Quick Bits

Holiday madness came and went. I baked and ate and cooked and ate and ordered takeout and ate and dined out and ate some more (and drank alot of ginger tea to remedy the indigestion).

And now day-job madness beckons, as do trips to the gym to work off all that eating.

But I've been feeling remiss in blog posting and had so many things to share over the past month. It's time for a quick rundown!

-Composed a gorgeous red-velvet-ish peppermint cake for Christmas dinner with my wonderful sis-in-law, Eleanor. Santa's Favorite Cake is a 3-layer creation of swirled white-cake and yellow-cake (loaded with Super Red food coloring) sandwiching peppermint-oil infused cream cheese frosting. Surprisingly easy to make (though watch the swirling; a couple of our layers turned out more pink than candy-cane). Ridiculously rich (have a glass -- or two -- of milk on hand to wash it down). And minty-fresh -- even better on day two once the flavors meld. In the process of crafting this cake, I also discovered a gem of a local retailer: Home Cake. It's literally steps from my house. How I have not visited this wonderful secret in nearly 7 years of living here mystifies me.

-On the mint tip, I recently discovered what may be *THE* Frango Cake recipe that my dear friend Lourdes has been seeking for 18-odd years since the closing of the last Frederick & Nelson. It calls for 4.5 sticks -- sticks! -- of butter in the frosting alone. And courage. And a run.
-I made another recipe out of Molly Wizenberg's book A Homemade Life: The Winning Hearts and Minds chocolate cake, found in the closing chapter. I wanted to make this cake for L (a fellow Orangette fan and foodie) on her 40th bday and bring it to the office. Trouble is, cake isn't oft an easy item to share at work, especially among flu-fearing folk. Cupcakes are a better answer. After a quick consultation with Molly about whether she'd ever tried making this into cupcakes (she hadn't, but predicted they'd turn out more like brownies), I crafted a small batch. Half I nudged into cupcake papers; the other half I spooned straight into the greased muffin tin. The result? Molly was right -- they were dense, fudgy, brownie-ish. And amazing. (Tip: Instead of timing for 20 mins + 2-min bursts as one does for the 8" cake, I set the timer for 10 minutes and tested every 1-2 mins after. Waited for the telltale crackling and barely set (aka still jiggly) center. Pulled them out of the oven about 15 minutes in, all told.)

-It's not all baking around here, I swear (though as I last professed, Kate McDermott's pie-baking class has liberated me from my baking shackles). Anyhow, I had some buttermilk left in the fridge post-Santa cake and used it to whip together a garlicy-good ranch-like dressing for a salmon & arugula salad. (The Penzey's spices given to me by my in-laws are the secret touch, methinks.)

-But I did eat alot of these peppermint "Oreos" from Trader Joe's. One word: Trouble.


-When it was time to ring in 2010, I shook together a Moonwalk cocktail pre-festivities. It may be my new favorite: champagne, grapefruit juice, Grand Marnier, and a touch of rose water.

-Last week I took an inspirational and engaging food-writing workshop led by Rebekah Denn. Loved revisiting the craft of writing and learning (heaps of) techniques to continually improve. Also flattered beyond words that Rebekah enjoyed my piece on Poppy!

-Finally, I am super-excited to tell you more about my lovely friend Rebecca's ventures into jam, jelly, chutney, and sauce making. More on this later; for now, sign up for her newsletter and/or Twitter feed at http://www.deluxe-foods.com/


That's it for now. So much in so little time that I've worked up an appetite.

Catch you soon!
*A

PS: I tweet often (mostly about food); please follow me if you aren't already.

The Art of Pie (Art, not Science)

On a recent dreary Saturday morning, already jam-packed with plans, I added one more layer to the docket: Visit the U-District Farmers market to commune with the farmers and load my tote with a variety of heirloom and organic apples.

Trying not to get too off-track (I'd calculated a max of 20 minutes to spend at the market before running to Starbucks for a cuppa and hitting the road for my next appointment), I intended to make a quick circle-tour of the stands, scanning the selections and jotting mental notes of where to return. Of course, the first stand teemed with apples and butternut squash - both on my list.

What the hell.

I leapt in and bought a couple of Golden Russets to start the collection, plus a squash to stow away for a post-Thanksgiving cous-cous dish.

From there, it was anarchy in the best way possible. Methodical plan out the window, I wend my to whatever spoke to me, loading my bag with the golden and red orbs. The Golden Russets rested next to Waltanas which sat atop some staple-favorite Honeycrisps which laid near the squash. This was the first step in the right direction. For, as pie maven Kate McDermott attests, the making of a pie is an art - not a science.

And this, dear reader, is what changed everything.



A few weeks prior, I'd taken Kate's Art of the Pie class - a 3-hour, hands-on pie-making clinic. Of all the formal cooking classes I've had yet, this one by far was the best. We learned the history and science of the apples going in to our pie. And we got to ask (and ask and ask) questions: "Why the King Arthur flour red-bag flour?" (It's silky and light.) "Why is everything kept cold?" (So when your hot hands plunge into the bowl, the whole mixture's temperature doesn't skyrocket and mar the integrity of your crust.) "How do you know it's done?" (Involve the senses. Bend your ear - carefully - over the pie; listen for the sizzle and the 'whump.' Turn your nose to the kitchen - sniff for the heavenly aroma of apples and spice and all things nice. Use your sight to observe the pie; is the pastry golden brown and the fruit/sugar slightly oozing from the vent holes?)

But the biggest revelation - dare I say epiphany - of the experience was tossing out preconceived notions that making pie is a precise, exact rite. Sure, Kate set out mixing utensils, should we choose to use them; but most all of our group elected the best utensils God gave us - our paws. Being this close to the pastry really helped me know when it was ready; rather than rely on a spoon and pastry cutter to know when the dough was holding together, I swirled and mopped the mixture with my mitts, adding a touch of water or a spoonful more flour, until it started to pull away from the sides of the bowl and cling together.

Same went for the filling: we used knives to cut/core the fruit and a few measuring spoons to dose out sugar/flour/spices. But it was never an exact science -- add a dash more nutmeg should you choose, or another pinch of salt. Don't sweat measuring your flour precisely, leveling it with a knife. Don't even think about grabbing a sifter.

In fact, the only science of the whole procedure was the appearance of a tool that looked like it belonged in a laboratory rather than a kitchen; this refractometer measured the sugar-content of each fruit, so we'd know how much additional sweetness to add to the filling.

I've long loved pies but long loathed the preciseness of baking. I've even set my identity by it. "I'm a cook, not a baker, because I don't like to measure," is a sentence often flowing from my mouth. Kate's class has changed me.

After all, it is meant to be a work of art, like the beauty of a marbled pastry, flecked with fat:



Or the chunky heaps of seasoned and spiced apples, waiting in a mixing bowl:










Or a pre-baked pie, glossy and glimmering with sprinkles of sugar:



And the way the pie deepens in color - maturing and settling with heat and time once pulled freshly from the oven:


















So back to the Farmers market finds. Experimentation and playfulness (not strict order) lent a nice touch. The resulting melange of textures and colors and flavors was tart yet sweet, nicely balanced. (Not equipped with a refractometer, I taste-tested a slice of each apple before adding it to the bowl and dosed in sugars and spices according to my tongue.) Add to this my further experimentation with flours (I tried the King Arthur "white whole wheat") and a vegan shortening - not lard - and I truly made this pie my own creation.

I do not claim to be an expert by any means. The crust was a bit wheaty (I blame the flour) and next time I'd try a different ratio of butter to shortening (more of the former). Maybe even toss in a tablespoon of sugar to the pastry, for kicks. But I am an aspiring artist, trying out my own techniques and brush strokes, finding my voice, and feeling freer by the minute - loose of the previous constraints and shackles of the science. This is art.

Let me count the ways

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
--Elizabeth Barrett Browning

This, oh Poppy, is how I love thee.

I've visited your graceful halls yet once -- a memory etched lovingly on my brain (and on my tongue).

I love thee for an aperitif -- a lemon verbena drop so sweet and verdant. A marriage of citrus vodka, limoncello, and lemon verbena with a sugar rim. I love that said cocktail is quite nice by its lonesome; even nicer when paired with a pile of sensuous eggplant fries.

I love thee for the veritable smorgasbord of small-plate appetizers, had for a few dollars apiece -- kind to the stomach and the wallet. Your lightly fried mussels, ne'er too gamy, matched nicely with a piquant dill aioli. Also, the crater lake blue, onion, and bacon tart (I nudged gently around the bacon; only a few bites "accidentally" dropped down into my fork and mouth).

But it is your dessert thalis -- multiple -- for which I love thee most. Dabbles and dibs of dainty sweet treats, each brilliant in its own right. Like the hand-forged ice cream (various flavors). Or the delicate lavender meringue 'kisses'; I don't even like meringue, and yet I went back for more and more. And oh! The tart apricot bar -- similar in consistency to another local confectionery, but miles ahead in flavor and texture. Harks and heralds to your pastry chef, Dana Cree, a maestro with a mixer.



And I love thee for your whimsical onsite herb garden, the setting for your back-door patio. A quaint, homegrown touch that makes me long for late summer when the sun sits low in the sky over Seattle until past 9 o'clock. Oh!, to sip cocktails and dine on your delicacies surrounded by the heady intoxication of fresh herbs.

You are a gem, dear Poppy. A bright-orange, fiery gem. I long to be dazzled by you again soon.

A blessed bake-ation

Thoroughly enjoying the four-day-long vacation. Kicked it off Wed night by joining the masses and baking a pie for Thanksgiving. Apple. (More on this soon!)

Today, I holla for challah. This is the first time I've made this sweet-bread treat, and so far, so good. After a minor Cosby Show incident (flour all over the kitchen - and me), and discovering that Nirvana's Bleach (recently reissued by Sub Pop in honor of its 20 (!) year anniversary) make the perfect soundtrack/tempo for kneading, the braided dough is now rising in the fridge.

Tomorrow, I'll turn a bag of Meyer lemons into my first-ever batch of lemon curd. Thinking of trying Alton Brown's recipe, though if any of you have other suggestions please send them along.

All in all, I'm thankful for the time, means, and resources to spend a long weekend in the kitchen. Happy Thanksgiving, all!

Plum Perfect

On a dreary Monday night (which, fortunately, was more like a Wednesday due to the short holiday week), I donned my Capitol Hill finest (all-black + tall boots) and hit the slopes to dine at Plum Bistro.

I'd been hearing over and over how great this all-vegan restaurant was, but banking on past experiences (see Teapot) + my love for Seattle vegetarian restaurant supreme Cafe Flora, I wasn't expecting much.

It was a revelation.

I'm still dreaming about the silk mashed yams with garlic that accompanied the delightfully spicy/sweet marinated tofu kebabs (nuggets of tofu alternating with perfect triangles of grilled pineapple).

Also, that heavenly creamy, spicy, rich, and ultra-satisfying Cajun Mac"n"Yease, served alongside a robust, meaty seitan version of chicken-fried steak.
I'm now on a quest to find that macaroni recipe.

For dessert, we sampled both the peanutbutter-chocolate pie and the strawberry crepes. Accompanying the pie was a whipped "cream" that stunned us all. Nary a member of our table believed it to truly be dairy-free, but the waitress swore it was soy. With taste and consistency like that, who needs cows? (For their milk. I love them for their docile presence!)


Suffice to say, it was downright delicious. I don't often trudge up to the Hill, for fear of hipster overload and no parking. But for Plum Bistro, I will return.

Regaining inspiration amidst the grey rain. But are you following me on Twitter for quick dishes? @mozgal !

Orange Things