. I even added some chopped up Green & Black Spiced Orange Dark Chocolate for good measure. (Unconventional, perhaps, but highly recommended - they turned out divine).

The recipe follows (personally, I thirded it!)

Enjoy!

Model Bakery Molasses Cookies

4 ½ sticks (2 ¼ cups) butter
2 ½ cups granulated sugar
3 eggs
¾ cup dark molasses
1 ½ teaspoons vanilla
8 cups (2 pounds) pastry flour
1 ½ teaspoons each: baking soda, salt
1 tablespoon plus ¼ teaspoon each: cinnamon, cloves, ground ginger
½ cup crystallized sugar, or more as needed

Beat the butter and sugar in a medium bowl with a mixer until light and fluffy. Beat in the eggs, one at a time, until each is incorporated. Beat in the molasses and vanilla. Sift together the flour, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, cloves and ginger in a separate bowl. Beat the dry ingredients into the liquid ingredients, a little at a time, until fully incorporated to form a dough. Cover; refrigerate 1 hour.

Heat the oven to 350 degrees. Scoop the dough into balls with an ice cream scoop. Roll each ball in the crystallized sugar; place on a parchment paper-lined baking sheet, leaving 3 inches between each cookie. Bake until lightly golden and set, 10-12 minutes, rotating halfway through for even baking. Cool the cookies on a wire rack.

manna, milk, & honey

So, the bad news is that it's starting to getting cold and blustery here - plenty of rain, wind, and the general inclemency that makes London a city synonymous with trench coats, umbrellas and wellies. Sigh. These past many months - starting with the early hints of spring right down to the final faded remnants of summer - have been so unbelievably warm and pleasant, I think I'd genuinely forgotten that this city could be so miserable weather-wise.

The good news, however, is that the storminess out my window has made me want to do nothing but nest and bake. My revived sense of domesticity started off with a couple batches of cookies, but on a recent and particularly rainy day, I wanted something more homey, more eventful - something that required extreme patience and multiple steps. When I read about spiced Ethiopian bread over at The Wednesday Chef, while not exactly French pastry, I thought it would do quite nicely.

This Ethiopian loaf is sweetened with honey and boasts an earthy combination of cinnamon, cumin and cloves that is just lovely. Long after the baking is done, merely toasting a slice sends aromas of sugar and spice dancing through the air. I altered the recipe slightly to include both wheat and plain flour (when it comes to adding wholemeal to baked goods, I just can't help myself!) If you're tempted by how this sounds, but are afraid of the yeast (as I often am), don't be... it really is rather simple... have a go!

Enjoy!



Ethiopian Honey-Spice Bread
Makes 1 loaf

1 tablespoon active dry yeast
1/4 cup warm water
1 teaspoon sugar or honey
1/8 teaspoon ground ginger
1 large egg
1/2 cup mild honey
1 tablespoon ground coriander
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
1 cup whole milk, warmed
4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, melted and cooled
4 1/2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour

1. Combine the yeast, water, sugar or honey, and ginger in a small ceramic bowl and set in a warm, draft-free place until it bubbles vigorously.

2. Combine the egg, honey, spices and salt in a large mixing bowl or the bowl of a heavy-duty mixer. Add the milk and butter. Mix in 1 cup of the flour.

3. Add the yeast mixture and beat until all the ingredients are well blended. Add more flour, 1/2 cup at a time, using only enough to make a soft dough. Use your hands, if needed, to work in the last bit of flour.

4. Turn out onto a lightly floured surface and knead the bread by folding it end to end, pressing down and pushing forward several times with the heel of your hand. (The dough will be sticky. Use a dough scraper to clear the board and turn the mass of dough. Avoid adding more flour.)

5. In about 5 minutes the dough will become smoother and more elastic. Shape into a rough ball and place in a large oiled bowl, cover with a tea towel, and let rise until doubled in bulk.

6. Heavily butter a 3-quart round baking dish that is 3 inches deep, such as a casserole or an enameled Dutch oven. Punch down the dough with a single blow of your fist. Knead the dough for a few minutes, shape into a rough ball, and place in the prepared pan. (Press the dough down so that the bottom of the pan is covered completely.) Cover and let rise again until the dough has doubled and reaches the top of the pan.

7. At least 20 minutes before baking, preheat the oven to 300 degrees F.

8. Bake for 60 minutes, or until the bread is nicely rounded on top and a light golden brown. Leave in the pan for 5 minutes, then remove and transfer to a rack to cool completely before slicing.

Happy Easter!

Though the day has probably left you over-satiated on chocolate - I had to share... I want to eat/make this right NOW!

Oy... I fear my baking sabbatical has lasted too long!

january houses

Winter is still very much here... snow's still piling up in drifts outside. And while this cold month of January has the tendency to be so grim and grey, gingerbread remains so warming... so full of delight-inducing magic.


So why not?

Offending Grammarians with Welsh Rarebit

Let's set aside the persistent sickness, and the breakup, and the incessant rainstorm of Noah's Ark proportions that has plagued us here in London for the past ten days straight, and focus on more cheery things. For instance, I looked outside today and marvelously saw a soft blue sky. And nearly as considerable, I just tried welsh rarebit for the first time. (I'd love to say that I made welsh rarebit for the first time, but it was all Kasey's doing.)

I know the name makes it sounds like some hearty, carnivorous dish, but welsh rarebit is astonishingly nothing more than a muddle of cheese, egg, onions, and a dash of seasoning, broiled atop a slice of bread. Yet, despite the recipe's overt veggie-friendliness, "rarebit" is indeed a reference to rabbit. Food historians aren't quite sure if the name is simply a reflection of the Welsh's intense fondness for cheese, or if it comes down to the reality that while some of the lower classes used rabbit in place of more expensive butcher meats, the Welsh were so poor, cheese was often their substitute for proper animal protein.

Either way, there are grammarians out there who bristle at the use of "rarebit" rather than "rabbit" when referring to the dish. H. W. Fowler wrote in the 1926 edition of the Dictionary of Modern English Usage: "Welsh Rabbit is amusing and right. Welsh Rarebit is stupid and wrong."

I'll leave the decision to you as to whether or not you'd like to elicit scorn from the likes of Mr. Fowler when referring to it, but do try this British specialty. It's simple to throw together and pleasingly savory; a smidge reminiscent of quiche - just on toast!

Enjoy!

Adapted from Jill Dupleix's Welsh Rarebit

1 small onion, finely diced
150 grams mature Cheddar or double Gloucester, grated
2 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce
1 egg yolk
1-2 teaspoons mustard
Pinch of cayenne pepper, or a dash of Tabasco sauce
4 slices of bread, toasted

Saute the onions in a non-stick pan until soft and browned. In a bowl combine the cheese, Worcestershire sauce, egg yolk, mustard, and cayenne, mashing well. Add the onions and mix to a spreadable paste. Spread the cheese mixture over the toast, right to the edges. Place under the broiler for 2 minutes until hot and melted.

Brownies: Trick and Treat

I think the great brownie debate oft-mentioned by food writers is utter nonsense: soft vs. chewy, cakey vs. fudgy, decadently chocolate vs. light notes of cocoa. Please. Brownies, real brownies, the kind that make you resentfully envy the person in front of you at the coffee shop who caved in and ordered one, are supposed to be sodden fudge-like confections masquerading under the title of a baked good. I say, if you want cake, make cake. End of argument.

The only problem with this attitude is that if you seek out a satisfyingly excessive brownie recipe, the list of ingredients usually reads something like this: one pound of butter, six eggs, 2 melted Valrhona chocolate bars - oy! I just can't bear to do it. That sort of concoction not only clogs heart valves and welcomes the expansion of your girth, it will also cost you the equivalent of a gourmet meal (although, considering the first two, perhaps if the monetary outlay forces you to forgo the gourmet meal, maybe that's a good thing).

Yet, since I'm an uncompromising sort of person who still wants to make brownies worth calling brownies, but would rather not use 4 + eggs and a month's worth of butter to do it, I am indebted to chocolate dessert expert Alice Medrich. Medrich's "New Classic Brownie" recipe is a godsend that involves an incredible freezer trick: the batter is cooked at a high temperature for a short while before the pan is immediately transferred into your freezer, or, if you'd rather, an ice water bath. This technique produces a pleasingly flaky top-crust that readily gives way to a texture of illustrious chocolate.

Like most magic tricks, I have to warn you, the recipe can be a little finicky - you must make it exactly as written (this took extreme self-discipline - but after messing it up once, I learned my lesson), pour it into the right sized pan (an impossibility this go-round - and I noticed the difference), and have your water bath prepared or your freezer cleared; there is no negotiation on this, or you risk ruin of the "prestige." But, follow the recipe to the letter, whisk it into a deep freezer as soon as you take it out of the oven, and voila... appropriately fudgy, uncompromisingly rich brownies. The result may even please those strange people out there who like to eat brownies that taste like cake.

Enjoy!

Alice Medrich’s New Classic Brownies

8 tablespoons (1/2 cup) butter
4 ounces unsweetened chocolate
1 1/4 cups sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 eggs
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
2/3 cup lightly toasted walnuts or pecans (optional)

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Line an 8-inch-square metal (NOT glass) baking pan with foil. In top of a double boiler set over barely simmering water, or on low power in a microwave, melt butter and chocolate together. Stir often, and remove from heat when a few lumps remain. Stir until smooth.

2. Stir in sugar, vanilla and salt. Stir in eggs one at a time, followed by flour. Stir until very smooth, about 1 minute, until mixture pulls away from sides of bowl. Add nuts, if using. Scrape batter into prepared pan and bake 20 minutes.

3. Meanwhile, prepare a water bath (or make room in your freezer): Pour ice water into a large roasting pan or kitchen sink to a depth of about 1 inch. Remove pan from oven and place in freezer or in water bath, being careful not to splash water on brownies. Let cool completely, then lift out and cut into 1-inch squares or wrap in foil.

P.S. It probably goes without saying, but again, definitely do NOT use a glass pan! I used the silicone one you see above - I'm generally cynical when it comes to these state-of-the-art floppy forms, but their indestructible nature was born for recipes like this.

Bohemian Koláče

At my childhood home in the States there are a few twiggy plum trees in the backyard, and just about now their whittled branches are swinging with clusters of small, begging-to-be-picked, deep-blue fruit. These little plums (technically Italian prunes), which easily fit in the hollow of your hand, are an iconic part of Bohemian* cooking. Plum dumplings, plum jam, and of course, plum koláče (pronounced "kohlachkee" and written "kolache" in American English).

Poppy seed and plum kolache were an essential part of my culinary upbringing; an edible reminder that I was Czech. I think there's something very great to be said about honoring your heritage via the food you make. And so, when Kasey and I phoned our Mom and Dad this past Sunday, and they started telling us about their great plum harvest, and how all the people nearby with a spot of Czech blood were asking with anticipation when they could come by to collect a treasured bag of fruit, and then, how nostalgically delicious the plum kolache was that they'd just made - well? Even with regular, shelf-ripened, Tesco "credit crunch special" plums at our disposal - how could we resist making a pan of our own?

While traditionally, "kolache" is a sweet yeast dough molded into individual rounds, then flattened with indentations to accommodate a filling, the root word "kolach" actually just means, generically, "cake." And since we got this recipe from my Grandmother, who never had qualms calling any number of traditional Bohemian baked goods simply "kolache," I believe we can authentically deem this particular creation "Bohemian Plum Kolache." As you can see from the picture of the half-demolished pan below... devoured by just Kasey and I... it's addictively delectable... Czech soul food, if you will. I'm sure we'll polish off the rest before the week is out. The recipe follows. Enjoy!

*History lesson: For those of you as confused by this reference to Bohemia as my Mom was when my Dad first introduced himself to her as a "Bohemian" ("What? Where's your black turtle neck and bongo drums?"), Bohemia was a region that found itself with enlarged borders and a new name when it became part of Czechoslovakia after the First World War - to date, the people who live in the area still very much identify themselves as "Bohemian."


Grandma Vi's Bar Kolache

For Crust:
1 1/2 Cups Flour
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp Vanilla
1/2 Cup Butter
1/3 cup sugar
2 T Milk

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Mix all above ingredients together till dough is formed. Press down into a 8 1/2 X 12 to make crust. Prick crust and slightly brown in oven - about 15 minutes.

Topping:
Plums... lots and lots of sliced plums. "As many as will fit." Kasey cut up six rather large plums, but in the end, didn't think that was enough. ("We should have made at least two layers of plums," she said.)

StreuselMixture:
1/2 cup butter
1 cup sugar
1 cup flour
(We also added about a teaspoon of cinnamon).

Once crust is slightly cooked, evenly spread out the sliced plums onto the crust, then sprinkle with streusel on top. Return to oven and bake at 350 for 30 minutes.

Too-Sour Milk-Griddle Cakes: Did I Do Something Wrong...?

Ever since I read about Edna Lewis's Sour-Milk Griddle Cakes on The Wednesday Chef I've been anxious to make them. Luisa, the blog's author, made them sound irresistible - going so far as to claim that they were her and her honey's new favourite breakfast no less - and her pictures only added to body of convincing evidence that I would soon be blogging similar praises.

But it took me nearly a month to find out this would not be the case as the griddle cake recipe calls for cream of tartar and apparently there's a shortage of the stuff here in London.

For three weeks, I hunted for the slightly obscure cooking acid in every grocery store I entered, but to no avail. (Yet maddeningly, I kept coming across more recipes I wanted to make that required the ingredient, it was beginning to feel like mockery!).

Finally , the other day I came across the last pot of cream of tartar at the Canary Wharf Waitrose - along with a cute bottle of blackcurrant coulis that I thought would make for an appropriate accompaniment (on sale! a mere 75p! - and people wonder why I proselytize about the store...)

Anyway, so I excitedly dashed home, and woke up earlier than I ever normally would the very next morning just to make these griddle cakes...

And?

Utter disappointment! Was my pan too hot? Was my wheat flour to dense? Did I measure something wrong? (Was I even really working with bona fide cream of tartar? Hmmm....) Not only did they not cook properly... the 'sour' taste boasted about in the recipes' title was more off-putting than something to brag about.

Ah well... You win some you lose some... Even though I'm sure I did something wrong, I won't attempt these griddle cakes again just to find out.



Behold... the lone cake that even slightly resembled Luisa's end-product.

St. Pat's Toll House Cookies

When I originally set out to celebrate St. Patrick's Day by way of confection, my plan was to roll out loads of sugar cookie dough, cut out dozens of floury four-leaf clovers, and coat them all with electric green frosting.

But when it came time to actually doing the baking, I really really longed for that subtly salty-sweet concoction punctuated with bittersweet chocolate chunks known as Toll House cookies over a sweet homage to butter and confectioners sugar.

So, in what I thought was a deft compromise to satisfy both my craving and the holiday's color scheme, I decided to dye the dough green. And without even realizing the appropriateness, I'd picked up one of Green and Black's ginger and dark chocolate bars to chop up and mix into the batter.

The result was something that looked suspiciously like mint chocolate chip ice cream.



Unfortunately, as you can see from the results, the final product only hinted at its inspiration and didn't really live up to "Green and Black" effect I'd been hoping for - but at least with one of these in hand, even if you aren't wearing green, you can make an argument against being pinched.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Disappearing Black Forest Cake

There it is, the remainder of Kasey's Raspberry Black Forest birthday cake. A single disheveled slice to represent the creation that kept me industriously busy from the evening before her birth until well into the dawning of; ambitiously tempering of hundreds of ounces of dark chocolate to form the divine chocolate cake and sumptuous chocolate mousse - finally canvasing the cooled layers with a raspberry and cordial treatment around 4 am. (Why do I always wait for the last minute for these things?)

Actually, it wasn't till I was dashing to her party that day that I managed to slapdashedly concoct the white chocolate mousse frosting, topping the finished product with some lovely cream roses that I purchased on my way home from work, that it really all came together.

But ahh, the end-result was well was worth all the late-night effort ... and within an hour after this photo was taken, this last remaining testament of my work had also disappeared.

Just in time for V-Day... Blueberry Pancakes for Virgins

Happy Valentine's Day! Oh, if only I'd poured the batter for these pancakes in heart-shapes, I would have had the makings for the perfect V-day post. As it is, I'm just happy I remembered to grab the camera and capture the last two pancakes that remained of the entire batch before they too were devoured with glorious drizzles of hot syrup.

I made these wondrously fluffy blueberry pancakes last weekend for my friend Rohit, who (gasp!) had never before tasted this quintessential American breakfast fare (forgive him, if his name didn't give it away, he's from India). Never fear, I did cuisine-Americana proud - apart from a few over-cooked edges they were practically-perfect: slightly sweet airy cakes zinging with succulent bursts of tart mauvy berries.

My only complaint is that the two remaining pancakes that were photoed don't quite reflect the batch's divine nature. Fortunately, Rohit says, for the sake of a photo-op, he's more than willing to let me make them for him again. As someone who deems most "western" fare bland, unappetizing, and wholly in need of chili sauce, I consider this an enormous compliment and evidence of just how good these pancakes were.



Anne Spice's Blueberry Pancakes

This is a fantastic blueberry pancake recipe - in league with even the best of your buttermilk variety, without the buttermilk (after all, who ever has buttermilk on hand - or can even find it in your local corner shop for that matter?).

The trick is making sure all of the ingredients are room temperature so that the melted better doesn't separate and solidify - I put all the wet ingredients in the microwave for a few seconds on low so that the butter would mix in smoothly. As they always say with pancakes: Do not overmix - just barely combine, lumps are okay! Cook on low heat (to avoid my burned edges) for about 3 minutes on each side. Enjoy!

3 tablespoons sugar
1 1/3 cups all purpose flour
2 3/4 teaspoons baking powder
3/4 teaspoon salt
1 1/4 cups plain low-fat yogurt
1 tablespoon milk
2 large eggs
2 tablespoons melted butter
As many fresh blueberries as you can pack in! (Aim for 2 cups)

Corina! Corina! Cake! and Art!

When Corina, the birthday girl at our apartment this weekend, saw the abstract art detailing atop these mint chocolate chip brownie cupcakes with their substantial layer of dark, intensely-mint-chocolaty ganache frosting, she exclaimed, "Pollock! I love it!"

Ahh, typical Corina -- giving me far too much credit, and herself too little. You see, Corina is a marvelous artist, impressive modern pieces being her favorite to paint. So it was Corina's artwork, not Mr. Jackson's, that served as my inspiration for her cupcakes' abstract appearance. That she would pay me such a compliment, overlooking the fact that her own artistic talents may have influenced the aesthetic of her birthday confection, is just the genuinely un-self-absorbed perfectly lovely soul Corina is.

The cupcakes themselves were made with a brownie recipe that uses one of my favorite techniques for producing properly decadent slices of chocolate heaven - sticking them into the freezer directly after their emergence from the oven. I'm of the "if you want chocolate cake, make chocolate cake" opinion when comes to brownies, and doing this miraculously imparts the brownies with a rich fudginess usually only achieved by using a copious amount of eggs.

As for the chocolate mint frosting . . . well, I can only give approximations here. Put about a half cup of milk (I use skim) on the stove, wait till it starts to bubble around the edges. Turn off the heat and add almost an entire box of "After Eight" mints. Let sit for five minutes, then stir till smooth. Cool for ten minutes before adding at least a half cup of cocoa and enough powdered sugar to produce your desired consistency . . . voila! Ah well, at least it was an attempt at a recipe.



Here Kasey and Marilyn serve up a Guatemalan-style (Corina's homeland) feast to the starving rest of us.








Party on!













Here's Corina, keeping tradition alive . . . in Guatemala, you get cake and frosting smashed onto your face when it's your birthday.













Can you believe Corina didn't think I would concoct any cake creation for her birthday?! (The cupcakes were made in secret and hidden away for the ultimate surprise factor). This was what she whipped up (using a mix, gasp, the sacrilege!) to ensure she'd have something to put candles on. Darling girl, she loved even this.

Qu'ils Mangent du le Gateau! (Let Them Eat Cake!)

My roommate Marilyn, who is French-Canadian, and is "Marie" to friends and family in Montreal, requested that the same rich vanilla cupcakes that attended Kasey's birthday party make an appearance at her own bash.

Even though this meant I had to follow the recipe, since it was the queen-for-a-day making the entreaty, I obliged. I did just what the recipe said I should do to produce twenty-four moist, vanilla-dense, buttery little cakes.

However, I still got artistic with the buttercream, using it to decorate their golden tops with random patterns of M-monograms of all sizes. This "Marilyn" cupcake was expressly created for presentation to the royal birthday girl.



Here, Cinderella is doing the cleaning waltz in her ballet slippers before her feet are graced with the magic of Miu Miu and her guests arrive.



Below is the only shot of the party, which an unknown photographer managed with my camera battery's last breath. That's the back of my head front-and-center, the rest of me is blurry because I'm dancing (no surprise there).

But even if you look very hard, you'll not spot a single ration of any divine floury confection, or even a smidge of pastel frosting; by this point, every last bite of gateau had been devoured by our guests, leaving only the crumbs on the wrappers.

Our Marie said, "let them eat cake," and they did!



Vanilla Cupcakes

As found on the Cupcake Bakeshop by Chockylit website

22-24 regular cupcakes / 375-350 degree oven


1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature
2 cups sugar
4 large eggs
2-3/4 cups all-purpose flour
1-1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/8 teaspoon salt
1 cup milk
2 teaspoons vanilla

1. Beat butter on high until soft, about 30 seconds.
2. Add sugar. Beat on medium-high until light and fluffy, about 3 minutes.
3. Add eggs one at a time, beat for 30 seconds between each.
4. Whisk together flour, baking powder, and salt in a bowl. Add to mixer bowl. Add the milk and vanilla. Mix to combine.
5. Scoop into cupcake papers about half to two-thirds full (depending on whether you want flat or domed cupcakes).
6. Bake for 22-25 minutes until a cake tester comes out clean.

Note: These cupcakes tend to rise quite a bit and will overflow if you put too much batter in the cupcake paper. Keep it under two-thirds full. They also tend to pull away from the papers as they cool. It should be minimal if the cupcakes were baked enough and shouldn’t be an issue.