Rumble in the Kitchen

Oh, Gumdrop, I think we're in for a bit of a rumble on this one, which isn't exactly in the holiday spirit of things. You've been too kind to let me participate in this decision. And more importantly, you've given me these options after I was grilled by my maman about precisely what I was bringing for Boxing Day dinner. Have you faced the wrath of a mother entertaining her daughter's in-laws for Box Day? I dithered, I waffled, I crumbled. I ran to Dorie too and came up with three options: the cranberry shortbread cake, the chocolate armagnac cake or the peppermint cream puff ring. Using your exact rationale, I settled on the cream puff ring (I do adore a pate a choux). My mother could sleep easy now that her menu was complete (although I suspect she tossed and turned a little about the table decor).

However, since I graciously told my mother that I would get the ingredients so she wouldn't have to, I do have some mom-free time to change my mind. So I propose the current contenders are: pavlova (although those upside-down Australians celebrate Christmas during their summer), a chocolate cream tart or the peppermint cream puff ring.

Round #2...

merry, merry,
Pickle

P.S. At least your childhood barf-fest was the result of a boozey dessert. Mine was a 4 year old's adventure drinking the dregs from beer bottles during a cottage afternoon. I've hated beer ever since. Don't both those stories tell you everything you need to know about growing up in the 70s?

Baking, Kinda Sorta Just Like Mom

Dear Gumdrop-

You are a dear friend and I will always forgive you for any lapse in blog postings, particularly when a persnickety mutual friend’s notorious deadlines are involved.

However, I’m not sure I can forgive you for the rhubarb and chocolate combination. You can swear it was delicious up and down the golden horseshoe, but I’ll never be convinced. Potentially barf-inducing is putting it mildly. I still shudder thinking of the combination (but I also hate it when my food touches on the plate. Gross. Some childhood habits die hard).

I also shudder when I think about those cinnamon squares. I’ve made them before too. As part of my campaign to buy the in-laws love and adoration with baked goods, the squares were part of this Christmas’ homemade present. I’m thankful that Latvians have a hearty constitution after endearing all those years under Russian occupation. Who else could stomach a lump of sawdust and call it festive?

This Christmas, I’ll be filling people’s stockings with Chipster-Topped Brownies, assuming I don’t succumb to a sugar-induced coma before then. These are bit-sized morsels of insanity. I under-baked these a bit, which some hypercritical-but-otherwise lovely and supportive mother suggested was some sort of violation of international baking laws. She was wrong, of course. That gooey chocolate brownie topped with the golden buttery chocolate chip layer should be nominated for a Nobel peace prize. One little square could ease tensions in the middle east (they’re kosher, aren’t they?). I have to admit; I was a little scared about spreading such heavy cookie dough on top of the brownie dough. I might try to flip the layers next time, just to see (that sounds like a legitimate reason to make another batch, doesn’t it?). These do fit nicely in a cookie jar, but they certainly don’t last long. Certainly not long enough for me to take a picture.

So to replenish my woeful makeshift cookie jar (how could I neglect to register for something so essential?!?!), I whipped up a batch of chocolate malted milk ball cookies while I was at the cottage. I’m not usually a fan of chocolate cookies, but I quite like these ones. They’re a bit more cake-like than cookie-like so they’re almost like a whoopee pie texture, but filled with chocolate chunks and malted milk balls. Brilliant really. My one adjustment would be to leave the malted milk balls whole. Chopped up, they disappeared too much for my liking. I much preferred biting into that crunchy texture against the silky chocolate dough. And my mother did demur that they looked too much like ‘turds’ for her dainty sensibilities, but really, don’t all lumpy chocolate baked goods look like pooh? C’mon.

While I don’t have kids yet, these are the sort of cookies that make you daydream about sitting at the kitchen table with a mop-topped kid talking about their day at school over a cookie and a glass of milk. That never really happened with my mom, but if it happens on tv, it must be possible in real life too, right?

Said imaginary kids will not be getting any of the newly baptized Yukon Chip Cookies. The other day, I improvised a batch of milk chocolate, white chocolate and toffee chip cookies for the IE before he sets off to the Yukon for the summer. They did not last long enough to get a picture either. They were a classic buttery chip recipe with excessive amounts of the above-mentioned chips tossed in and they were pretty much the perfect cookie – chewy and caramely with the warm squigginess of melted chocolate. They’re absolutely deadly, but should win the IE some instant friends on the crew when he gets his weekly care package. And no, that’s not bribery. That’s love.


Off to get my own copy of the new Baked Bakeshop Cookbook. How do you know about everything? You are my culinary lifeline.

Yours in cookies,
Pickle

Who Stole the Cookie?

Dear Gumdrop-


Haven’t heard from you lately, which I assume means you’re on the front lines of the busy mom war. Balancing work and the little ones must be grueling, but maybe this little mini-challenge will help you claim a small victory. Since my niece Magaloo is coming this weekend, I thought I’d take inspiration from your quest to quell the impeding teenage disdain by plying her with baked goods. So, the only criteria for this one is it’s gotta fit in a cookie jar!

Xo
P