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.