Lazy Writer

And a fairly lazy baker ...

Well, we'll see how lazy. Below are some pictures from what I have baked since my last posting. First up, the prototype for my *pucker up* cupcakes. These only had lime zest in a classic yellow cake batter and were then topped with a lime icing. The next round will have lemon and lime zest and lemon and lime icing.



Then there was the Gingered Almond Apple Pear Pie ... A basic flaky pie dough crust. The top layer cut out with fluted biscuit cutters and then individually layered on the filling. I think I could have used more pears to balance out the apples and I think an extra bit of candied ginger sprinkled on the top pastry layer instead of just plain sugar could have made a lot of difference.


There was the apple pie that actually came before the above pie. It was the first pie I baked this fall and the first for quite a while. Perhaps an entire season? It seems I became a little too lost in cakes, cupcakes, and cookies. It was baked for a night of great discussion and conversation with friends. The next day I received an email from one friend saying she ate every crumb of the last two remaining slices on her counter. And she kept asking about the crust, how she had never had anything like it, and how she never eats all of a pie's crust but that she could not stop herself with mine. A true compliment indeed. The best a baker can receive.


And then there were last night's cookies. Keith came over. I had beer to help celebrate the Angels win over the Yankees but nothing sweet to offer. Mini muffins full of blueberries, cranberries, and cherries (sorry, no pictures) were tucked away in a container, wrapped in plastic, and in the freezer. I jokingly offered to bake cookies. He took me up on the offer and we spent a late night in my kitchen, talking, cleaning, baking, and then enjoying the cookies. They came out quite plump and cake-y. I love them!

Rich Chocolate Cake

With a bittersweet chocolate buttercream.

I wish I had more to say or more to write. Some clever words and musings. But nothing. It has been a rough week of battling a sore throat that seems to refuse to want to get better despite medication and enough tea and honey in my system that I'm now sweating the stuff. I swear my armpits smell like chai. Okay, that's just crass. But it's staying in here because, well, I'm tired and slightly annoyed and, frankly, don't care if I am crass or not.

Later this week there is a bake sale. Brownies perhaps. Blondies for sure. Or maybe just cookies. Apples keep calling me. I picked up two at the farmer's market yesterday. One is already gone. Along with some celery, potatoes, a bell pepper, and some onion (for the honey home remedy ... yummy. Seriously).

I am surrounded right now by cookbooks (didn't I just complain I didn't have any more to say or write?) and I can't think of one thing to do with them. Actually, I'm surrounded by a number of books I can't lift a finger to flick. This is what happens when a normally active mind and body suddenly has to rest to take care of a throat that isn't getting any better anyway. A week wasted? Perhaps. More time wasted by bitching right now? Most definitely.

Here's a bit of wisdom on this rainy Sunday evening. Blah.

What will I bake?

Dear lord, what will I bake? What will I bake? What have I baked??? I don't believe I have shared.

Let's start with the walnut brownies with a white chocolate swirl.

Here are the brownies ...


Here is the swirl ...


And then Keith turned 33. And I had NO idea what to make for him. I think I moved into my brain for a good two weeks until something hit me with a "duh" stick the night before the festivities were to begin. How could I not bake him black and white cookies ...


The recipe was okay but I was a little distracted and I mixed the flour more than I wanted to so the cookie was too dense for my taste. But, well, if you don't mind me patting myself on the back, not bad at all for the first attempt. The taste was exactly where I wanted it. EXACTLY. Just a touch of lemon coming through the cookie. The texture is what I'll work on. Improve upon. But it was worth it to walk into my living room with three cookies on a plate and sing him Happy Birthday a few moments after midnight.

Oh, and his birthday "cake?" A lime tart. A little on the thin side (what do you expect when you stretch it out into a 10-inch tart pan ...


Now, on to the question of what to bake for this Friday's dinner. I'm thinking I might attempt the Root Beer Chocolate Cake courtesy of Baked. But today is the first day of fall. And I let the entire summer go by without one stinkin' pie. I think this Friday calls for an apple pie. With apples purchased straight from the market and my dough made from scratch. Yum. Yum. Yum. The minutes are slowly ticking my. Slightly in tune with the new grumbling in my belly.

Reading Material Received

This wasn't the first choice when I flipped through the Appendix of my CIA "Baking and Pastry Arts" book. The book whose image appears below was the first choice. But this is here now (along with the one below) and I am a little too excited to sit here with their spines uncracked as I wait another 2-3 hours before being able to go home. And, well, truth be told, this nagging sore throat and cough means I will snuggle up with nothing more than my prescribed Robitussin with codeine when I finally crawl into bed.

Lesson Number 1: Understanding the Basic Ingredients

Do I understand them any more than I did with my first reading? Maybe during the second reading when I also let my pen bleed along the important points and etched thoughts in the margins? No. Perhaps this third time is the charm. A plan in place and to follow. And five more pages of notes to place in my binder.

Why does my head hurt? Why so long between posts? Why writing aimlessly now? Easy to answer the third; definitely the second -- procrastination. There is approximately one punctuation mark remaining to put these five additional pages to rest and I am instead writing here. Babbling really. Pointless perhaps.

I need my kitchen.

Is Summer Really Over?

And has it really been almost a full month since my last entry?

Before I get into what could have been or what was not done this summer let me bring you with me to a memory that I want to etch forever in my mind. Late last week I turned 30. Yes, the big, and seemingly obnoxious, 3-o! I don't feel 30. I don't know what 30 is supposed to feel like. What I felt on that day, however, was overwhelming love from friends. Keith surprised me with a dinner party with the closest friends I have, most strangers to each other, but absolutely and 100% beloved by me. At one point in the evening, as I was walking back to my apricot ale and fried pickles the following stopped me:

Jackie: Jenny, what is it that you're supposed to bake for me?
Me: A berry crisp.
Adam: And what are my favorite cookies?
Me: White chocolate dipped almond shortbread.
Carlos: And what did you promise me for my birthday?
Me: A white chocolate cheesecake with a hazelnut crust.

I then looked to Rachel and David who were beaming with smiles and I thought of my "brookies."

So many great friends and if there was one overwhelming emotion, thought, expression, etc., it was this "I have had the pleasure of baking for all of you. And I will continue to have that pleasure. And I thank you for allowing me to do so. Thank you for my very happiest of birthdays!"

Back to the summary of this summer: I didn't bake or experiment quite as much as I would have liked. But I baked. And I paid attention to what was around me. And I thought a lot. And I read a bit. And I think I have a handle on something more than nothing, which is better than where I have been.

But where am I really now that the summer season has come to a close and work sets into full swing tomorrow?

I am sitting here none too pleased or tickled with my blog name. Time to change. Something less harsh sounding. Recommendations accepted.

I am seriously contemplating another internship instead of my original plan to just sit tight in my apartment and experiment and read and learn.

On the other hand, I am also seriously contemplating moving into my kitchen, setting out a more detailed plan (horribly lacking this summer), get to reading and studying and really focusing on laying out a self-educating plan. On the side I might take a business class or two.

What can I take away from this summer?

Two cakes. One chocolate and paid for. Another lemon and adored.

A pancake recipe I can finally love. No milk. Some soy. Some yogurt. And lots of fluff and tangy taste.

Brioche that sweetly sits and waits for me to turn into a loaf and then a snack or breakfast. The next loaf absolutely must become a bread pudding.

Cookies and muffins galore.

The absence of a pie and looking forward to a fall season of pumpkins and apples.

Flan. Regular. Coffee. Coconut. Sweet. Too sweet. Just right. Needs rum.

Another About Me and Flan!

I have edited info about me and fell in love with this piece:

Two parts passion. One part hope. Yet one can so easily find her pantry lacking. Hope settled in somewhere in the back and its expiration date quickly settled in and set up residence for the week. Passion, left to dry on the counter, floundered about looking for another recipe that could use its room temperature state. And one can easily be left questioning what to do. Explore. Measure out the bit of passion still fresh. Scrape at the top of hope and burrow for the flesh still ripe. Assemble its simplicity and enjoy the show of the smells floating around the kitchen space, wafting from the cracks in the oven door.

Wait ... the flan! One can condensed milk, one can evaporated milk, a lite spring shower of vanilla extract. Place on stove top. Beat five eggs and stir into milk mixture. Allow to heat, not bubble, until mixture is warm to the touch. Meanwhile (or before, I tend to do this before) place 3/4 cup of brown sugar and 1/4 cup of liquid (water, orange juice, apple juice, rum, etc.) into a saucepan, bring to a boil, lower temperature, and allow to simmer until the mixture is dark brown and syrupy. Pour into individual ramekins or a pie plate (I prefer the pie plate), and allow to set/cool. Check on your milk mixture. And then smack yourself upside the head for forgetting to preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Another slap for forgetting a 1/2 cup of sugar in the milk mixture (I forgot the first time, it was fantastic, I didn't forget this last time, it was a little too sweet). Add any variation you wish to the milk mixture. Yesterday I added slightly over 1/4 cup of strongly brewed coffee. Um. Now what? Oh, strain the milk mixture (when ready) into the pie plate or ramekins. Set into a bain marie, put into oven, and let cook for 45 minutes.

Run your knife around the edge to loosen. When cool invert onto plate. Note this is messy and will result in caramel dripping everywhere. No fear. Just dip your finger into the mess and enjoy a bit of dessert before dessert. Happy baking!

Happy Birthday, David!

There you go. The cake says it all, doesn't it? Happy Birthday, David! If you take a close look you might notice that the squiggly lines are a little squiggly in more places than they should be. If you took a closer look at my hands that afternoon you would have noticed a slight shaking. A bit of a ledge I had to talk myself down ... that the cake was going to taste great. That the icing was perfect and wouldn't pool into one lemon mess. And that I would, for goodness sake, actually spell his name or even "Happy" correctly. All worked out well. If the picture doesn't tell you that, let me say the round of applause I received at the birthday party would.

Thirsting for some additional information about the cake? It was lemon. Very lemon. I took a standard yellow cake recipe for two 9-inch cakes, added the zest of two lemons, and, poof, like magic, a cake. Well, more like magic, maybe a little praying, a dance or two to the gods of leavening, and an offering to the mistress of taste, and, poof!, a cake. The two cakes were then split in half with each layer receiving a healthy sprinkle of lemon syrup (equal parts lemon juice and sugar, brought to a boil, and cooled) and lemon curd. The citrus tower was then topped with a quick lemon icing (confectioner's sugar, a little milk, some butter, vanilla extract, and more lemon curd). I later thinned the icing, added some food coloring, and set about wishing David the happiest birthday I could wish him.

In a way I felt like I was also wishing it to myself. I can never give a baked gift without feeling as if I am stealing some of it in return. The smiles I see, the licked spoons, the clean plates, are all like little blue boxes wrapped with sparkly pink bows.

Happy right back at ya!

Rainy Day Farmer's Market

The idea seemed so comforting at the time--the rain was light, on and off, one block heavy, the other a sprinkle. Why not walk the 34 blocks to the Farmer's Market? Perhaps because by block 16 the shoes were soaked, the pants were drinking water like a neglected houseplant (a marigold perhaps), and my umbrella was leaking. Yes, leaking. But I had failed to pick up anything by the market near closer to my apartment and after a few days of cakes, sweets, and lots of bread in each meal (breakfast, lunch, dinner, and dessert), I wanted a collection of veggies that would help to make me feel clean and nourished and light. Tomorrow will be a heaving day of work and the gym and now laundry (darn rain!) and so there would be no time for any visit to the market. Today was my only option. So I walked. And then I perused. And this is what is now mine to work with this week:


The possible menu:

Carrots--to be chopped and used with some remaining hummus for snacks during the workweek. These will also be chopped and added with the potatoes, onions, and the yellow squash (looks sort of putrid in the photo) to stew a little as a side dish for some chicken I plan to bake.

Potatoes--see above. ;-)

Yellow Squash--in addition to the veggie mash I'll also slice a bit of it to add to some salad greens in my crisper drawer and to also add to lunch sandwiches (gouda, salami, squash, onions, yummy!).

Onions--Various and multiple uses. The veggie mash. The lunch sandwich. In breakfast omelets. And, if I'm really adventurous, a focaccia that will incorporate some goat cheese already in the fridge and ...

Tomato--A little slice into a salad or a lunch sandwich. Half of it sliced into the possible focaccia ... if I'm feeling adventurous.

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? ;-)

To be continued ...

I tried hard not to cry. I looked at the clock, saw how close it was to my time, turned back around to my station and wiped down the last bits of lemon and egg yolk. Tulia walked over and said "it's time, isn't it?" I smiled and didn't look at her.

My last day at the bakery. After six months of going in twice a week for a few hours a day it is hard to know that when I walked away from the kitchen today, I would not be returning. At least not for a while. There were encouraging words. Questions about what I would do next. Compliments. And thanks. And then I was done. Augusto was in the locker room as I threw my last sullied towel into one basket and my relatively clean apron into another.

Today was simple. I made frosting for our German Chocolate cakes. And made the lemon syrup for our lemon cake. I then creamed the butter and started the sugar mixture for our Swiss Meringue Buttercream Frosting. In between I chatted with Gerard about everything from sour cherries (frozen vs. fresh) to crumb cakes.

Soon I will sit down and write down all that I have learned before I truly forget it all. This morning on my way in Keith asked what were the top three things I learned from my time and here they are:

(1) Patience. A lesson learned many times over from the most simple action of scooping cookies to making yellow cake. And with that case, in particular, I remember being so anxious to move to the next step that I didn't properly scrape the bowl and was left with chunks of butter that I then had to try to smooth out into the batter.

(2) Chocolate is messy. No matter which way you cut it. If it's frozen, melting, room temperature, a frosting, a cake, a custard, a pudding, or a biscotti. It is MESSY. And I have a respect for chocolatiers for my teeny little bit of time spent with that confection.

(3) The importance of colleagues. Working side by side with bakers of all kinds improves your work. Not only what you make in a kitchen but the way you make it.

Many more things to write but I feel my brain scattered. I'm still too close to the melancholy to think of anything more to say. To be continued ...

Food Therapy

Last night provided little sleep. And what was had was restless. Too many thoughts ran through my head. Unsaid words. Said words. Things undone. Or done. When the day's light ran in through my window early this morning I gave up trying to will myself to sleep and walked into the one place I knew I could find peace of mind.

You might look for a warm room with a soft glow from a table or desk lamp. I look for my brown sugar. You might seat yourself in a comfortable armchair or spread out on a chaise. I grab a mixing bowl and my wooden spoon. You might find someone in front of you or beside you, speaking to you, listening to you, asking questions, offering guidance or just a welcome silence in which to fold yourself. I find myself with my flour friends who never speak but allow me to work.

There is no guessing with baking. If I want muffins there is a certain amount of flour to a certain amount of fat. If I want a cake there is a different amount called for. But always a certain amount. Items are weighed and measured and save for a few spicy or extra sweet kicks there is always the basic from which to start. Follow those basics and you can't go wrong. You might have a normal, run of the mill cake, but it will still be a cake. It will still be edible. And if you want to play with it, you can. Add some cinnamon, add a little nutmeg, crystallized ginger, substitute brown sugar. Spice it and sugar it and make it yours.

If only life could be as easy. Five parts communication to three parts affection.