Photographing

The boule proofing. This was my "first" loaf of bread. I say "first" because it was technically my second (you might recall I mentioned my first being a baguette experiment after reading "French Women Don't Get Fat").


Part of a simple and tasty dinner the other evening. A remaining green pepper, some tomatoes purchased that afternoon, a little onion. Saute. Chicken breast seasoned with honey, paprika, and I can't recall what else. Saute. Corn cobbed and boiled until mature (thank you "Joy of Cooking"). If memory serves, after each bite, I might have uttered multiple "mmmmms" and "ooooohhhhs" and at least one "Oh my God!"



Brioche. Oh, Brioche. A recipe from "Baking Illustrated." I was told to allow the dough to ferment in the refrigerator for at least 10-24 hours. It might have gone a little longer. Worried that the dough would have gone bad or sour I was willing to dump it. Someone wiser suggested I bake. I did. And this is what emerged. Possibly the best bread I have ever tasted in my existence. And it came out of my oven.

Kitchen Therapy

Some people go shopping. Others eat ridiculous amounts of chocolate chased by equally absurd servings of wine. What do I do when I am stressed out or depressed? I bake. Yes, I bake. This morning it was a loaf of brioche. Okay, so this is sort of cheating. I technically started to "bake" this long before the frustration and the stress settled in. But does it really count until you bathe the proofed dough in egg and place it in the oven? I say no. So, stress produced a brioche. A beautiful one at that. Tasty. And perhaps something to rival Keith's challah. Perhaps now my family will stop singing the praises of the one loaf of his they tasted almost a full year ago. Jealous much? No, not at all. It was good bread. Let's move on, shall we?

What else comes after a day (or two) of swimming in self-pity until one's fingers become wrinkled with it? A chocolate cake. Okay, this is also cheating. The batter was already done and baked and the finished cake frosted (there is a funny story in there that tickles me and will have to be written for your pleasure at some point). But I had some batter remaining. I never "saved" batter before but I thought, what the heck, right? Okay, maybe Keith was the one who thought what the heck and told me to save it. But those are minor details that are not at all important to the trajectory of this post. Much like his challah or how good it is. Or how much my parents still talk about it. Let's move on, shall we?

So in went the cake batter tonight into my greased and floured (really, Baker's Joy, $10.99 for a can of convenience?) 6-inch cake pan and out came a beautiful devil's food if-not-exactly-spiced cake (2 teaspoons of chili powder is clearly not enough). On it went some rum frosting. One can never go wrong with chocolate, chili powder, and rum. And now it sits on my counter. To be enjoyed tomorrow.

And with that enters the reason for kitchen therapy. My life should come with the tagline: "To be enjoyed tomorrow." Somewhere in this cosmic universe a grand play is unfolding in which me--the wily, fiery, and fiercely independent dark-haired beauty--fumbles after every turn all while the great lessons of patience and perspective play over and over and over and over and over again. Patience and perspective. The former a lesson I knew I had to learn but never really took the time to. The latter a new lesson to be learned. Perhaps the more bitter of the two. Nay, patience leaves a copper taste on my tongue while perspective allows me to appreciate the notes.

The bottom line: pastry school holds tight until the funds of my focus piggy bank gain weight. A scholarship I hoped for failed to come through. An easy out not so easy and not so much of an out anymore.

Holding tight with a hint of copper on my tongue.

Focus

There are a lot of tricks we all employ to keep ourselves focused. Calendars taped to the walls. Electronic reminders beeping to us in our sleep. Photographs pasted to the refrigerator door. My focus came in a few forms. One, my binder full of recipes and tips, was the first bit of physical focus I pulled into my apartment. This blog yet another. And now I have a third. A can that once contained whole coffee beans has now been covered in recipes from past issues of "Cook's County," a slit has been cut into its plastic top. This is my piggy bank. In it goes loose change, loose bills, random bits of money I might choose to put in there whenever I am moved to. The point of this little piggy? To remember that I am moving toward something greater. To remember that school is still in my future even if I have to pay for it myself with every penny-penny-give-me-luck-i'm -the-one-who-picked-you-up. And if for some reason funding finds its ways through other avenues then that little piggy will walk itself all the way to the bank and to the bakery that will come after school. The home I will build for myself where I will always walk in clean and emerge at the end of the day smelling of cinnamon and flour.

Poor Cookies

Don't adjust your screen. There is nothing wrong with the photograph. It isn't blurry. The cookies are imprisoned. Poor cookies. I truly had no choice in the matter.


You see, I was in the mood for something sweet. Again. I was torn between brownies, cookies, a re-imagining of a s'more. And I finally settled on cookies. White chocolate coconut pecan cookies at that. Their beautiful fragrance melding nicely with the scent of a freshly cleaned apartment and the hint of the humid air beyond my laptop's screen and the smudged window. Okay, the words aren't poetic but that smell was. And I was suckered in. Out came a glass of cold milk (too hot for the coffee I'm really craving) and a single plate for a single cookie. Still warm. Still gooey. The white chocolate slightly firm but collapsing completely once in my mouth. Hints of coconut. Every so often a bite of pecan.

I wanted another. And as I was posing the cookies to capture with my camera, my nose kept brushing against that scent. My stomach lurched. Pushing me forward. I pushed even further. Went straight to the top shelf of my cabinet and pulled out two plastic storage containers. And so they sit imprisoned. And I sit the victor for having withheld and having survived the temptation of another cookie. Perhaps not an actual victor. Those cookies were good and I know I would be all the happier with another one in my belly.

Breakfast This Morning

An early morning this morning. I woke up feeling I was running late and had slept through my alarm (partly because I was sleeping on my alarm). Instead it was a full hour before the alarm was set to go off. I could have gone back to sleep but instead I rolled out the yoga mat, stretched and saluted the sun a few times, and then set myself to the kitchen for breakfast.

Breakfast this morning was the last of the leftover waffles from Monday morning. Keith loves my waffles. I love my waffles. And I can whip them up and together in the time it takes for the coffee to brew. The problem is always that the batter produces anywhere from 5-6 waffles. Did I say problem? How can that be a problem? It isn't. Not only is there enough breakfast for us on whatever morning I make them, but I then have breakfast for another couple of days. I think the waffles actually even get better after a couple of days. Doused with maple syrup and dotted with blackberry jam, I couldn't be happier (that was breakfast yesterday morning). This morning was simple with maple syrup and some chicken sausage because yesterday morning I began to believe that perhaps there was a massive whole in my stomach from which all food was escaping; how else to explain how I was hungry not even two hours after eating a waffle (a large one at that). With no real protein in my diet yesterday I figured a remedy was in order this morning.

As I was reheating, cooking, and pouring a glass of orange juice, I went back to thinking about a picture a friend sent me the other day. The picture was taken possibly no more than three years and sixty plus pounds ago. That lone picture coupled with the sight of my current one (the one used as my profile picture here) got the wheels turning and there are so many thoughts flowing about capturing my journey with food. How I went from a fattie to a foodie. That will be a to be continued.

For now, I look forward to the rest of today, which includes one of the last of the frozen muffins I made with the raspberry peach champagne jam. Tomorrow brings some sort of kitchen adventure. Perhaps even tonight I'll make the cookies my brother adores so much. There is a lot to look forward to. Good morning!

Another Hour

Another hour of an already long string of hours of this day spent in front of a computer. It is no wonder my eyes have gone batty and I need eyeglasses to see down just one tiny little New York City block. This evening spent in front of the computer playing around yet again with the template of this blog. Playing with what is available until I can either enlist someone to create the site I want or until I take the time to teach myself html so I can do it myself. But time spent with html means time away from my kitchen. And time spent customizing the little things like text size and visited link colors also keeps me away from the kitchen.

But earlier this evening there was a break from the mundane and 90 minutes spent in the world of baking. Granted that world was in the words of another and the most amount of work I did was moving my pen under words and lines that I wanted to remember, jot down, and utilize at a later date.

Another batch of bread was made the other morning. Along with four loaves of pumpkin walnut quick bread and an experiment of challah twists that were heaving with cinnamon and plump dumped with density. Not inedible but definitely something to continue to work on. The quick bread was a success. Snacked on our first morning camping. Set over our first camp fire with our first cup of coffee. Snacked on while waiting for the water to boil and the grounds to then sink in.

Sweets call to me now. Sweets always call to me. A cake. Perhaps a cookie or two. Perhaps that summer pie I keep dreaming of making but haven't yet. Perhaps a cheesecake. Perhaps that s'more pie I rolled around the insides of my gooey mouth while sitting beside our last camp fire of the trip.

Third Time Perhaps the Charm?

An evening to myself on Monday night. A bit of a crazy weekend and all I ached for at the end of it was a quiet apartment, no lights, no sound, just quiet. And just the lure of a kitchen waiting for me. It was a little late by the time I made it back home but I knew I wanted to try bread again.

The bag of bread flour came out, my yeast, milk, water, olive oil, and maple syrup. Yes, maple syrup. Starting with the basic ratio of 5:3 (five parts flour to three parts liquid) I altered the liquid used, substituting a little more milk and then going beyond the ratio just slightly to add in a tablespoon of olive oil and another of maple syrup. I mixed, I kneaded, and then waited. In the interim I popped in Branaugh's "Much Ado About Nothing" and relaxed. By the end of the movie the dough was ready for me to shape it and then allow for its proofing. I divided the dough in half and shaped both into baquettes, leaving both on the floured pizza peel and covered with a dish cloth.

An hour later, proofed, I scored and brushed with olive oil. In both baguettes went into the oven and out came ...

Proof and Poof!

There is no picture of the finished loaf because I forgot to take the picture and all that remains now are a few slices. A couple of them toasted on a stovetop griddle to be paired with this morning's breakfast of chicken sausage and eggs.

The bread. If you recall, I recently purchased Ruhlman's Ratio. A great book that aims to teach its readers the fundamental basic ratios of everything from bread to muffins to custards. In the wake of learning these ratios the idea is that the home baker will almost never have to consult a cook book again. Know the basics, master the basics, and you can play as you wish.

The first chapter covers bread. A standard ratio of 5 parts flour to three parts liquid. Add a little yeast, a little salt, knead, rise, knead, shape, proof and poof! bread. Right?

Last Thursday was my first Thursday of the summer of not having to go into work (lots of vacation days that need to be used this summer and Fridays off anyway have gifted me with four-day weekends every weekend this summer). I finally had the time available to attack bread for the first (really, the second, time .. note: The first time I ever made bread was actually from a recipe from "French Women Don't Get Fat" when I first set about to no longer be fat).

Where was I? I tend to fall off track, don't I?

Last Thursday. I took 500 grams of bread flour and 300 grams of water. Sprinked 10 grams of salt and 1 tsp of yeast and set my mixer to knead it all. About 10 or so minutes later the dough had reached its optimal elasticity. It looked perfect. I shut off the machine, placed plastic wrap over the bowl, and let the dough sit for about 2 or so hours while I napped. When I woke the dough had doubled in size. I removed it from the bowl, poked my finger in to make sure it had the right sort of give, and then set about kneading it to "punch" out the gas. I shaped the dough into a boule and then left it on my pan to proof. When complete I scored with a giant "X" and brushed on olive oil that was full of fresh rosemary and some dried thyme.

45 minutes later my boule was a beautiful golden brown. Impatient I couldn't let it sit. I thumped the bottom and then grabbed my bread knife and sliced in. Tasty ...

The final thoughts: the bread was tasty but:

(1) I would have liked it a little more "airy," i.e. have more pockets of air, making the bread have more of a "netting" look, something I am a fan of in my purchased loaves.

(2) I would have liked a little more crunch to my crust. The first thing I might do is bake it a little longer. The second "fix" will be to use my baking stone instead of a cookie sheet.

The plan is to make bread again very soon. This time I'll shape into a baguette. This time I'll use the baking stone. This time I'll play with what liquid I use (no need to only use water). This time I might add with some other extra seasonings.

This time for next time.

Patiently Waiting

For these muffins to cool. In the meanwhile I procrastinate with taking pictures, checking Facebook, and playing around with the template for this site (again!). At some point I am sure I will either (a) teach myself html so I can format this to look exactly the way I want it or (b) buy Seton a beer and beg him to redesign it for me.

Why does the layout matter so much? And why would I be writing about that instead of the muffins that are sharing this dining table/desk/end table/catch all for my junk that I am currently sitting at? Because I am adore order and I work best when my working area works for me. Things need to be where they belong. Out of place and I concentrate more on that then the task at hand. Hence, the entire paragraph on this ridiculousness.

It has been AGES since I have written or posted anything, hasn't it? Apart from this site I have also been relaxed in posting to other food blogging sites. Not to mention my time in the kitchen has not been nearly as plentiful as I hoped.

Yes, there was the 5am attempt at dried apricot scones. Turned out more like weird biscuits. Not a fan.

There was my baby brother's birthday cake. That was started, um, twice. That's what happens when you get in your mind that the cake you were making called for 1 1/2 cups of milk instead of just 1/2. And, well, once you have already beaten in the four eggs into the over the top milk, well, you have no choice but to start over. There went 4 eggs, 1 1/2 cups of milk, and about 2 cups of flour (something like 10 ounces). Oh, and sugar. There was sugar in there too. And vanilla extract! All of it in the trash. Started again. I can't believe I forgot the wasted butter too. I need to move on. Moving on. The cake. Tasty. Basic yellow with a lemon icing. The icing was SWEET and quite lemony. My niece licked all of the frosting clear off her cake and kept saying out loud how good it was. I truly believe that is what every baker strives to hear--a five year old who never eats anything you bake and calls your souffle a "snowflake" exclaim loudly how good the cake is.

The remaining icing had to then be used somehow. So I made cupcakes out of another yellow cake batter. Keith and I took those to two separate picnics and the remaining ones were taken to work where colleagues decided dessert was best served at 10am with the first morning's cup of coffee. Who am I to argue?

There was a batch of late night cookies. I played with the recipe and added a touch of ginger. A few days later the cookies are still moist and chewy and the ginger is coming on strong. Gives a great extra kick to the overall taste. And it makes me want to buy a cookie jar. Some people disagree but who doesn't love a cookie jar?

There was also my first (well, second) batch of bread. But that will be for a later post and a tomorrow post. Because I am tired. My feet are dirty. And I need a shower.

But tonight. Tonight I took a great gift of Raspberry Peach Champagne Jam and I folded two heaping spoonfuls of it into the muffin batter I had waiting. I find myself waiting now. Not so patiently. I need the muffins to cool so I can wrap and freeze for later consumption. There is nothing like taking one of those out of its casing and plopping it in the oven to warm to have with a cup of joe in the morning.

I sent a message of thanks to the giver of the gift along with a picture of the cooling muffins. This serves as an extra thanks. A humble thanks. A very grateful thanks.

Now what should I bake tomorrow? ;-)