I Hate Chocolate

No, not in that way. Would any woman really turn her nose up at a tasty piece of cadbury fruit and nut? Maybe Posh Spice, but certainly not me. But I did hate this challenge and I assume from your equally tardy post that you did too.

I did make two attempts to make some handmade chocolates and I even conscripted the IE to help, which was a rather lovely couple-y experience, but the whole process of making chocolates was kind of blah for me.

Give me cake, give me cookies, give me a pavlova with lemon cream and blueberries, give me anything but a handmade chocolate.

And now, because it's lunch time and I'm pregnant, I'm going to eat some chocolate.

xo
P

Challenge Remorse

Oh Gumdrop, what have I done? I’ve been searching for chocolate recipes and all this talk of tempering and such has lead to a severe case of challenge remorse. I’m completely intimidated by own challenge. Scratch that, I’m completely petrified by own challenge! I envision some catastrophic chocolate debacle that’s half I Love Lucy and half Armageddon. This isn’t going to be the romantic Chocolat experience I envisioned.

Px

Roses Are Red

Sweet Gumdrop-

Oh, how I look forward to the days of trying to whip up dessert for a crowd at 2am after wrangling two toddlers into bed, high on sugar and holiday excitement. Only four more months to go until I turn into a midnight baker like you. With our similar schedules and complementary baking skills, perhaps we should open a bakery?

Since I’m trying to follow unsolicited advice to make the last few childless months special for the IE (in between my unpredictable mood swings where he’s briefly the most maddening individual on earth, at least to a hormonal mess like me) and since a little extra gesture for Mr. Salty might not be amiss following your holiday lovers quarrel, I’m going to issue the next challenge a little early so we can spend some serious time on this one: handmade valentine’s chocolates. These can’t just be run of the mill caramels and truffles: these must be the most romantic chocolates ever. I’m not entirely sure what that means, but I’ll just consider that part of the challenge!

Sweet dreams,
Pickle

Merry - But I'm Not So Bright

Dear Pickle -

Wait a minute, though, weren't you that perfect, put-together girl in high school? All appearances suggest that you must have been. Indeed, I think you still are - now with added meal-making skills. It wasn't hard for me to be convinced that Dorie's peppermint cream puff ring was the right choice! Maybe it was just me buckling under your perfect and put-together air...

It's funny, though, we seem to have had exactly opposite experiences with the recipe. I got one of my baking highs from the way the pate-a-choux came together. Piping warm dough blew my mind, and the fact that it made such a patisserie-perfect ring so very easily for me made me feel like a sorceress of flour! My family will bow before my desserty prowess!

But, um, making this late on Christmas night after the chaos of a Two Toddler Holiday may have been beyond my sorcery stamina. It came time to steep the mint leaves in the warm cream - and I realized that it was midnight and I was too freaking exhausted to set the alarm for three a.m. to take the mint leaves out of the cream. A few years ago, pre-kids, I would've done that. But, exhausted as I was, I knew I'd be up at six anyway so I figured that three more hours of cold time in the fridge wouldn't intensify the mint flavour TOO much. Right? Most of the flavour comes when the cream is warm anyway. Like making tea. Right? RIGHT?

At six a.m. when I tasted the mint cream, I realized immediately that I was WRONG. And that I probably wouldn't need to brush my teeth. For a week. This mint cream did not 'whisper' of fresh, refreshing mint leaves. This mint cream SCREAMED and beat you about the head. It was like chewing an entire bunch of fresh mint. Unless you are a goat, I am not certain that this is a good idea.

So. You may have noticed that in the photo above (featuring my nephew), the cream is not the snow-white one might have expected. That's because the kitchen sorceress took over again and decided to make a 'quick' version of Dorie's Chocolate Pastry Cream to fold into the mint cream. It'd be like having a candy cane in your hot chocolate! Never mind that there was a car to pack for the three hour drive north (presents, children, snacks, Xanax - PLUS a three hour drive, PLUS a family Christmas, PLUS a three hour drive home), I told myself I could do it and 'whipped it up'. While having a dreadful fight with my husband about my culinary brinksmanship and my inability to just let things be. Very festive, right? I folded the new chocolate pastry cream into the mint cream - delicious! I piped it onto the ring, topped it with the luscious glaze and sighed in relief. As an olive branch, I magnanimously offered the spoon to the hubby to lick, doffed my apron and began to pack.

His face, however, immediately told me that my solution hadn't been as successful as I thought. He asked if I had really intended for dessert to taste like a chocolate mojito. Off came the top of the ring, on went the apron, I whipped up a huge quantity of plain whipped cream, folded in this now-annoying-chocolate-candy-cane combo, re-piped. Exhausted, the ring and I collapsed into the car.

But the ring traveled well. Better than I did, actually. It did gather a few oooohs and awwwwwwwwws and the mint flavour was toned-down enough to qualify as 'interesting' rather than 'INTENSE and possibly INSANE'.

So it was that I was neither perfect nor put-together. But I survived, we ate, my husband forgave me and it was indeed kinda merry and bright. I guess that is all you can ask for from a family holiday, sorceress or not.

What's next? What's the 2010 dessert?
Desperate to know,
Gumdrop

A Dessert Knock-Off

Dear Gumdrop-

My relief at coming to a peaceful compromise of Dorie Greenspan's Peppermint Cream Puff Cream for our Boxing Day dessert didn't last long once it came time to make it.

You know in high school there was always that girl who was effortlessly perfect? She was pretty and smart and everyone liked her? And no matter how hard you tried to emulate her style, her easy, breezy way of flirting with the brawny hockey player and the alt-rock poet, you could just never be like her? I have woefully concluded that Dorie Greenspan is her culinary equivalent.

Ravenous to be like her, I flip through Dorie’s books, I devour her blog and yet my attempts at replicating her recipes never quite come out as gorgeous, as effortlessly chic, as hers. At best, my Peppermint Cream Puff Ring was like a knock-off Calvin Klein dress your mom made you for a semi-formal (or maybe that was just me): pretty enough, but a little misshapen and more homemade than handmade.

My first attempt at the cream puff ring fell flat. A perpetual fear of over-baking was the culprit. Sometimes ‘golden brown’ really does need to be deep golden brown to come out right. So, on the second attempt I baked that thing until it was the colour of unpolished brass just before it turns green. And hurrah, a ring that stayed puffed.

The steeped mint leaves and cream was a lovely silky surprise. The mint was vibrant yet not obnoxious. Peppermint whipped cream may become one of my hostess tricks for 2010. Of course, I failed to whip it to a stiff enough peak, so it fell a bit when I placed the top on. But it was the day after Christmas, so did anyone really care?

And while the chocolate topping was delicious (so that’s the secret of bakery éclair tops – corn syrup!), it did end up looking a little homely, which meant my toasted almond skepticism quickly turned into appreciation. They were the pearls that transformed a basic black dress into something worthy of Coco Chanel (or at least her premiere d’atelier de couture).

Even though my little cream puff ring didn’t quite match the lavishly styled one in Dorie’s book, it was a terrific success with both sets of parents. With just the right post-Christmas light touch of chocolate, pastry and cream, it was a chic dessert to follow the heavy comfort of copious amount of holiday sweets.

Here's to a whole new year of challenges, culinary or otherwise!

xo
Pickle

P.S. Sorry about the lack of picture. My mother hasn't figured out how to download the pictures from her digital camera yet and my current state of baby brain prevented me from doing it for her this weekend.

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?

The Mohammed Ali of Desserts...

Dear Pickle:

So it's a tough time to fit a challenge in, but I know you and I are facing the same dilemma this year. What dessert can we possibly bring to Boxing Day dinner to satisfy a mixed bag of fam and in-laws? This is a serious challenge!!!

Some people might think this an easy problem. These people are not us. The dessert in question must fit the following criteria:
1. Must travel well. No frozen things, elaborate constructions or whipped cream as an integral ingredient (added at the last minute whipped cream is fine, although a bit fussy.)
2. Must be interesting enough for a special dinner but not contain supremely weird flavours. It's gotta be special but if it is too 'sophisticated', we could lose some of our dessert eaters to the goodie tray, which should be considered a failure of desserting. Also, because there will be children, alcohol should be kept to a minimum (the time I got accidentally drunk and barfed at Thanksgiving at the ripe old age of eight might be 'memorable', but I am not sure it ought to be repeated.)
3. Must be festive but not heavy. This has gotta land nicely on a belly full of turkey. Ugh, I feel full already. Maybe we should just make mints.
4. Must be impressive but not intimidatingly so. People should like it but, like dressing for a wedding, we can't outdo the 'bride' (i.e. hosts). Croquembouche is probably out. Also, I have 5,000 other things to do in the next couple of days so we kinda gotta keep it real.

You have already expressed disdain for trifle, so I will save that challenge for another time. Mwahahahhahaha. My veto goes to fruitcake and/or mincemeat.

Because I am feeling festively generous and this is indeed important, herewith please find three suggestions for your boxing approval. Punch the one you like.

1. A chocolate Yule log. Just kidding. .
2. A Christmas Cheesecake from Epicurious - This may break #3 and/or be impossibly 80s. But it DOES sound good!
3. A tasty Pavlova from Nigella - . This is the traditional Australian Christmas dessert, so they must be on to something. Does require a little last minute fussing with whipping cream and fruit (which we can surely take some license with.) But sometimes it's nice to hide in the kitchen for a few minutes, if your host doesn't mind...?
4. A Dorie Greenspan tart. Maybe Chocolate Cream (I'd toy with a plain crust rather than chocolate to stay within #3)? Or Toasted Coconut Custard (although is coconut too divisive re #2?) Or Fresh Orange Cream?

Er, as you can see, I'm dithering. Whaddya think?

Love,
Gumdrop

Hey Hey You Ugly

So now it’s my turn to apologize for a very tardy post, Gumdrop. I did this post weeks ago, but work and life have kept me from writing about it until now. And maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t in too much of a rush to show you the ugliest thing I’ve ever baked.

Given the terrible reputation roulades have, I decided to be brash, be bold, be confident as I prepared for the challenge. I whipped up the cake batter, spread it into the jellyroll pan and deftly tossed it into the oven. Shabam - a roulade superstar was born!

Except that’s when I noticed I’d filled the pan too much. The cake came out far too fluffy, but repeating my mantra, I covered it in plastic wrap and a wet tea towel and rolled that sucker up.

Next, I tackled the buttercream. Did this recipe feel like a lot of work for not much reward or was it just me? Sure, it tasted good, but it wasn’t that different than good old swiss buttercream. Maybe it picked up on my skepticism because just as I was adding the last pat of butter, it all separated. I slapped the bowl into an ice bath and did what I could, but I’d developed a bad attitude toward the whole endeavour and it didn’t do much to improve the frosting.

Feeling like a kitchen delinquent, I unrolled my cake, and of course, that puffy cake split apart. In an effort to just get the damn thing done, I slapped on some nutella and then added a layer of the buttercream and struggled to roll it all up into a neat log. I didn’t succeed in the “neat” department.

Things took a final bad turn when I tried to ice it with the sub-standard buttercream. After 4 hours of work, I was past caring. I slapped that icing on like I was Sandra Lee making her grandmother’s peach birthday cake with canned frosting and Ziploc bags.
It was a sad day in my kitchen.

I contemplated throwing it out and beginning again, but I couldn’t face it. Then I remembered when my mother first started quilting and she made what has become known as ‘the ugly quilt’. It looked like something frugal Ma Ingalls would have made during a desperately cold Prairie winter – and tossed away because it was so ugly. I dug through my closets and found that ugly quilt and used it as the backdrop for my ugly cake. I was a little heartened to think this was just my ugly first attempt at a roulade and if I keep at it, I might make roulades as beautiful as the quilts my mother makes now.

I wound up taking the cake to a dinner party at a friend’s becaujavascript:void(0)se a) I didn’t have time to pick up a bottle of wine after spending the entire afternoon on this cake and b) I still didn’t want the ugly thing hanging around my house! Due to my friend’s own dessert disaster, the ugly cake was joyously welcomed and devoured. It was the yummiest ugly looking cake ever.

xo
P

Buche De NOOOOOOOOO!

Dear Pickle:

Well, you’ve done it now. You’ve discovered a real culinary insecurity. I have made a rolled sponge cake exactly once. It was a good fifteen years ago and I don’t remember what exactly went down – but I do remember it did not end well (in fact, I think it became a trifle. Which is the destination point for many failed culinary attempts. Can make you feel handy and thrifty, but never like a hero. Sigh.)

With a few more years under my belt and a lot more confidence in the kitchen, I really thought this wouldn’t be a problem. I chose what looked like a good Martha recipe, a gingerbread roulade. I can’t find the recipe online and, really, it’s just as well. At first things were going well. Indeed, I was very proud of myself when I wrapped the cake up in the towel to shape it. It smelled wonderful and gingerbread-y and it was nice and high and I thought my cake-y karma was changing.

Ummm, maybe I should pay more attention to my Protestant roots and forget the Buddhist stuff. Did you ever have a granny who said ‘Pride goeth before a fall’? Yeah. Because SOMEBODY over here forgot to put icing sugar on the towel. So when she unrolled this 'perfect' cake to fill and ice it, it stuck. And cracked. And – boo-hoo. Sigh.

The Brown Sugar Buttercream gave me a hard time too, but this I could handle. A few years ago, I made (I swear to God this is true) FIVE wedding cakes in one year. All with Italian meringue buttercreams. This is why there was no cake at my wedding. :) So when my buttercream was lumpy, I just knew it was because my butter was too cold. Heating one cup of the bump icing in the microwave for 30 seconds and then beating it back into the bowl smoothed it out and made it gorgeous. I may have actually screamed out “THIS S*#& IS AWESOME!” despite having been alone in my kitchen with two babies sleeping upstairs. I didn’t even care if I woke them at that moment.

Alas, the 'awesome s*#&' had to go into dry, cracked, uninspiring cake. The gingerbread kinda drowned out the delicate brown sugar flavour - not complementary as I had expected.

I think I failed this one. Even my dad didn’t have anything nice to say, and that’s how you know when you’ve failed. Pride goeth before a fall indeed. Ya got me. Wish me better luck next time! (I kinda hope there’s another roulade challenge coming from you some day. Because you can bet I won’t be making one spontaneously, and I should probably get back on the horse before a real phobia develops.)

Sigh,
Gumdrop

Roll With It

Gumdrop,

Having seen the non-edible fruits of your Halloween labour, you are entirely forgiven for your tardy post. Mom duties and Gourmet grief must be honoured. I have to admit that I was always more of a supermarket checkout reader of Gourmet. Its stunning covers were a handy calming device when a 600-item customer was a head of me in the 10 items or less lane.

While waiting for your post, I’ve been contemplating the next challenge, bemused by the options available to me. Should we humour your inner-hippie and bake some ancient grains bread? Maybe it was time to return to pastry and bake rustic apple tarts?

But then two things happened: First, my mom came over for dinner and brought an old stand-by: a strawberry jellyroll. It was a bold move on her part because dear old mom has had a terrible run rolling those darn sponges. The last few attempts have been dry and cracked, like feet in summer after a few missed pedicures. This time, she managed a moist cake, but it still had a lot of cracks. I was disappointed to learn that she used store-bought jam, not my aunt’s homemade jam filled with plump berries. Then again, this is a woman who, as a schoolgirl, traded her homemade cake for store-bought cookies.

The second thing that happened was I came across this drool inducing article during my daily epicurious visit and I’ve been obsessed with the idea of brown sugar buttercream ever since.

So while it’s too early to challenge you to a bûche de noël, I hereby issue the next challenge as a brown sugar buttercream roulade. The degree of garnish fussiness is entirely up to you!

Enjoy,
Px

In Morning (sic)

Regretfully, due to technical difficulties, will have to post this without pictures for the time-being. It cannot wait a second longer! May need to fire live-in Tech Support which may be awkward on account of the marriage certificate and all.

Dear Pickle -

The mummy cupcakes are SOOOOOO CUTE! The fact is, this is why every child needs a cool aunt. I can't believe there were no Halloween baked goods in our house - I was too busy making costumes and endless autumnal dinners (that the kids don't eat). I didn't even have time to make myself a costume and just went as 'harried chick'.

I know I'm unforgivably late with this entry, but on top of Halloweening, I have also been in mourning for Gourmet magazine. Up 'til now, I'd been listening to all the stories about the death of print media with a certain devil-may-care imperviousness ('Denver Post' closes? Ooooh, sad. Oh look, 30 Rock is back - and there's a cupcake in the fridge!) But this sad passage one hits a little too close to home. I've been reading Gourmet for a good twenty years. Yup. Apparently I must write a will, before I croak in a La-Z-Boy. It was a kind of aspirational lifeline for a girl in a tiny industrial town where 'gourmet' meant you made your Jell-o salad with FRESH fruit instead of canned. Yes, it was impossibly snobby and almost impenetrable at times - I remember a lot of stories about the meats of Eastern Hungary as eaten on authentic stagecoach tours or how to prepare 'Chicken Liver Veloute with Quails Eggs and Pickled Starfish'. And when I went through my looooong vegetarian phase, I'm not sure exactly what I kept reading for. But read it I did. My bit of a girl-crush on the elegant and spicy Ms. Ruth Reichl may've helped boost me over the hump. I've got a huge collection of back issues, some even older than I am, which I refuse to throw away. Much to the chagrin of my garage-cleaning hubbo. But someday, someday, I'll have the time to cook my way through them.

However, I must admit that my subscriber copies have been sitting for longer and longer in their sterile plastic wrappers. I'd get the magazine, take a glance at the impossibly gorgeous pear on the cover, and then it'd end up sitting there. Dejected. Raw (i.e. - uncooked from). And then the next issue would arrive, piling on top of the second dejectedly. I can't immediately remember the last time I actually whipped something from the pages. My near-daily epicurious.com habit means that I must've made a few of their things recently, but even then it seems that most of the recipes I pull up to actually make are from the younger, somehow more in step with me 'Bon Appetit'. It's definitely a more user-friendly mag, packed with loads of recipes and using ingredients you can find. Without going to Hungary.

So I am sorry, Gourmet. I guess I was part of the problem. I will miss paging through you and being an armchair glutton/tourist. But I don't have enough money or time for all the things you asked of me - I don't purchase Cadillacs and I am not sure I am up to creating a Chicken Liver Veloute.

Instead I hope to keep blogging with my much-more-punctual blog-mate (more punctual than ME, that is, not more punctual than Gourmet, which always arrived on time.) Pickle, I am SO proud of you for making it all the way through this coffee cake dance marathon! I agree, making dough is something that ought to fit so easily into our lives, because the steps aren't difficult or time consuming, even for this particular monster-piece recipe I assigned us. In fact I managed to squeeze it in before hopping a cross-country flight. The relaxing steps of mixing and waiting, kneading and waiting, shaping and waiting - they all fit in well around wrangling a baby and packing a suitcase (then a suitcase for the baby.)

Although all three boys in my house went nuts for this, I have to say I found it kinda 'meh' in the final balance. It was a little dry, a little too danish-like for my liking. Because I am not a fan of the danish. Undoubtedly there are good ones in the world, but most that I've encountered have a dry staleness that belies their calorie count.

Plus we've already discussed that I have a large-ish hippie streak in me, a part that wishes to live in a commune and grow sprouts for a living. Bread-baking brings this alternate personality too close to the surface already. So making the bread into this kind of ornate lazy daisy shape threatened a full-on breach of the hippie bit I would much rather keep buried. Until next Halloween, maybe. Should I dress up as a hippie? ;)

x
Gumdrop

Boo!

Here’s a question you probably already know the answer to, Gumdrop. Q: what do you do to entertain a three year old for the afternoon? A: Bake intricate Halloween cupcakes. That’s what I did this weekend when my three-year-old nephew came to visit. So when he wasn’t ‘helping’ the IE paint the exterior of our house, I had a little sweet sweatshop, churning out Martha Stewart’s latest ghoulish gastronomic treats.

The ever-reliable one-bowl chocolate cupcakes were as moist and delicious as usual, although her suggestion of doubling the Swiss meringue buttercream left me with vats of excess frosting. I’m going to see how it freezes, as surely I’ll have a cake emergency in the near future. Next time, I’d make it before the little one arrived to make cupcakes as the process of making this sort of buttercream was torture for my little helper. Ten minutes to whip egg whites? Another 5 to beat the air out? Only a journey outside to test magnetic attraction of wet paint and a new shirt prevented mutiny.

That and the allure of candy. With frosting at the ready, we began with mini spiders. Bumble B had the honour of dipping the frosted mini into the black sugar and he was surprisingly adept at it. His attention to detail wasn’t quite up to his aunt’s when it came to the eyes though, which is why all the spiders have “m”s for pupils instead of the pure evil red intended. And after the difficult task of snipping shoeless licorice into the appropriate leg lengths, our first batch of Halloween horrors was complete.

Next we tackled the aliens and monsters. There were some creative liberties taken with limb placement on the aliens, but who can say with certainty that aliens don’t have 6 limbs on one side of their body? Seeing how proud he was his handiwork almost made me regret my strict adherence to Martha’s rules when making the monsters. Almost.

Both us feel head over heels for the mummy cupcakes. Perhaps that’s why they were the most successful of our partnership. He added the eyes and mouth and then I covered them with ribbons of buttercream. Truly one of the most impressive cupcakes ever.

So while I did seem to have go through more icing and candy than can strictly be accounted for by the final product, it was a great way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

Xo
P

In Praise of Coconut and Other Things

I was scared, Gumdrop. I read through your new challenge recipe and wanted to run away to a bakery and cheat my way through this one. The recipe looked long and complicated and frankly, not much fun. But it featured coconut and that's one of my weaknesses. I dare anyone to resist the fluffy snowy purity of a coconut layer cake.

Or the golden buttery chewiness of the ridiculously yummy black bottom coconut bars from this month's Cookie Carnival. Brownie topped with coconut? That's my idea of heaven (do you think clouds might be made of coconut? If so, I may be tempted to start believing in an after-life). These little near-instant gems were so addictive, I had to hide this last morsel from the Hub before he could devour them too. I've decided to use these as my secret weapon whenever the IE is mad at me so I guess I'll need to whip some more up today since I was not a pleasant wife this morning (if he's going to object to the way I brew his tea, maybe he could give him his special instructions before I make it?).

But I digress. The simplicity of the bars gave me the comfort and confidence to tackle the coconut twist bread. With my father coming over for dinner last Sunday, I had both a reason to make it and the time. Oh the time.

But rather than being a burden, I found I really enjoyed working my way through the various steps of this recipe and once again, I was smitten with the miracle of yeast. Doesn't it make you feel like some sort of magician when you see the dough rise? It's about as scientific as I get.

Making dough really is easy and once you get used to handling it, it's something you could add into your regular routine, don't you think? Okay, maybe not regularly, but certainly more often than never. Maybe once a month. The challenge in handling this dough was that whole pizza pulling thing. It's quite difficult to get it evenly stretched. My middle got really thin with thick edges. Is there a way to avoid that? Maybe you want it like that to give thicker edges to the wedges once baked?

Assembling the layers proved to be quite fun and it always amazes me how my modern urban soul lifts when doing this sort of simple time-spun task. It makes me feel connected to world in some weird way, knowing that generations of people have moved through these steps before me. Is baking some sort of human legacy? Who knows, but my idea of fun now includes twisting strands of stuffed dough and brushing them with melted jam and runny icing.

I was inordinately pleased with myself when the coffee cake came out of the oven. It looked like a danish my aunt used to buy from Bernie's Bakery at the cottage when I was a kid (Proust had his madeleines and I have cherry danishes. And date squares. And apple crisp. Well, a lot of childhood memories tied to homely baked goods). It was difficult to contain my pride (or the whoops of self-satisfaction) as I commanded the IE to come and admire my masterpiece. He was duly impressed and snapped off some pictures, all the while begging me to let him try a piece.

He was, of course, denied. It had to wait until after dinner. I was a little sad that my dad didn't mention the resemblance to Bernie's tasty treats, but once I bit into that sweet dough, I didn't care. I was back in coconut heaven. Good thing too because after a day of working on this thing, I was one exhausted but happy baker.

The Next Challenge...

Dear Pickle:

I am a little bit obsessed with coffee cakes lately. Is this a function of the season? Of my soon-to-be-stay-at-home mom status? Of the same retro bug that has me sewing aprons? I’m not sure. But I’m obsessed.

I made this bit of Crumb Cake Deliciousness from King Arthur on the weekend, because my MIL came by for tea. I LOVE crumb cakes, they remind me of my brief time living in New York as they seem to be infinitely more popular there than they are here. Last year when Starbucks carried one for a while, I was absolutely thrilled (my pants, however, were not as they got a little overstuffed by the number of slices I ate.) There is something perfectly homely and autumnal about a coffee cake.

As you’ve got me fired up about yeast baking too, I hereby challenge you to a yeasted coffee cake. Not just any coffee cake, the Flo Braker fiesta from 'Baking For All Occasions' that I'm going to email you (it’s tough to find recipes for yeasted ones, actually, so if you like you can consider my control-freakiness as doing you a favour. Heh.) It's called 'Coconut Twist Coffee Cake'. Let's do it!

Yours Coffee-Klatsch-ily,
Gumdrop

p.s. I was going to post the recipe but it was WAAAAAAAY too long I couldn't figure out how to make a 'jump'. Scared yet?

Baguettes. Le sigh!

...As Pepe LePeu would say...

Oh, Pickle, I fear you may have done it this time. I have dabbled in bread baking but, to be honest, I have never understood the urge to take it ultra-seriously at home. I've always lived in city neighbourhoods where a great loaf of one kind or another is just blocks away. I've had those Ma Ingalls/nouveau hippie urges to bake my own bread, sure. I'm often seen kneading up a batch of fresh rolls for Thanksgiving or Christmas or whatever. Sometimes I get fancy and put sweet potatoes or something in them. One time I bought a rather expensive baking stone, although Mr. Salty mistook it for a brick and threw it out after spilling pizza sauce on it in the oven, thereby ending that 'run' at serious home baking.

But this is the first time I've really seriously made a kind of artisanal quality bread at home.

I went hard-core, inspired by your challenge, and chose the recipe from The Bread Baker's Apprentice. I really was up early Wednesday morning to make a Pate Fermentee, which I learned is like a mini-version of the dough to come (flour - half bread and half all purpose, yeast - surprisingly instant again - water and salt). You knead this and then leave it in the refrigerator overnight, like an insurance policy on deliciousness. Although, part of you does feel ripped off that you did a whole bunch of work and nothing is coming out of it. YET.


You can't call this recipe 'easy' in fact, because there are a lot of steps that take a looooooong time - but the steps in and of themselves aren't complicated. On Thursday I got the Pate Fermentee out to de-chill, which took it an hour, then cut it up to add to a new batch of dough (which used the exact same simple ingredients.) Mixing - I went with the stand mixer because I am unlike Ma Ingalls in that I hate hand mixing stiff bread doughs. Kneading - this I did by hand because it's tremendously satisfying. Rising - 2 hours during which I did a bunch of work. Shaping - I even made a homemade couche for the bread to rise in from a piece of linen, spritzed with oil and sprinkled with flour. Rising part II - about an hour. Slashing - Xacto blade worked like a charm. Baking. Steaming while baking - first with a steam pan in the oven and then with three visits at short intervals to spritz the oven walls with more water, which had my babysitter certain that I was BONKERS. And THEN you have to wait a torturous 40 minutes before you get to eat them. I'm exhausted just typing that.

It was worth the wait. Leaving Paris out of the equation (because one must, always, or it is unfair to the rest of the bread-baking world,) AND leaving modesty out of the equation, I don't think I've had baguette this delicious. No, really. There are some good ones around, but there is something about the freshness. The work with the steam was a good investment, I think, making for that chewy crust that marks this species of bread.

I sent a loaf home with the babysitter, as payment for having to work for a crazy lady.

Thank you SO MUCH for making me do this. It won't be the last time - I figure that now that I've done it, it will get easier. Right? Right?!? This is the part where I think you may have done it. If I get serious about this...? There goes the rest of my leisure time. And my hard work at weight-loss.

Get ready for a new challenge before Tuesday. And don't put the yeast away!!!

Bisous,
Gumdrop

Cultural Exchange - Haiku Meets Baguette

Seven this morning
Momma the insomniac
Makes Pate Fermentee...
- - - - -
Old school recipe
The dough aging overnight
Torture for my soul
- - - - -
Oh! The thought of it!
Fresh baguette tomorrow night!
I can smell it now!
- - - - -
Children must eat it
Momma loves carbs but also
Anthropologie...




Thanks for the mountie
Husbands toiling on movies
At least good for laughs...

Banish the Baguette (but not why you think)

Ma chère Gumdrop:

This is not a picture of a baguette. It’s a picture of the IE filming on location. This, as you will recall, was the reason I needed to bake bread. But I’ve discovered another problem, possibly a bigger one. The problem is that I love bread. I love bread too much. But bread does not love me the same way. Sure, it pretends to love me; it makes me feel good with that first warm crusty hunk, so I go back for more. And more. Until I feel sick with self-loathing for loving something that just ends up making me feel bloated and pasty. Then when I swear off bread, it comes back with that come-hither scent wafting from the oven.

So that’s why there isn’t a picture of my warm, golden, albeit slightly misshapen, baguette. I loved that baguette so much; I had to kick it to the curb before I could take a picture.

This fantastically simple recipe from the talented bakers at King Arthur Flour was just the sort to make a novice bread maker like me fall head over heels with homemade bread. It’s so easy; I could even handle making it the old-fashioned way (with a wooden spoon and elbow grease) since I didn’t have my kitchen-aid at the cottage. As it was a rainy autumn day in August, the time required inside wasn’t a hardship, although the actual work time is paltry enough. It’s really just the waiting that makes the whole bread thing a chore.

So, recipe: dead simple and I found the second half of the dough, which I used the next day, produced lighter bread, but that may have been because I rolled the second batch into a longer shape (a baguette is a lot longer than you think and definitely a lot longer than your average baking sheet!).

Because of this shortfall, my baguette did end up misshapen as I said. It looked more like a French loaf than baguette, but hey, it still looked French! And with some wine and good company, it passed muster for a rustic cottage weekend. The loaves gave the most wonderful thwack when tapped and had a fabulous flake when torn. Like the best bread, it was a small soul-satisfying experience (I’d love to try it with actual King Arthur Flour next time, but that would require a road trip. Interested?).

I do need a bit more practice with my shaping technique before I take to riding my bike through the city with a few jaunty homemade baguettes and a lush bouquet of fresh flowers in my basket. But I’m definitely a few steps closer to the kind of life portrayed in an Anthropologie ad. As long as I remember not to eat any of bread. Who am I kidding? That baguette had me at bon jour…

Adieu,
P

And yes, this is just a random picture from the IE’s movie. While not a baguette, Mounties are yummy too.

Cake Shopping Will Help Too!

Oh, Pickle!

Don't be sad, I can't bear it! (Would it help to tell you that I would DIE for a couple of months by myself and spend them running around the house naked while eating bon-bons with no husbands or kiddos to steal them from me or to be startled by my bouncing buttocks? The truth is I would probably just sit in an armchair and enjoy the fact that my shoes are where I left them and I don't need to vacuum like, hourly. Still, jaded bliss...)

We will totally cheer you up with baguette. Warm. With butter. How can one be sad then?

In the mean time, go look at adorable cupcake accoutrements here. I ordered a whole bunch including the absolutely charming Christmas cupcake kit, full of retro toppers that make me wish it was December, and the pirate cupcake kit which will undoubtedly make little boys very happy. I also ordered a bunch of darling cupcake papers which came packaged with little decos to coordinate with them. That will help! And just think, no husband to scrutinize your package of imported foo-fas when it arrives = less guilt.

I have some pictures coming up of a couple of baked goods which will feature the blue gingham cupcake papers.

Love and warm bread to you,
Gumdrop

Bake Away the Blues

Dear Gumdrop:

Lately, I’ve been feeling a little blue. A husband who has been MIA for 2 ½ months is to blame (damn movie-making in far-flung locales!). Not even a burst of truly summer-like weather has been able to lift my spirits. But I think fresh-baked bread might do the trick.

A homemade baguette might be the bread-lover’s equivalent of those pillow boyfriends you see Japanese girls with blunt cuts and knee socks clutching in indie fashion magazines. After this challenge, IE may find me curled up with an olive boule (and sporting a stylish yet sensible new haircut) when returns.

So feel the love, bake some bread.

Pickle

Kreskin Hearts Crackers

Dear Pickle:

Remember the amazing Kreskin and his act? Okay, here’s my version:

ANSWER – Knit scarves, the rules, jokes about your mother and crackers.



QUESTION – Name things that are better if you make them yourself…

My apologies to Johnny Carson.

You’d never know it by how late I am with this one, but I too loved and was comforted by making these crackers. The first time I made bread I was like nineteen and going through the obligatory college hippie phase. I hereby apologize to High School Boyfriend and His University Buddy, who were forced to eat the leaden loaves I enthusiastically produced from the Laurel’s Kitchen Bread Book (the original hippie GET BAKED bible). OHMIGOD, soggy and kind of anvil-like and absolutely indigestible.

If only I’d started with delightful, delicious SIMPLE crackers! And, maybe, some nice white flour instead of sprouted rye or WTF I was brainwashed into at that point.

The recipe I used was from The Bread Baker’s Apprentice, a gorgeous book that won the James Beard award and the subject of yet another weekly blog circle that I had dreams of joining at some, more ambitious point. I was a bit shocked to see instant yeast used here as I thought maybe purists wouldn’t think of such a thing, but I faithfully bought some and with the additions of honey, oil and flour I had a dough in like thirty seconds! No proofing of the yeast with the sugar or anything!

It’s been a mega-stressful summer for me work-wise, and yet it all kind of melted away with the ten minutes of kneading required. This is one of those things that every time I do it, I am all like – why don’t I knead something EVERY DAY?!? (Oh yeah, because I was born at the wrong time. Drat. Though I do appreciate the indoor plumbing and anti-frizz hair products available nowadays.) I guess the tricky part was finding a day when I would be at home and sane for two hours while the dough rose, but once it was done working it’s magic on a sunny windowsill, I swear it only took me another thirty seconds to roll these mofos out on a counter lightly sprayed with cooking spray.

I chose to sprinkle them with alternating lines of poppy and sesame seeds, although the book’s author uses a number of spices so I may have to go back and try that too… Anyway, they were light and crisp and joyous - if not perfectly, evenly browned. They were consumed enthusiastically by all members of my little household, despite the fact that they came out of the oven mere moments after dinner, the smell having been just too intoxicating to ignore. And I got to feel all smug that they had no preservatives and didn’t come out of a package (er, for once.)

Anyway, I hope your summer has been good to you and I can’t wait to dig in – so please, challenge me!!!

Crackers for you,
Gumdrop

Look, gratuitous cute baby eating ice cream as my apology to you! Peanut just turned ONE!