A Scrap of Paper

I think it might still be in the pair of jeans I was wearing that Wednesday morning. I remember it being a little greased from the butter on my fingers. I remember it looking fragile folded into fours. A little slip of paper that held these words:

Jenny 6/10

1 - German Chocolate Frosting
2 - SMBC Frosting
3- Chocolate Silk Frosting

The little slip of a scrap of a piece of paper held on to a metal shelf on a brick wall by a binder clip. In front of my station in the sweets kitchen of the bakery. On most mornings over the past six months I have had the pleasure of watching frostings made, I have even assisted once or twice (the most recent time with Luis who hadn't made any of the frostings in ages and had to constantly consult his book for hints and who asked me to translate certain things into his spiraled pages so he would remember for the next time around), but I had never been assigned those to create on my own. My frostings were made at home, in my empire red Kitchen Aid with no more than a pound of butter or confectioner's sugar, never enough for more than two cups of frosting, never more than enough to frost a 9-inch layer cake. Definitely not what I was now tasked to make--enough to fill four to six tubs and each made with more butter than I typically purchase in an entire year.

I looked at the piece of paper and then at Wilna. And she smiled. It's easy enough she told me. You'll be fine. Tulia walked by later, prepping her butter for the frostings she thought she would make. Wilna's words again. Jenny is making the frosting today. And so I did. Melted chocolate. Creamed butter. Whipped egg whites. Heated yolks together with evaporated milk. Stirred. Whisked. Heated. Beat. Creamed. Mixed. Spooned. And labeled. Before me at the morning's end: one large container of German Chocolate Frosting, four tubs of SMBC frosting, and three of the chocolate. No lumps, thank you. And the SMBC held together in exactly the way I prayed it would as I saw the paddle attachment of the mixer whipping the whites into soft peaks and then staying in place as the creamed butter was added. Frosting that held together on my next morning when I was charged with frosting four red velvet cakes and the tubs I pulled had the familiar markings of my own handwriting. The same with the Devil's Food Cake I frosted later when I wished Christine a Happy 30th Birthday. Frosting that Lucia later used in her German Chocolate cake.

I plan to hold on to that scrap of paper for as long as the greased creases remain together. And then I'll bind them in tape. And then I'll put them in a keepsake box. The beauty is in the simple things. A simple scrap of paper that will always remind me that someone else gave me a challenge, knew I could do it, and then smiled at me as she saw me complete it successfully.

Pulled Pork and BBQ

Exiting the station at 23rd I kept waiting for the wafts of bbq and smoked and charred meats to hit my nostrils. If this really was as big of an event as I always heard it to be, then why wouldn't those scents make their way into the littered stalls of the underground transit authority? But, no, no hint of honey or tomato or cinnamon. Only the smell of sweat from the gentleman slowly and huffingly making his way up the stairs above me. Coming up streetside, the passing buses and trees of Madison Square Park hid the tents from my view making me wonder, "if I don't smell it, if I don't see it, and I'm not tasting it, does this event really exist? And then I saw it, the music stage and beyond that billows of smoke coming up from the stands in the distance along Madison Avenue. And the crowds. Not many at that hour. It seemed like more of those in the area were interested in Shake Shack than the promised heavenly offerings of some of the South's best bbq masters. A troubling sign of our culture when good, down home American Cuisine was being completely ignored for a mediocre burger and overpriced shake from a shack?

Keith and I idled for a moment. Letting the smells tug at our bellies, building up the desire, seeing the passing disposable cartoned containers of ribs, pulled pork, beans, and coleslaw. Finally we made our way to Madison Avenue. A quick look at the map. A quick look at the lines and the vendors. A quick punch from my belly when my eyes hit "Pulled Pork and Coleslaw." That's what it wanted. A pulled pork sandwich. And that is what I indulged in. After passing the horrendously long line for the on-site celebrity (my stomach lurched my legs forward toward a smaller lined stall) we stopped and waited for a group that was more famous for their sauce than the pork. Sitting along a building window's ledge with my sandwich slathered and swimming in the infamous sauce I resisted temptation and dipped my fork into the coleslaw at first. It was heavy on the vinegar but the pieces of pickles sliced and diced definitely caught my attention and made my stomach produce the first smile of the afternoon. Next the pork. Heavy on the salt but still a good season blend that made me think more of my father's pernil than anything I would ever imagine coming from a grill (his is slow roasted and swims in garlic). The bbq sauce was a great addition and welcome with the soft bun. The sandwich melted in my mouth and came apart in my hands and I happily licked every piece of scrap of pork and sauce and bread from my hands and the carton it was delivered in.

Coriander. You devil. How could I forget you. A greasy-aproned gent holding an aluminum tray stood by yelling his free offerings of bbq ribs. I grabbed one. Took a bite. The meat was dry. And, well, tasteless. All of the tastes concentrated on the rub that either hadn't had enough time to soak through or that was put on at the end and sent to the grill in that unfortunate condition. Coriander is what I got a mouthful of. Don't misunderstand, I love it. And use it. Quite frequently in a cocoa-spiced rub both my father and I are obsessed with. But there is a hint of it. Not a helping. Unfortunate blip on an otherwise perfect outing.

My stomach is still smiling. Perhaps aided by the later indulgence of a brownie from Blue Smoke's stand and a cup of coffee.

A Kid in a Candy Store

Books. I read them. I devour them. Some might complain I collect them (i.e. I purchase books even when I own plenty that have not had their spines cracked yet by my hands). And I am now drowning in them. A Central Park picnic surprise of Bourdain's "Nasty Bits" that I take with me on the train or to bed (because who doesn't want to read about blackberries swimming in seal blood or the go-to dives of Hell's Kitchen right before you are whisked away to Dreamland). A friendly loan of Ruhlman's "Soul of a Chef" where I find myself many times in public wincing in horror at the trials endured in becoming a Certified Master Chef or in running your own business. But where I also find myself nodding in agreement over the craft of this world I have decided to plop my feet firmly upon. And now I have before me, taunting me, enticing me, beckoning me ... Ruhlman's latest work ... "Ratio." A special purchase meant to be used as a supplementary textbook for the education I continue to provide myself.

Some Fun in the Kitchen

Tonight for dessert? Strawberry, rhubarb, raspberry crisp. All fresh from the market (save the raspberry that is fresh from my freezer). The first time I have purchased rhubarb. The first time cooking with it. And the first time tasting anything with it. We shall see how it turns out. Stay tuned for pictures and another update.

This was the beginning of the dessert. The strawberries and rhubarb were cut and sliced. The raspberries dropped in whole. Some sugar. Some flour. Some lemon juice. And I let it sit. The topping contained some additional flour, some additional sugar, a little bit of butter, and chopped hazelnuts. Because we were both a little occupied with the action surrounding the Corleone family in their second saga, dessert might have cooked a little too long, bubbling over on to the cookie sheet I thankfully placed underneath the individual ramekins. It was hot and sweet and would have gone perfectly with a scoop of fresh vanilla ice cream on top.

A lost post. Found. Shared.

Originally written and posted somewhere on January 7. So much promise and focus for 2009 that is so wrapped in this dream to walk each morning in to a kitchen. To see my life continue to unfold with a kitchen at its core. Enjoy ...

Literally rolling. Too many cookies, cups of hot cocoa (with requisite marshmallows), dinners out, and too little time at the gym. Oy! At least I can still squeeze into my jeans (thank god for the invention of stretchy fabric). I'm waiting for my croissant dough to chill enough for its next two turns so I'll take this moment to reflect (and to avoid doing other work I know should be done).

The end of 2008 and the beginning of 2009 is leaving me with a lot of hope for what the rest of this year has in store for me. Christmas this year was spent in San Francisco. We walked the city streets, ate delicious food, visited the most sublime little bakery at the Ferry Terminal (I will be attempting to replicate those little delicious french macaroons at some point during my little vacation), watched my favorite holiday movie of all time ("A Christmas Story") and another ("It's a Wonderful Life") that I want to make part of my Christmas Eve tradition. I ate freshly baked croissants dunked into potato leek soup and cinnamon rolls washed down with many cups of coffee. Talked about my dreams and plans over a glass of wine while staring out at the city landscape. Indulged in a seafood stew and I promise there are embarrassing pictures of me in a lobster bib somewhere; they will stay hidden for as long as possible. There was salmon and dinner rolls, chocolate cheesecake, and sushi for an early afternoon lunch (before the long trip back to NYC). There was early morning coffee and bagels and great conversation. Great conversation at every turn. Promising. Inviting. Intoxicating.

Back home in NYC there was Christmas morning recreated (sort of) with the family. My baking dreams all realized in the form of cake servers, thermometers, cake pans, loaf pans, popover pan, a scale, another cookbook. My elephant dreams satiated with a little iron sculpture and a clock on reclaimed redwood from a wine barrel. My heart happy.There was a trip through the Zoo's Winter Wonderland with a four-year-old who made me run from tigers to giraffes to reindeer to sea lions to decorating cookies amid ice sculptures. A nap desperately needed but never achieved. But overwhelming love felt as she wrapped her hands around my neck, her napping head on my shoulder, and the tender tone of "I love you, Titi."

There was New Year's Eve party where midnight struck as I was in my kitchen with my man, pouring champagne while we both laughed; the apartment full with family and friends ringing in the new year while watching "Big Trouble in Little China" instead of a crystal ball dropping. If time with friends, family, me in my kitchen, my man laughing at my side is what 2009 has in store for me then I can not be more blessed. There was more time with family. Loud. Full of food. Good food. The kind that satiates more than just physical hunger. Grace was said, I held your hand, and I smiled.

Movies were watched (lots of movies). There was Doubt, Slumdog Millionaire, and the Curious Case of Benjamin Button. Which left me, curiously, appreciating the fleeting nature of life and how important it is to live each moment to its full potential, without fear, without doubt, but with hope and love and promise.

And then there was ice skating. My first time. I didn't fall. But I laughed and squealed a lot. No pictures. Sorry.

Brownies in Cookies?

At a dinner party last week (the one previously written about with David's experiment for his cooking contest) I made brownies with white chocolate and hazelnuts. The brownies were good but not exactly what I wanted. Regardless, they were tasty and I as well as company enjoyed eating them.

But there were so many of them left over. So so many. What could I possibly do with all of those brownies? I didn't want to keep eating them. I had already shared them. Yet they still sat on my counter and each night they spoke to me, saying, it's okay, eat me, you'll go to the gym tomorrow and work me off in two hours. Oy!

I knew I wanted to do something else with them. What could I do with left over brownies? Crumble them into ice cream? It's still a brownie. I wanted to take the brownie and create something completely new. Where the presence of the brownie would be a surprise. Not an expectation. How I came to a cookie I don't know. But I did. And in they went.

The basics: I took a simple chocolate chip cookie recipe I had tried many times before and am absolutely in love with. But I didn't want a standard chocolate chip cookie. I wanted the extra kick of more chocolate. I had a double chocolate chip cookie recipe I had tinkled with before but that I wasn't the biggest fan of (though others were ... that elusive "I like that cookie" response finally escaped from Crystal's lips). So, I thought, why not just add cocoa powder to the standard chocolate chip recipe and use the brownie as the kick instead of the chocolate chips. In went the cocoa powder, in went the crumbled brownies, and in went extra white chocolate chips (for color balance and to make it look more visually appealing).

The result: the cookie is moist, big and chunky, the contrasting white chocolate makes it look divine and scrumptious, and the brownie bites are little explosions of extra chocolate. Success. And my apartment smells like chocolate and freshly baked cookies. I don't think there is a better scent.

Another Night, Another Computer

I walked into work this morning and the sun was shining quite strong overhead. I ducked into my cave for the day. A 10-hour work day scheduled with enough craziness in the midst of it to mean I would not get much time to leave. Heels that were cute but annoying enough to cause most movement to be painful. A quick escape for a few minutes yielded some sun, some fresh air, a gift of a coffee crisp, and "The Soul of a Chef." Lunch was a pasta dish with some sauteed chard, diced cherry tomatoes, a handful of artichoke hearts, a little bit of garlic, and some mozzarella. And perhaps a side of the coffee crisp. Lunch also served another helping of internet surfing of Dining and Wine sections, blogs, and a new online magazine catering to those like me who are obsessed with the craft of sweets.

As I left work and felt the welcome humidity and heat and saw the waning sun over the Hudson, I didn't want to get on the train to go home to my teeny apartment whose only view to the outside world are a handful of windows and one tiny little marigold plant purchased 3 days ago and miraculously still alive. Perhaps instead a sip of wine outside? Or perhaps a stroll to the park to see the last bits of the sun escape? No. Instead I am at another computer. Facing my windows and looking at the sky and the little bit of nature ahead. An improvement from the earlier day.

But at least now my aim and purpose in front of a computer is to capture those recipes I have experimented with and loved. To pull them all into one format, save, send, print, and then insert into that beautifully growing cookbook.

A smile escapes from the stress held between my shoulder blades.

One more note, I had thought to take the brownies I have remaining (with white chocolate and hazelnuts) and make them the extra chunk in double chocolate cookies. The night is still young. Perhaps those will still be made.